Ghosts of Relationships Past Fade in the Saturday Sun of Now
I had an interesting recent Saturday, as in "hmm, veddy, veddy interesting." Went to a neighborhood in Brooklyn used to live in. It’s totally off the beaten path, certainly from where I live now, but really from everywhere in New York. It’s an inlet on the East River and there is no subway there, only buses.
I was with my gal, on a date, to see some longstanding and dear friends at their restaurant in that neighborhood. We lingered over brunch, together and chatting with our friends when business was slower.
We walked around my old hood and I showed my girlfriend the three apartments I had lived in, all with an icky ex. The final one we split down the middle and lived together in it even after we broke up I pointed out the corner where my two dogs locked jaws in a life and death battle. (One we had to put down and the other, if he is still alive, resides somewhere on that inlet with my ex and the woman she cheated on me with, if they are still together.)
It was nice to check out an annual local art show that I’d always avoided—for no good reason—when I lived there. We sat on the pier jutting out into the water and saw the somewhat creepy statue of liberty wading in New York harbor. We walked down the main street past the now-vacant storefront where, with that same ex, I owned a retail business I never wanted to open.
When we got home, and after putting some groceries away, my gal and I sat with a glass of juice on our couch in our cozy living room attempting to hydrate ourselves after hours and hours walking in the sun. I jabbered on about lots of random things, mostly about how fucked up I used to be—staying in a relationship that was more than dysfunctional and so many other unhealthy things that went on for me in that neighborhood. It’s kind of amazing, I told my girl, that I’m drama-free now and pretty damn functional and also emotionally and psychologically healthy.
I finally came down from the high (or low) that I was riding from being back in the old ‘hood and awash in so many memoires. I kissed her, lightly at first, then hard and long. She fucked me on her lap while we made out. I rode her fingers to climax more than once. I stripped her naked and fucked her lying on our couch. There was lots of noise in the hallway and emanating from all the other apartments around us, it was dusk and warmish, pre-spring like weather and we were surrounded by other people’s goings on.
It was thrilling to come, hard, amongst the cacophony of background sounds, to the sound of life in the city, the sounds of others above and below us, on all sides of us through the thick, but not totally soundproof walls not knowing we were on our couch fucking, holding each other--skin against skin, sharing our life stories…and creating our own story.
Blogger Bio: Stephanie Schroeder is a dreamer, wanderer and writer based in Brooklyn, NY. She likes to exchange apartments with artists and other interesting folks from around the globe and travel in search of new friends and singular experiences. She makes purple a way of life and also fancies green, purple’s complementary color on the color wheel. (stephanieschroeder.com)