Oh, now I remember

And now that I remember, I’m embarrassed. That bit about the Circle of Life . . . well, it really wasn’t all that. It’s just that it was a nagging something in my head that I wanted to jot down a few words about. Only it kept slipping away into that vaporland of Boomer Reality, i.e., “I forget/forgot . . . .”

Anyway, this is all that I was going to say.

I bought an apartment in Harlem that has outdoor space. A lot of outdoor space. It’s almost as big as my apartment. I don’t know how I got it. It was a fluke. The Universe/Force was with me. Whatever! If you know anything about how the housing lottery goes, you put down your money first, then pray you’re not stuck with a loser because you don’t get to pick an apartment for some time, or do a walk-thru for the first time several months later. You’re just supposed to be (blindly) grateful that you’ve managed to achieve the Miracle of New York (Nueva Yorque Miraculous) – affordable housing.

I digress. To continue: there are some wonderful, fun-loving people in my building. Everyone is so delighted that we have all these new friendly neighbors, and bought our bright new space to live in at such a reasonable price. We travel among outsider good friends and relatives, sing-songing: “Na na nana na.” (I did say “good” . . . . these friends and family just laugh at us and tolerantly rain selfless smiles on our good fortune.)

One evening after a board meeting, a couple of friends came over for an impromptu gathering on my terrace. C1, now an old friend of six months, brought over an unfinished (magnum? -sized) bottle of wine, and C2, a new friend of two months, were quickly acclimated to kicking back in the (finally!) summer-like evening. We chatted, giggled, and broke out into occasional laughter while fragile soft breezes feathered our faces. C1 offered the suggestion that I’d better make friends with the occupant of the upper floor. Invite them to occasional gatherings so that they wouldn’t be too quick to complain about the “noise” from down below.

A few moments later, a head popped out of that apartment window just over mine, and said in a mock-offended tone, “What’re you gals doing down there without me?” We hollered. D is already a good “new” friend, and I forgot her apartment is directly over mine. We told her to get her narrow butt down to partake in some wine. She demurred, claiming she was in her pajamas. I said, “And . . . ?”

D threw on a big top, came down, and we continued to chat, share stories, giggle and laugh for some additional length of time. That’s when it occurred to me that I hadn’t experienced this kind of communal warmth and good neighborly spirits since before I grew up and away from the projects.

Summer evenings in that vertical, pre-AC neighborhood meant neighbors sitting around on wooden benches, catching up with the day’s gossip, fashion, gripes, and revelations. The lulling softness of our voices matched the quiet of the night, carried by the occasional breeze rustling the leaves of the several maple trees. Now and then laughter would break out, splitting the night like the pleasant sharp chill of a Popsicle suddenly thrust onto our warm, waiting tongues.

In my musings, I thought of this night with my new friends as coming full circle. I give thanks as I wake each morning; that night I gave thanks that I’d come back to my beginnings.