This apartment was once just mine. Today as we (okay, Bear) painted my red wall back to white, I recounted the story of painting it with an awkward co-worker who may or may not have had a crush on me. I had taken the tape off too quickly and the result was a splotchy but brilliant wall which I promptly covered with black and white photographs from my adventures.
The accent wall was my first sassy step into yuppie-dom. It was the premiere of my total and utter independence. Calm and clean. A time when it dawned on me that if I wanted to bring a boy over or eat in the middle of the night or take showers while drinking ice cold bottles of water (necessary ritual when I was hungover), I could and no one would question me.
I think back to all the memories this apartment holds: coming home after my first and then-exciting business trips, ex-boyfriends, when I brought Bond home and it was just us two, after-parties that spilled over from a night of dancing at Deco. It saddens me to think about the end of a chapter in my life where adulthood hadn’t yet fully overthrown my college days.
But the best thing I ever put on that red wall was this note Bear gave me the day I quit:
And crazily enough for an only child, I happily welcome the responsibilities and chaos of a growing home and the benefits of having roomies who depend on me, take over my bed and are always curious about what I’m doing. The black and white one that continues his precious adoration. The tiger who wakes me up by licking my eyelids because she wants to cuddle. And the tall, dark and handsome one that makes the lonely and dark nights (yes, I’m still afraid of living alone) much less lonely and dark.