i. nina
written by rohan srinivasan
The townhouse was smaller than advertised. Quainter, perhaps. But credit for charm (of which there was little) would have to be given to the eclectic collection of potted plants gracing the stairs to the front door, not the dilapidated, nauseating, mint-green pile of wood Nina saw before her. She figured it was too late to back out of the lease, and even if the landlord agreed, Nina wouldn’t be able to accept the generous offer. The security deposit and first two months were already paid for, as her depleted bank account would annoyingly remind her through automated texts. She was stuck here.
Oh, well. A rightful punishment for signing a Craigslist lease without touring first. Nina had seen the post advertising a private bedroom with monthly rent under $1,000—an unheard of price in San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury neighborhood. She’d reached out immediately, and by the end of the day, her signature had sealed her fate. What she had foolishly missed in the post was that all five tenants would be sharing one bathroom. The following day, when she took a closer look at the listing’s photos, she balked at the worn-out furnishings, which could have very well been from the mid-1900s. Grime coated the cabinets, and an unsanitary amount of clutter littered the living room. Nina had wept staring at these photos, but she knew better than anyone that her housing crisis was immediate. She didn’t have a friendly couch to crash on.
“Trust me, it ain’t gonna change the more you stare at it.”
Nina flinched, jolted by the interruption. The voice came from a fairly young (couldn’t have been older than twenty-five), tatted-up, gender-ambivalent individual sprawled out on the street curb. They had shaggy, red-streaked hair and an exorbitant number of facial piercings, which Nina found rather distasteful. They wore a black crop top, baggy jeans, and thin black shades. Sitting beside them was a pre-teen boy with poofy hair, dressed head-to-toe in Golden State Warriors apparel, ogling Nina.
“What—how—how long have you been watching me?” asked Nina.
“Pretty much since you parked your U-Haul,” said the older one. “Was gonna offer help, but you seemed to be in your zone. Plus, I’m pretty damn comfortable here.”
Nina glanced at the boy, who was practically drooling while watching her. The older one noticed and smacked the pre-teen’s head.
“Get a hold of yourself, fool,” they said. “I already told you to stop bothering me and go home.” To Nina, they said, “Ignore him.”
“My mom ordered me out of the house,” whined the boy.
“So? That’s doesn’t mean you gotta come annoy me.”
“Where do I go?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“You’re mean.”
“Oh, girl, you haven’t seen the half of it. Be useful and go carry her things in.”
The boy jumped up, excited to have been given a task, and ran over to the stack of boxes by Nina. He grabbed one and goofily grinned at her.
“Oh, you really don’t need to—,” said Nina.
“I don’t mind,” he said, “I’m Damian, by the way. I live down the street.”
“Nina.”
“And that bully over there is Taylor,” said Damian, scowling at the tatted individual.
“You keep that up, and I’m not watching Big Bang Theory with you tomorrow,” said Taylor.
Damian huffed. He stumbled toward the front door, inundated with the weight of the box.
“Take it to Unit Two,” yelled Taylor.
“He really doesn’t need to do this,” said Nina, once Damian left. “I can move myself in.”
“It’s good for him. He’d be gooning to porn otherwise.”
Nina grimaced at the vulgar comment. She was finding Taylor more off-putting by the minute. “Are you my new housemate?”
“One of ’em. Unit Four. Been here about a year now.”
“How are the others?”
“Units Three and Five were here before me. Unit Three barely leaves his room, so I don’t know much about him. Stay the fuck away from Unit Five. She’s insane. Though not as crazy as the guy who lived here before you,” said Taylor, shuddering.
“What was wrong with him?”
“All I’ll say is that we dated. Big fucking mistake. Things went south, of course. He got obsessive. We had to force him to move out, then changed all the locks once he left. He’d keep trying to break in to his old room.”
“What? You mean my room?”
“Don’t stress. Been a week since his last attempt. Maybe just sleep lightly for the first few days.”
Nina was speechless, sputtering incoherent syllables. Taylor, though, behaved like they’d said nothing out of the ordinary, prattling on about the final roommate in Unit One, “… moved in around a few months ago. He has this moody, mysterious vibe. But he’s pretty friendly and your age, I think. You’re around thirty, right? Anyway, he’s a musician, so you’ll hear a lot of him fiddling with his keyboard, especially since y’all share a wall. Usually, the sort of thing that would annoy the shit out of me, but he’s actually kinda talented. Hot, too. But don’t you dare tell him I said that . . . You okay? You’re white as a ghost.”
“S-sorry. I’m still thinking about the previous tenant.”
Damian returned outside and nudged Taylor with his foot. “It’s one-o-clock.”
Taylor groaned. “Fuck the fucking capitalist system.”
Nina looked at Damian questioningly. Damian whispered, “They have work.”
“Work? Work? No, you silly, naïve child. Not just work. Prison!”
“You work at a bar.”
“If I have to clock-in, it’s jail.” Taylor leapt up and pranced to the door. They paused and turned to Nina. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Nina. Nina Veluri.”
“Neee-naaa,” said Taylor, elongating the syllables. “I dig it. Welcome to the crib, Nina.”
“Thanks.”
Taylor turned to Damian. “Punk. Coming for breakfast tomorrow? I’m making omelets.”
“Last ones tasted like rubber,” said Damian.
“Jesus. Ungrateful much?”
“I’ll still come.”
“Girl, we knew,” said Taylor. They blew Nina a kiss and disappeared inside.
Damian reached for another box. Nina pulled him back and said, “It’s alright. I got it.”
“I want to,” said Damian. “I have nowhere else to be.”
“It’s a Saturday. You should be home watching TV or something.”
“My mom doesn’t like me there when her boyfriend’s over.”
Nina nodded, surmising from Damian’s glum expression that this was a sensitive topic. “I would appreciate the help, but I don’t want you to feel forced.”
“I don’t!”
Nina smiled. She lifted a box, struggling to hold it upright, and followed Damian to the front door.
As the duo entered, Taylor flew past them, bundled in an all-black uniform, screaming that the bus had left and cursing Damian for not warning them of the time earlier. Taylor had just made it out the door when they called back to Nina, proposing a wine-night later that week. Before Nina could follow up and ask which day, Taylor was out of earshot, sprinting down the sidewalk.
“Are they always this . . ?”
“Chaotic? Oh, yeah,” said Damian. “But you’ll fall in love with them soon enough. Everyone does.”
Nina’s room was on the second floor. The first floor contained a fruit fly-contaminated kitchen and a connected living room with a stained brown couch. Nina took one look at the filthy common space and rushed up to the second floor. To the right of Nina’s room was the singular shared bathroom for the house, and across the hall was Unit One. Nina didn’t venture to the third floor, but she assumed that there wasn’t much to see there besides the other three tenants’ rooms.
After Nina and Damian finished carrying all the boxes in, Damian settled on the first floor couch to play iPhone games. Nina ripped all the duct tape off the boxes and unpacked as many items as she could. She began to organize them based on where she would place them in her room—clothes by the shabby chest of drawers (there was no closet), books in the far corner where she imagined placing a small bookshelf, wall decorations to the right. But Nina was soon exhausted navigating her bulky items in the cramped, stuffy space. The room didn’t have a built-in fan or A.C. unit, and she couldn’t figure out how to crack open the window. She wondered how much time had passed since she’d started unpacking. Her window faced the fire escape of another building, blocking out any impression of the sun, and her phone was lost in the disarray. She had to search through a pile of clothes to find her misplaced device and was shocked to see that it had only been half an hour since Damian had left her alone.
Nina couldn’t stand another second in the room, deciding it was high time for a break. She attempted to use the bathroom before leaving, but after encountering the piss-stained toilet seat, she decided her bladder could wait a little longer. She made a mental note to find a convenience store later that day and buy every possible cleaning product available.
Waving bye to Damian, Nina exited the townhouse and inhaled the invigorating San Francisco air. It was a bright day, and the gentle breeze fluttered through Nina’s curls. She tied her hair up and strolled down a row of townhouses, all shapes and sizes, pink and purple and magnolia, like enlarged figurines in a little girl’s doll house. She passed record shops, tattoo parlors, thrift stores, psychedelic murals, and anti-I.C.E. posters. She continued down a couple of blocks to a nearby stop for the N Judah line, grabbing a steaming cup of hot chocolate along the way. She waited at the curb, closing her eyes, embracing the warmth of the cup in her hand, unraveling at the touch of the sun’s rays. She loosened her scarf and unbuttoned her peacoat, relishing the graceful motion of her clothes waltzing with the wind.
The Muni train—a modern version of a cable car—rolled in front of her, and she stepped on. She paid the Muni fee with her credit card but noticed that the other passengers were bypassing the machine, as if it were a donation box rather than a fee collector. Once settled on a seat by the window, she pulled out her pocket journal, flipping to a scribbled list of San Francisco restaurants she’d seen online and had wanted to try.
The move to San Francisco was recent (she’d driven her U-Haul up from Los Angeles that morning itself), but she had been dreaming of living in this city for quite some time, filling her room with posters of Golden Gate Bridge and watching Full House until she could recite the dialogue by heart. Pinpointing when her obsession with this city began was impossible. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she hadn’t fantasized about moving here. Nina still fondly thought of her early visits as a child, recollecting the snippets and shards of walking along an oceanside trail, browsing dusty piles in a used bookstore, smelling fragrant pastries while passing a rustic, locally owned café. She had always been enamored by the charm and natural beauty of the city. Beauty that arose from the jagged cypress trees, the miles of secluded parks and colorful Victorian townhouses, the unintended glimpses of the ocean on steep hills.
And the city’s light. Oh, the light! The way sunshine struck San Francisco, how it lovingly conversed with faces and buildings. Like a blonde roast on a Saturday morning, or an acoustic guitar humming slow jams. Delicate, romantic—comparable to a playful kiss on the neck. Los Angeles’s light, on the other hand, was harsh and percussive, a rough fuck on a Friday night. Satisfying at times, oppressive at others.
Nina had tried explaining this opinion to Vishal when she’d been debating between UCSF and UCLA for medical school. He’d laughed at her, asserting that she was “pulling shit out of her ass” to get him to move. His dismissiveness had been tangled in a much larger fight: he’d said that she was making matters more complicated than they needed to be, especially since she’d been admitted to a school in a city where they were already settled, where their parents and close-knit group of family friends resided. Ultimately, she had listened and chosen UCLA. A repeat of undergrad, when she’d chosen USC over UC Berkeley so that she could attend the same college as Vishal.
Irony, of course, had reared its head in the end. From her vigilant online stalking, Nina had discovered that Vishal had taken up a new job and moved to Chicago the previous month. An almost comical ending to their story. Such is life.
The Muni slid underground, rocking and thrusting through narrow tunnels. Nina planned to get off at Powell Station and walk to a restaurant in North Beach’s Little Italy. Afterward, she would grab a drink at an upscale cocktail bar and then stroll to the Embarcadero—possibly even the Ferry building—if the sun hadn’t yet set.
A bus ride later, Nina was sitting at a corner table in the back of a cozy, family-owned restaurant. Italian singers crooned over the speakers as she dipped fresh Ciabatta in olive oil. She was seated at that odd time between lunch and dinner when only a few stragglers were dining. She hadn’t brought an activity with her, so she pulled out her pocket book and flipped to the very end, the only remaining blank page. She began this entry the same way she had all the others: addressed to Vishal.
V––
Walked around North Beach today. Thinking about our trip here when we were kids. Remember how you threw up on me after eating that horrible Chinese food? Don’t say you’ve forgotten. I definitely haven’t. I had to continue walking around the city with vomit on my sweatshirt. Think I told my parents we had to stop being family friends after that. Who knew that years later we would be visiting this city again to scope out potential wedding venues.
I wonder how there could have been a point in my life when I didn’t love you. Loving you was second nature. As easy as waking up and brushing my teeth. My day couldn’t begin until I received your good morning text. You were so good at sending those to me up until the last couple months. I don’t think I ever told you how happy they made me. I just assumed you knew.
But during our trip as adults, the one where we walked around for five hours and you gave me that life-changing foot massage when we returned to the hotel, you said that San Francisco was the most cuffed-up city you’d ever been to. I didn’t think too much about it at the time. I had you, so other couples were irrelevant. Guess it’s those goggles that come in a relationship. You notice only what you want.
All I could see today was others in love. Guys kissing their girlfriends’ foreheads. Carrying their purses. Holding hands.
I wanted you there. Screw the breakup. I wanted your hand in mine. Your lips whispering those stupid nicknames you made up for me. I wanted to gossip about the other couples. Walk through stores with you. Shop for you. Shop for your mom. Eat dinner with you across the table, feel your hand on my thigh under the cloth . . ..
I’m eating alone now. I purposely chose a time when no one else would be here. I’m too embarrassed to dine without you. I swear everyone knows you broke my heart. Which you did. You broke my heart, long before you ended it. V, I need you to acknowledge that just once. Just admit that I wasn’t enough for you—
“No way! Nina?”
Nina’s hand froze. No. This was not happening. Not while she was hiding out in a corner of an unassuming restaurant, in the middle of the afternoon, in a city three-hundred miles away from where she’d grown up. Fate really was a cunt.
Nina looked up from her pocket book, and sure enough, Manasi and—to add on to the already unpleasant surprise—Kritika were walking over to her table. Manasi was excitedly marching over, but Kritika was reluctantly following behind, avoiding eye contact with Nina. Both were completely dolled up, with press-on eyelashes and professionally curled hair, wearing long navy blue dresses. Nina’s mind raced, trying to recall if any important family-friend events were taking place in San Francisco at this time. Kamala’s baby shower should have already happened. Nalini and Dhruv’s wedding was the following year. Had it really been that long since she’d lost contact with them? Were there already events taking place that she didn’t know about?
“Eating all alone?” asked Manasi, her head cocked to the side, overexaggerated sympathy dripping out of every syllable. Nina surmised that Manasi, who—for as long as Nina had known her—had never been in a relationship and was perpetually jealous of those who had been, was delighted at having found Nina on her own.
“Hey,” said Nina, chuckling awkwardly. “Just exploring my new city.”
“I heard from Swathi Aunty you were moving up here! How’s it been?”
“First day.”
Manasi laughed, a throaty, attention-seeking cackle that Nina had always hated. “How funny! What are the chances we run into you today of all days?”
“Wondering the same thing.”
Manasi plopped herself on the seat opposite Nina. Kritika was hanging back, rocking on her heels, looking like she would rather be anywhere else. Nina was glad to know she made Kritika uncomfortable. Served her right for ghosting Nina after the breakup.
Manasi reached over and grabbed a slice of Ciabatta, messily dipping it in the tray of oil. “God, we’re so hungry,” she said, chewing on a mouthful of bread. “Been running around all day and the engagement is taking place in less than an hour. We just had to grab something.”
“Engagement?” repeated Nina.
Manasi stopped chewing, staring at Nina incredulously. “Oh my God! You don’t know!” Manasi glanced back at Kritika. “Kriti, that’s crazy, right? Doesn’t it feel like Tanuj and Anya have been together forever? But, yeah, I guess it’s only been a few months.”
Nina’s heart lurched. Tanuj? Engaged?
Manasi continued, “Oh, it all moved very fast. He started seeing this girl, Anya—she’s a friend of a friend. It was going really well, but then he got a new job up here in San Mateo. They didn’t wanna do long distance without commitment, so he just said, ‘fuck it,’ and proposed. He’s always been spontaneous, hasn’t he? And I think Anya’s moving up to the Bay pretty soon. You might see them around. Didn’t Swathi Aunty tell you any of this?”
“Mom and I aren’t really on speaking terms. As I’m sure you know.”
Manasi reached over and held Nina’s hand. Nina wanted to fling that grubby, oily hand off but simply grimaced. She hoped that if she played it cool, Manasi would lose interest and leave her alone.
“Hang in there, sweetie. If it helps . . . hmm, maybe I shouldn’t.” Manasi looked back at Kritika, whispering, “Should I tell her?”
Kritika’s eyes were fixed on the floor. “Let’s get going. We’re going to be late.”
Manasi smirked. “Oh my God, relax, bitch. I wasn’t going to tell her that.” Back to Nina, Manasi said, “Hon, your parents are here.”
“W-what?” mumbled Nina, dazed.
“They’re here for the engagement party.”
“But they didn’t text me.”
“Maybe they thought you would be busy with the move.”
“I would have made time.”
Manasi rubbed Nina’s hand. “Nina, sweetie, you have to understand their side. You made mistakes that impacted their closest friendships. Vishal’s parents literally just started talking to them again. Plus, you dropped out of med school without even consulting them. Listen, I’m not judging you. But you have to accept that you’ve made some shitty choices—”
“Manasi,” said Kritika sharply. “Stop.”
“I’m trying to help her see both sides.”
“You’re not. You’re just being mean.”
Manasi inhaled sharply. “Kriti!”
“Let’s go. We’re going to be late.”
Manasi seemed ready to fire back. After a moment, she decided otherwise and stood up. “At least let me order some takeout.”
“Fine. But we’re heading out after.”
Manasi thinly smiled at Nina. “Good seeing you, hon.” She brushed past Kritika and muttered, “You two sure have a lot to catch up on.”
Once Manasi was out of earshot, Nina said, “She hasn’t changed.”
“Not in the slightest,” replied Kritika.
They smiled at each other.
“How are you?” asked Kritika softly.
“Been better.”
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Um, if you’d like.”
“Is Vishal . . . ?”
“He’s here.”
“Really?”
“He and Tanuj patched things up. He’s actually going to be a groomsman.”
Nina laughed. “And here I am, eating alone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. As Manasi said, I made some shitty choices.”
“Still . . . I don’t know what I would have done if my boyfriend of twelve years asked to be open.”
“Doubt you would have revenge-fucked his best friend.”
“Yeah, probably not.”
Kritika turned away, then paused. She clenched her fists and faced Nina. “I should tell you something . . . I moved to Chicago.”
“Congrats?”
“Vishal and I . . .”
Nina’s voice caught in her throat. “O-oh.”
“I swear it was unexpected. He just opened up to me a lot after the breakup. And one thing led to the next. I never thought, and I promise, I never had these feelings when you two . . . I mean, you were such a close friend. We grew up like sisters.”
“You don’t need to explain. Vishal and I are broken up. And you and I don’t talk anymore.”
“I guess, but . . .”
“Yeah?”
“I . . . I don’t know what I was going to say. What are you thinking?”
“That this has to be the most incestuous friend group ever. Like we really don’t know how to date outside of each other.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what exactly?”
“Um . . . how things turned out.”
“I’m surprised you agreed to be open. You don’t seem the type.”
“Actually,” said Kritika, her voice barely audible, “Vishal and I are exclusive.”
Nina smiled. “Gotcha.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“Okay.”
“Well, I wish you two the best.”
Kritika nodded. “And you . . . I hope . . . take care of yourself, Nina.” She turned away from Nina’s table and walked over to Manasi, who was waiting for her food.
Nina tried to ignore them and focus on the spaghetti she’d ordered. But her meal was flavorless, ruined by the news Kritika had shared with her. The excitement of being in San Francisco, of being able to call her dream city home, was fading away, replaced by the fatigue from the drive, as well as her repulsion with her new living conditions. She fought back tears, aware that Manasi and Kritika were only a few feet away and probably stealing glances at her. She couldn’t compose herself enough to stand up and walk out.
Nina was reminded of how she’d felt after Vishal had stormed out of their apartment. She had been glued to her bed, unable to lift herself up to even brush her teeth. After a month of spending most days in the apartment—and of missing every class and exam possible—she left UCLA, seeing no point in grinding for a future that Vishal wouldn’t be involved in. Besides, she had only been pursuing medicine because she’d wanted a career Vishal—and her parents—could be proud of.
She should have moved to San Francisco then and there. Or picked up another job. But she didn’t. She stayed in her room, running through her Brentwood lease for eight more months, praying for Vishal’s return. She only snapped back to reality when her landlord notified her that her lease was up and that she would have to move out in a week. It was clear by that point Vishal wasn’t coming back. Nina’s parents, who had openly called her a whore, refused to help out. Her friends had proven they didn’t give a shit, taking Vishal’s side immediately after the breakup without offering to hear her out once.
Yes, Nina had somehow pulled herself together to find a new place. She’d made the decision to move to San Francisco and start fresh. But she didn’t have a job here. She didn’t have any idea what she wanted to do with her life, now that medical school was off the table. She had no friends in this city who would come to her aid when unhappy thoughts weighed her down. Oh God, what had she done to herself? How had her life so cunningly escaped from her control?
Nina was jolted out of her thoughts, noticing that Kritika and Manasi were heading out. Against her better judgement, Nina quickly stood up and paid in cash, without waiting for change. She followed the two women from a distance, hiding behind pedestrians and delaying turns around empty corners.
Eventually, Kritika and Manasi slowed their pace outside of a hotel. Nina remained on the opposite side of the street, concealed by a large decorative plant that graced the entrance of a restaurant. A mob of familiar faces, dressed in tuxes and saris and fancy dresses, stood on the sidewalk, organizing themselves for a group photo. Nina recognized Tanuj and Dhruv and Kamala and Nalini. And she saw her parents, smiling and chatting with other guests. Nina’s dad let out his signature bellowing laugh—oh, how Nina had missed that laugh, remembering how, when she was a child, she would eagerly wait for him to return from work, just so she could feel the house shake with joy.
And then there was Vishal. Hair slicked back, stroking his groomed beard (Nina had always told him he looked better with facial hair), wearing a fitted blue suit. His other arm was thrown around Tanuj, the man he had sworn he would kill not even a year back. Vishal caught sight of Manasi and Kritika and waved them over. Manasi took her place at the edge of the group, next to the other single women. But Kritika weaved her way toward Vishal, burrowing herself in his arms. He kissed her on the forehead. Whispered something in her ear. Something sweet enough to make her giggle and playfully slap his chest.
The photographer backed into the street, holding up his hand to pause traffic. “Say cheese in five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . .”
Nina didn’t stay any longer. She slipped out from behind the tall plant and walked away. The group might have seen her—they were facing her direction—but she didn’t care. She knew none of them would attempt to stop her.
Nina resolved to spend the rest of the afternoon as she’d planned. She walked along the Embarcadero, right by the bay. A moody navy blue sky, dim and silent, washed the hues of sunset away, spilling down to the twinkling lights across the Bay Bridge. A wicked wind whipped Nina’s hair and sent shivers down her spine.
Soon, the faint call of a saxophone lured Nina, and she followed the melody until she found a street musician, leaning against a railing over the water, silhouetted against the dark sky, swinging his body to the slow, sensual, somewhat melancholic tune. Others intermittently halted, pausing for a few seconds before continuing their walk. But Nina stayed put, swaying in place, marveling at the somber beauty, the sophisticated romance, of the instrument.
Nina decided that this enchanting saxophone player was what she would associate with her first day living in the city. She was determined to reclaim this day as a happy one. If she tried hard enough, concentrated on this moment and blocked out the rest, Nina was sure she could. Years later, when Nina was at a dinner party, recounting her abrupt move to a circle of close friends she had yet to meet, she would describe the magic of her first evening out on the Embarcadero. Tell them the saxophone’s call was the beacon of hope she needed to persevere, proof that a second shot at happiness was possible.
She hoped that would be the story she would tell.
When the song ended, Nina applauded and dropped a tip in the musician’s hat. He held a hand over his heart, then patiently eased into his next tune.
On the walk back to the Muni station, Nina ripped out her San Francisco bucket list, saving it in her jacket pocket, before tossing the rest of her pocket book—pages and pages of letters that would never be read—in the discarded rubble of a street trash can.
When she arrived back at the townhouse, Nina headed to the common bathroom, heaving bags of cleaning products she’d bought at the corner market. She opened the door and jumped back.
A man was already inside, gloves on his hands, mask on his face, scrubbing the toilet seat clean. The bathroom had undergone a significant transformation since Nina had seen it last. The grime and urine stains were nowhere in sight, and all of the toiletries were neatly stacked on the shelves. Nina wouldn’t go so far as to say the bathroom was sparkling clean, but it was pretty damn close.
The man spun around and straightened out. He slipped off his gloves, then removed his mask. He was tall and lean, handsome in a geeky way. His hair was braided into slim dreads, falling to the sides of his thin, rimless glasses.
“Sorry, just finishing up,” he said, his voice as deep as a chain-smoker, though much smoother.
“You beat me to it,” replied Nina, holding up her cleaning supplies.
“Shoot, did you see it already? I wanted to clean before you got here. Landlord told us you were coming today, but I thought you would arrive later.”
“I saw it and immediately left.”
The man sighed. “I have no clue how it gets so gross. I suspect Unit Five.”
“Is that the guy who doesn’t leave his room? Or the crazy lady?”
The man grinned, showing off crooked teeth, “I guess you talked to Taylor, then? Unit Five is the crazy one. Though, crazy is a strong word. I like to think she’s misunderstood.”
“Sweet of you.”
“I’m your neighbor across the hall,” he said, outstretching his hand then quickly retracting it. “I should probably wash that first.”
“Handshakes are so old-school anyway. I’m Nina.”
“Andre.”
“Nice to meet you. Glad to know I’m not the only one living here concerned with cleanliness.”
“I usually try to keep things in better condition, but I’ve been out in L.A. this week for a gig.”
“Gig?”
Andre blushed. “I’m a musician.”
“Yeah, Taylor mentioned that! I have to hear you play sometime.”
“You will, trust me. More than you’ll want to. If my music’s ever too annoying, just knock on my door, and I’ll stop.”
“I mean, if you’re good enough to get gigs in L.A. . . .”
Andre laughed. “Judge after you hear it. Anyway . . . let me get out of your hair.”
He squeezed past Nina through the tight doorframe. Nina could smell hints of peppermint gum on his breath.
Nina shut the door and inspected the toilet. Andre had done a much better job cleaning than she would have, even bringing back some of the white to the chipped, decaying ceramic bowl. Realizing that she had not used the restroom since the Italian restaurant, Nina undid her pants and sat on the toilet.
Her body took its sweet time warming up to the unfamiliar feel of the seat. After five or so minutes, Nina’s bladder finally started to unload, releasing the two glasses of wine she’d had at the restaurant, foregoing the day’s pain, its pinching resentment.
She traced the wall’s grooves and splintered cracks. Most marks were intentional—etched, scratched, maybe even knifed in—with messages that ranged from band names like the Grateful Dead to phrases like “love, sex, and rock and roll.” A few of them declared angrier sentiments such as “fuck war” and “death to capitalism.” There were images too: a heart, a skull, a cluster of mushrooms, an outline of a naked woman’s body, a peace sign. A rebellious tapestry, a modern art piece of wear and tear, stitched together by this enduring wall.
A mischievous smile formed on Nina’s lips. Shit, if this place was going to be her home, Nina was as much a part of this tattooed residence as every turbulent inhabitant who’d rebuilt themselves under this roof. No point avoiding the inevitable departure from convention, the yearning for anarchy bubbling under her skin.
Down the rabbit hole, as they say.
edited by aaron lelito