I cam back later to do a final cleaning. The old wood floor had long been hidden by a lovely "Persian" rug that nearly covered every inch of the floor. Its deep maroon with yellow trimmings warmed the apartment like a blanket. But now with the rug packed away in the car, it was just me and the floor. I scrubbed it in one long awkward silence. We tried to avoid eye-contact, me and the floor. Neither wanting to acknowledge the fact that this would be the first and last deep-clean attention it would ever get from me. I don't know if feeling intensely strong emotions toward inanimate objects is common but I felt a strong sense of regret for neglecting that floor
Through my guilt I noticed how worn and warped the floor actually was. Its color was closer to camouflage than uniform and the entirety of the main room bowed down so that round objects gathered at the center. It had been well abused through the years. Enough so that it had definitively earned the requisite wear and tear to earn 'pre-war brownstone' status. And now, despite how much I scrubbed, I didn't have enough time to make amends with the neglected floor.
By the same toke, no matter how much I had tried over those two years, I couldn't make my beloved rug sit flat on a concave floor. And yet, I loved that rug (as much as any adult male can love a rug I guess. It made the apartment a home. That loved developed over the past two years of living alone. I abused that floor and rug. I had worn down a select stretch in my uptight pacing back and forth during stressful phone calls. Another spot, the corner near the front door was reserved for sold single blows. These came either from jumping up and down in excitement for the weekend or angry blows like Charlton Heston on the beach in Planet of the Apes when my boss gave me work to do at 11:00pm on a Sunday. And the spot near the window. It was a perch to sit and watch 37th Street. My relationship with that rug and floor was complex as are the memories of those two years living there.
So how should I look back on that period of life? As it was? As I wished it had been? Or some other way? For Episode 8, we have two songs in two parts, both focused on memory.
The first song is 'Old Apartment' by Bare Naked Ladies. Released as a single in April of 1997, this song comes from the wonderfully named LP, 'Born on a Pirate Ship'. And if you want to understand just how fundamental this band is, please follow this link.
Aptly named song eh? Couldn't have planned that any better. Then again, I would have preferred to save my luck as to run into Jerry Seinfeld instead of his slightly shorter Doppelgänger on the E train last week.
So instead of me breaking down line by line, just read along as you listen and see what you think. Just be sure to not miss the two bolded lines. Catch up with you in a sec.
Broke into the old apartment
This is where we used to live
Broken Glass
Broke and hungry
Broken hearts and broken bones
This is where we used to live
Why did you paint the walls?
Why did you clean the floors?
Why did you plaster over
the hole I punched in the door?
This is where we used to live
Why did you keep the mousetrap?
Why did you keep the dish rack?
These things used to be mine
I guess they still are. I want them back.
Broke into the old apartment.
42 steps from the street
Crooked landing
Crooked landlord
Narrow laneway filled with crooks
This is where we used to live
Why did they pave the lawn?
Why did they change the lock?
Why did I have to break in?
I only came here to talk
This is where we used to live
How is the neighbor downstairs?
How is her temper this year?
I turned up your TV
And stomped on the floor just for fun
I know we don't live here anymore
We bought and old house on the Danforth
She loves me and her body keeps me warm
I'm happy here
Broke into the old apartment
Tore the phone out of the wall
Only memories, fading memories
Blending into the tableau
I want them back
I want them back (This is where we used to live)
I want them back (This is where we used to live)
I want them back (This is where we used to live)
I want them back
So what did you think? Notice how the facts come from memory and questions from the present? It's a genius way to show how our memory forms our understanding of the world around us but when it is wrong it can disorient and confuse.
And for the longest time I thought his song was going over my head. How can he be happy if he wants the memories back? Breaking and entering into the past doesn't sound like someone who has moved on.
It doesn't because he hasn't. He wants the memories back for the same reason we all do: they belong to us. Be they bad, good, pathetic or strange, our experiences are our own. And like metaphorical bricks, we carry the memories around, hoping one day to be strong enough to construct a home from the collection.
But it takes time. Fortunately, time makes us stronger so pain becomes more palatable. By the grace of humor, memories that once made my skin crawl become just sweet enough to revisit. Peeing my pants in Kindergarten becomes funnier the longer I sit with my five year old self and laugh at how I convinced I was that no one had noticed. And as these memories age and ripen, we can feast on the comedy and lessons learned.
So what does Old Apartment mean to me? I think it means life can be beautiful because of its flaws. Just give it time.
And what does my old apartment mean to me? The floor was warped and damaged, but it still held me up.
Like the song? Here are a few others by BNL worth a listen: Falling for the first time, Pinch me, and If I had a million dollars.
Thanks for reading, good luck out there.
