Way back in the dark ages before electricity, indoor plumbing, and television. Back when I was a young adult in the mid-1980’s … at least that’s how the LightChildren think of my early adulthood and childhood … snort. Anyway. Back in the day, my first apartment was a tiny studio in an old brownstone in the Mt. Pleasant neighborhood of Washington, DC. That’s a couple streets up behind the National Zoo off of Rock Creek Parkway for those of you who don’t know the DC neighborhoods. These days, Mt. Pleasant has been somewhat re-gentrified and somewhat claimed by the Hispanic wave of immigration. It’s still one of the more interesting neighborhoods in the District and fairly integrated.
The building I lived in was originally a brownstone rowhouse built sometime in the early 1900’s or late 1800’s and meant to be used as a single family domicile. It was part of a wave of development that hit the city during that time period after the Civil War and before WWI when times were good and people could afford fancy homes. In particular, they built those homes up the northwest side of the city starting with Embassy Row and heading towards what is now Chevy Chase Circle. When hard times came as they did in the 30’s and again in the 60’s with the riots, homes closer to the center of the city lost more value and were left for those who had less money. This was a common occurrence in cities across the country. During the 80’s and 90’s as wealth grew, it became common again to re-gentrify or rebuild these old neighborhoods. In other words, the white people brought their money back.
By the time I came along in early 1984 the building I would live in had been carved up into 6 apartments from its original single family rowhouse. There were 2 apartments on the top (or 3rd) floor, 2 on the middle (or 2nd) floor, 1 on the first floor and 1 in the basement. My apartment was on the second floor and looked out on the street. I had a bathroom, two enormous closets, a living area and a kitchen in which if I stretched out my arms I could touch the opposing walls on all sides. I had a tiny, antique refrigerator with an even tinier freezer than hung down into the refrigeration area and I had to defrost it once a month with my hair dryer. In order to create a counter top, I covered a 1 x 10 with some contact paper and put it on top of the radiator. It was a tiny kitchen, but just right for me. I was enormously proud of achieving that first apartment. I slept on two 3″ thick foam cot mattresses; sometimes I stacked them, other times I laid them side by side … on the floor. I had a table, two chairs, a rocking chair (which is still in my basement), a dresser (which LightGirl now has) and a desk. Everything was a hand-me-down. I purchased sheets to make curtains and a Garfield poster for the bathroom. I had a bicycle to ride to work each day. I took the bus to buy my groceries and to do my laundry.
There were 5 other apartments in our building and the people in them were as different as night and day. On the top floor was an apartment which seemed to have a revolving door and I never quite knew who was in it. The other apartment was inhabited by a slightly older man (in his 30’s) who rode an English motorcycle. He took me for a ride once and I was never sure if I was flirting with him or the idea of having a relationship with an older slightly dangerous man. The flirtation was fun, but it never went anywhere anyway. The basement had the largest apartment and it was occupied by a large Hispanic family who I worried about having enough space to sleep. There seemed to be many more people than there was enough space for beds, but they were always pleasant, kind, quiet and clean. The first floor had a slightly larger apartment than mine and it was occupied by a middle aged African-American couple who always seemed to have their eye on me … in a very good and inconspicuous way. I knew that if I was in trouble, they had my back. If I remember correctly, he was also the building superintendent and he did a good job of keeping things running smoothly.
I’d like to focus, though, on the family unit with which I shared the second floor. I didn’t know who they were for a long time. When I finally got to know them, it was quite a shock. But then I began to spend time with them on a regular basis … well … as regular as a young woman of 23 can manage. Living next door to me was a middle-aged (in her 50’s) African-American woman and her 7 year old son. I was particularly bothered by the fact that the lights were never on in that apartment. Never. The only light that ever escaped from under the door or that I could see when she opened the door, came from the cathode ray tube and it was on permanently. 24-7. An occasional ray of sunshine might sneak through the curtains which staunchly guarded the windows, but that and the television were the only available light.
As I got to know them, I began to spend time with the little boy. He was an absolute darling and I really enjoyed having him come to my place to hang out with me. He was fascinated by the fact that I did not have a television. I read books to him and we talked. Or he talked fairly non-stop and I listened. I’m not sure if I could ever have told you one word he said to me, but he had a lot of seven-year-old words to say. He was also fascinated by my coke-bottle-bottom glasses. Back in those days, I wore my contact lenses every waking moment, so he thought it great fun to prance around the house with my glasses on and be amazed by how funny the world looked to him. I know he went to school with some regularity and I remember seeing grocery bags filled with food that made me cringe. It made me cringe because the mom had very few teeth in her mouth and the food she chose was not helpful to her remaining teeth. I never quite knew what to do about that or if I should do anything. I was perplexed by the idea that a woman who was my mother’s age looked and acted older than both of my grandmothers and seemed to be less equipped to handle the world than I was.
As time went on, I discovered that the little boy had some older siblings. I can’t remember how many … maybe three? They were all around my age or a little younger; in their early 20’s. They lived in Maryland; Howard and PG County for the most part. All of them were independent and had jobs. I think at least one was engaged or married. There were girls and boys in some combination (2 of one and 1 of the other). Hey … it’s been almost 30 years and I did not know the siblings very well. As I got to know them, I became aware that it was a family fact that the little boy had been conceived out of necessity for the mom to remain on welfare. This information was not viewed in either a negative or a positive light, but merely as a fact of how their mom was getting through life. The older siblings seemed to have come to an understanding that they did not have any desire to receive public assistance or continue in that form of lifestyle. They were insistent that they would make it on their own. But they were not particularly embarrassed by their mom either. She did her thing and they did theirs.
Then one day I came home from work to find that the apartment next to mine had been emptied and the mom and little boy were gone.
The mom had died very suddenly in the night. To this day, I find that shocking and appalling. How does a 50-ish woman just die like that?? She had a 7 year old son to take care of. Not that she was doing a particularly good job of it, but he did love his mom and now she was gone. I know he went to live with one of his siblings. I always hoped that things worked out for all of them. That in her younger days, the mom had been able to give them enough starch to see that through. The little boy would be in his early 30’s by now. I’ve always hoped that those young people went on to have productive normal lives with problems which are dull and manageable (as a friend likes to say). That they managed to remain self-sufficient and healthy and to raise their little brother into that paradigm as well. I know the odds against them were long, but that’s what I hoped.
Part 1
Part 3
