The Discount Life ( back from hiatus)

The apartments I viewed brought forth a slew of words that started with horror and ended with abomination. There was mold growing on bathroom ceilings and kitchens the size of cubicles. And if I were honest with myself, which I was not going to do, I might have seen a mouse or two scurrying across the floor of more than one.


“Isn’t there anything more uptown you can show me?” I’d asked the realtor, lifting a piece of crumbling linoleum from the kitchen floor of apartment number five.

“Not in your price range,” he said, “Unless you want to consider the suburbs.” Nausea overcame me at the mere thought. I could no more live in the suburbs with perky perfect Dick and Jane than I could live at home again. I would have to settle for what I could afford. Which begged the question? If I were settling, and trust me, opting for a place with yellowing linoleum and bars on the windows is definitely a settle for me, did it mean I was discounting myself? But this is all I could afford on my own and living in the city. Is it a discount if you have no other choice? Either way, it was what it was. I was moving in to the almost ghetto but I was doing it on my own terms. I hoped that was good. Maybe this would be a good topic to bring up at the DLA.

I stood up from my crouched position of floor inspection and hit my head on the kitchen cabinet I’d left open.

“Shit”, I said raising a hand to the point of impact on my scalp.

“That looked like it hurt.” He moved closer, too close, to survey the damage for himself and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?” Pause.

His name was Peter Stone. He was a rather successful realtor in Philadelphia, especially given the economic slow down, and always had a pen in the lapel of his suit coat. He was almost tall, with thick blondish hair and a knowing smile that both encouraged and embarrassed me. I might have liked him if he wasn’t seeing me in such a state of degradation. As it stood, I wanted to be away from him as fast as possible.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Really, just a bump.” I stepped away from him and shut the cabinet door. He took two steps back and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, as if our exchange had made keeping his hands by his sides impossible. “I guess I’ll take this one,” I said. “It’s the best of the five.”

“The landlord is very nice. Accommodating,” he said. I wondered if someone had to describe me in such few words what they would say. She’s accommodating. She’s complex. She’s a wreck – have you seen her life lately? In shambles. The women at Judy’s next party would enjoy this very much.

“Well, that will come in handy,” I said, moving toward the windows. “If bars on the windows is an indication of what I’ve gotten myself into, I might be calling him in the middle of the night – hi can you come check this noise? I’m scared,” I laughed a quiet laugh and he responded in turn.

“The neighborhood is not that bad. I promise. I wouldn’t have brought you to a place that I thought would endanger you. But you’ll be okay. And if you ever needed anything, you could always call me,” he stopped and followed up quickly with, “or any of the realtors at my office. We like to maintain our relationships with clients. We’d be happy to help.” He was rubbing the back of his neck again.

“Thanks. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I saw a young girl come out of the apartment two doors down. She looked like she could break in half in a wind storm. If she can handle it so I can I.” We both smiled and he looked down. I thought I might have seen pity wash over his face. I moved toward the front door. “Besides,” I sighed, perhaps a bit too audibly for our comfort, “this is only temporary. It won’t always be like this.” He followed up behind me and opened the door.

“Look at it this way,” he said standing back to let me through first, “you can sign a six month lease and see where you are when the gray days have passed.” He smiled sympathetically as I walked through the door. He must see this a lot. The broken wanderers searching for a new cave to cocoon in. The hope of emerging anew when the time was right. I had to wonder apprehensively, how many of us never did? Well, anyway. One. Must. Maintain. Cheer.

“Well it can’t take long,” I said. “What is it they say? It’s always sunny in Philadelphia?”

He laughed and said,” You know? You’re gonna be alright.” Together we walked back to the car.



At Mel’s I departed the good news. She poured me her notoriously large cup of tea and we cozied up on the couch, folding our legs under us like school girls about to discuss our new crushes. I wished it were that simple.

“Are you feeling good about it?”

“As good as can be. I have to find a place and this is the best of the lot. It’ll take some getting used to but I’ll learn to enjoy it.”

“When can you move?”

“Anytime. Tomorrow if I want to.” Mel looked sad at this. It touched me to know that she would miss having me here.

“You’re going to leave me and make me live with a boy. Forever!”

“Are you nervous about forever?” She paused and looked up at the ceiling as if the words she was looking for would be written there.

“I’m not nervous about forever but I am nervous about the unknown. Who we are today may not be who we are six years from now,” she motioned at me with an open faced palm when she said this. The implication, however benign and well intentioned, stung just a little. “But I don’t question our love.” She smiled. “We have something amazing.” She did. They did. My heart ached for it in equal amounts as it celebrated for Mel.

“Speaking of, any wedding plans yet?” I asked.

“As a matter of fact. Yes. I’ve scheduled some places to go look at next week. Want to come with me?”

“Of course. If I can. I’ll be moving and stuff but I’d love to.”

“Right. I guess you’ll have to get your stuff from Stanley’s?” I nodded yes. I hadn’t been back to the townhouse since I’d left in early November. “Are you nervous?” I nodded yes again. “Well just go when he’s not there,” she said. I nodded a third time but in my heart I knew I couldn’t do that to him. I’d made a life with him. Even if it hadn’t worked out, he deserved better than to have me whisk away as if nothing had ever been. To do that would be like negating six years of my life too. And if living the DL had taught me anything it was that you are who you are because of the life you’ve lived; you have to own it if you ever want to be truthful with yourself. I would have to see Stanley at some point and own it. For the both of us. “I could go with you?” she offered.

I shrugged. “We’ll see, “ I said, and as I finished Jack walked through the front door. He was clammy and dirty from the gym. He greeted us both, then leaned down over the couch and kissed Mel. They talked briefly and watching their exchange sent a pang through my chest. It was beautiful the way they loved each other with such simplicity. They did have something special and I was infringing on it. Not for too much longer, I reminded myself. Learn to accept help when the hand is offered. Then get back on your own two feet.

“I’m gonna go for a run,” I announced, jumping up from the couch and breaking their spell.

“Chloe, its like 34 degrees out there,” Jack said. “December has definitely arrived.” He looked at Mel and smiled.

“I’ll bundle up, “ I said and headed for my room.


It felt warmer than 34 degrees but then again I was running. The cold air initially pierced my lungs but now it simply felt like a cool breeze on my warm face. I wound through the city streets and already I was feeling better. Relief. Contentment. Wholeness.

This is what running had become. Not something to keep me skinny. Not something to brag about to couch potatoes. Something like therapy. A source from which to draw strength. A challenge that tortured me into action until meeting a goal wasn’t torture anymore but merely a given. Until the pain felt like a manageable emotion and the problems had worked themselves out in my head. I can run three miles. And if I can do three than I can do five. And if I can do five then eventually I can do 26. It’s a given. And in the mean time I would keep my sanity.

I ran and ran and ran and before I knew it I was standing at the door of Christian’s complex. I hadn’t heard from him since our Thursday night sleep over and I stopped, out of breath, and thought about whether or not to turn around and go home. I weighed it out – this could go well or badly. But things had already gone pretty badly for me. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary or something I couldn’t deal with. On the other hand, if it went well, I would be elated. So I rang the buzzer. He answered, “Yeah”. Confident to a fault.

“It’s Chloe.” I said it almost like a question. Like I was looking to him for confirmation.

“Chloe?” He responded likewise with a question. I began to panic. This was a bad idea. “Who’s Chloe?” Now I could hear sarcasm. Play.

“She’s the girl who ran seven miles to see you. Longest distance yet, I might add.”

“Is she tired? Cause if she comes up it will require that she has some energy left for me.”

“For you? She can muster some.”

“Good.” He buzzed the door open and I went in and climbed the stairs to the second floor. I knocked and stood there jittery and excited. He opened the door in loose jeans and no shirt. His hair was wild as if he’d just gotten out of bed at 3:30 in the afternoon.

“I was thinking about you this morning. I’m glad you came by.” I almost said you should have called, but stopped myself and smiled. He reached for me and kissed my lips softly. Then all I could think was what I was feeling. This is almost perfect. Almost real. With him there was this perpetual feeling of almost that nagged at me. He stroked my back and asked, “You want some coffee first?”

“Please. And water. I’m thirsty.”

“I’ll get us some. I could use a burst of energy myself.” As he walked away he brushed his hands up the back of his neck – like Peter the realtor. Was he nervous? No, Christian was never nervous. But when the realtor made the gesture it seemed endearing: something to do in place of awkwardness. From Christian it felt – intentional. Like a cover. I let the thought pass when he came back with a blue mug of coffee and a glass of water for me. He said, “tell me about your run” and we settled onto his couch.

I told him about how good it felt. About how it released the anxiety over packing and moving and starting over. I thought about censoring images to make it shorting or more interesting but somehow, with Christian, it wasn’t necessary. I could tell him anything – boring or interesting and he was always ready to absorb it. In the moment. I told him about the little girls and their mother in the park and how they waved at me like I was someone they looked up to even though they’d never met me. About the giant hill I covered a mile before his apartment. I’d had to walk it toward the top. I could barely move after, it was so tough.

He set down his coffee cup and began to inch up on me. “Are you leg muscles tired?” He grinned. I set down my coffee cup too.

“A little.”

He kissed my calf and said, “Is this muscle tired?” It tickled and I laughed. “Is this muscle tired?” He kissed the sides of my knees. “How about this one?” My thigh.

“I don’t think any of them are that tired. I just had this great cup of coffee. “ And then he moved in for the kill. As he kissed me, I wondered, only briefly, about the atypically faint smell of vanilla coming off his skin, before letting my brain shut off to enjoy the moment.