THE NARRATIVE ARC
Move With Me Baby…but Where Are We Going?
Marriage is one long relocation of furniture and feelings
1973
“Push. Don’t stop.”
“Yes, there, right there.”
I cover him with kisses.
Noisy, sloppy kisses.
“No more, Martha. I’ve got work.”
“But it’s our anniversary. Two weeks.”
“Are you going to keep counting?”
“Yeah,” I kick the covers off, “I’ll stop counting once we know where we’re going.”
The apartment is littered with unpacked boxes. They are all marked “Fragile.” Everything is fragile. Wedding gifts, beautiful, expensive, but utterly unappreciated by 21-year-olds who felt ready to learn about what it takes to step up into adulthood.
Our studio apartment let in so little light that new growths of mold flirted with every corner. Looking back, I would characterize our style as “bifurcation decoration,” encompassing two distinctly different design approaches. Silver everything, and a collection of furniture that was lower than “shabby chic.”
We claimed a daybed/couch that we covered with wildly hallucinogenic fabric that we thought was pretty…
