If a soul can occupy an apartment, my Grandma Helen dwells here now, then, forever. Her essence and being are in every table, every chair, every lamp, every bedspread, every closet, every cup, every plate, every utensil, every decoration.
Grandpa Jim is with the desks, most of the books, the bookshelves, the radio and the TV. I wonder what he would think of computers and tablets and 3D printing...
The black rotary phone, one of the last of its kind, sits on the far left side of Grandpa's desk, near the wall.
When people ask me why I continue to live in this apartment alone, I tell them, "I'm happiest here." Some of them shake their heads. A few understand. One of these is Eduardo.
A late-blooming dad, Eduardo has two children. His marriage, fundamentally solid, has survived a couple of affairs.
During the time when he wasn't seeing me, I texted him. "If you decided not to see me after you got married, why are you having an affair?"
I didn't expect him to answer. But he texted back: "How do you know I'm having an affair?"
I responded: "Your co-leader of The Bronx Walkers hangs her head when the photo is of both of you."
He answered: "How perspicacious of you, Emmy."
And that was all. Until we ran into each other ten years later on, of all trains, the Thru 5.
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