Mickey - The View From Here PART TWO - Gallavich

West Side Story - Part One

After searching around for a while with my dirty laundry in my arms, one of our new neighbors pointed me in the right direction and I finally found the laundry room. I was the only person in there, yet all the machines were full, their loads ready to be transferred to a dryer. With a shrug, I grabbed a stranger's sopping wet clean clothes and plopped them on top of the machine next to me. Yeah, I know, asshole move. But the fucker should have been there to move the clothes himself in the first place.

Once I shoved my bundle of dirty clothes into the washing machine, I stripped down to my boxers and wife beater, tossing my pants and shirt in as well.

I found a pack of Tide pods and overturned the bag, pouring the contents inside. After I started up the machine, I opened one of the dryers to browse, finding a tropical print shirt that I knew Ian would love ripping off of me.

Back upstairs, I stashed my new shirt and changed into some clean clothes Ian had lying around. Frustratingly anxious, I kept checking my phone for any sign from the building about our furniture. I wanted to watch TV, settle in, relax. When the waiting became too much to bear, I headed downstairs to the building manager's office.

Letting myself into her office, I was face with the woman and dog I had encountered earlier that morning. Melanie and a diapered Miss Susannah. The sight of the dog caught me off guard again.

“Oh, shit,” I muttered, not pleased to be dealing with “whites-only” Melanie twice in one day. “You again.”

“Well, I am the on-site manager,” she retorted before forcing friendliness into her tone. “How can I help you?”

“Haven’t gotten our furniture yet,” I complained.

“Okay.”

“You know when it’s comin’?” I prodded.

She looked at me like I was speaking some lost language she couldn’t decipher. “I’m not exactly sure why I would know that. Where did you order it from?”

Furrowing my brow, I did my best to control the anxiety and the aggravation building in my chest. I couldn’t just snap on this bitch, no matter how much I wanted to, not if I wanted to keep my husband happy. “Order it? No. It’s the shit you guys had.”

“I want to help you, but I’m…I’m very confused,” she cautiously informed me, like she knew I was ready to throw a bitch-fit at any moment.

Still, for Ian, I kept my voice calm, my stance nonaggressive. “The furniture, like in the apartment on the tour you showed us--where's ours?”

“Oh!” she laughed in realization, then just at me. “I get it now. The apartments, they don’t come with furniture.”

“Wait, what?”

“They’re unfurnished.”

The grip I had on my emotions was quickly losing purchase. “Why the hell'd you show us one that had furniture, then?”

“Uh, that was a model,” she said, failing to hide the condescending nature of her response.

“Huh?”

“An example of how an apartment can look.”

What the fuck?

“Okay, hold on. So we don’t get any furniture,” I tried to clarify.

“No, I’m sorry,” she mock-pouted before giggling, “but that is very cute. I’ve never had anyone ask me that before."

Cute?!

“It’s not fucking cute, lady, you should have told us that shit before we signed the stupid-ass lease. You and your fuckin' weird-ass dog,” I ranted before taking my leave. Rounding the building, I tried to get as far from that office as I could as I cursed under my breath. “Don’t tell me I’m fuckin' cute for your fuckin' bullshit, lady.” Before me, I found some outdoor lounge chairs by the pool.

“Fuck it!” I declared. “You owe me some chairs.”

I tossed the towel on the lounger to the ground, toppling a side table and the drinks on top before I placed the table on top of the lounger.

“Excuse me?” a man in the pool called for my attention. “You can’t take those.”

I didn’t even turn to reply, grabbing a smaller chair to add to my haul, “like hell I can’t, bitch!”

“But they’re supposed to be for everyone,” the man pointed out, wading closer to me within the pool.

Still not bothering to glance his way, I rebutted, “well, guess they shouldn’t charge so much rent for an apartment that don’t have no fuckin' furniture!”

From the pool came another voice. My husband's voice. “You gotta put the chair back, Mickey.”

I stopped, glaring over my shoulder. While I was drowning in anxiety, rage, and discomfort, this motherfucker was relaxing with this man and his wife in the pool.

The control I’d had over my emotions, however temporary, was now non-existent. Unravelling, I shouted at Ian. “What the hell are you doin' in the pool?”

Ignoring me, he introduced me to his new friends Jill and Alan.

“I don’t give a shit if it’s Siegfried and Roy!” I roared as Ian silently put his hands together, begging me to not make a bigger scene. I didn’t care. “I’m out here gettin' harassed left and right from everybody in this dump, and you’re in the pool playin' fuckin' footsie with these two!”

Quickly wading over to the steps, Ian reassured his new friends before he got out and tried to reason with me while I built my tower of furniture to take to the apartment. “Hey, you can’t take the chairs. We’re gonna get fined or evicted.” He hurried over and tried to wrestle a chair from my grasp.

“You know, I don’t give a shit!”

Ian ripped the chair away from me, and in that moment I felt something give way. I couldn’t force this. I didn’t belong here. Quite honestly, my insecurity was too intense and I didn’t have the strength. We hadn’t lived here a full day yet and already, this place was wearing me down while simultaneously breathing new life into Ian. Why did this horrible place make him so happy? How long could I stand it all before completely folding and heading back to South Side for good?

Overwhelmed by everything fluttering around in my head and the feel of my flesh crawling, I decided I couldn’t continue. I wanted to go home. And Ian didn’t care. “You know what?” I snarled at my husband. “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, just like everybody else in the fuckin' West Side!” I grabbed a chair. “This place blows!” I threw the chair into the pool. “I'm out of here!”