The Cheap Apartment We Live In (pt.1)

We are a perfect match. You love me very much. I love you even more.

We live in a cheap apartment in the suburbs not faraway from Paris downtown. Its color is between brown and beige, but it has more yellow. I chose the place when we arrived there because I like the color. You even like it more because it has this golden shine when the setting sun hits the wall directly.

We do the same ritual in the morning. You wake up first and kiss me, then make two coffees for both of us. The smell of the coffees wakes me up. I get up and give you a good-morning kiss then put the strawberry jam on the breads. Sometimes it’s the peanut butter or just a slice of cheese in between the breads. We eat it and drink the coffee together while watching the morning news. We laugh on the silly gossip. You go to bath. We take turn, sometimes we bath together.

We already dress neatly with the office suits. I put beige cardigan outside my white shirts and have my black scarf on my neck. You have the black blazer suit and the beige scarf around your neck. Yes, we are a perfect match.

We take the elevator to the ground floor. We look at each other at the front door. I look at you on my right. You look at me on your left. We smile, we kiss. We luck each other then be apart. I go to the left. You go to the right. Our offices are on the different directions. Mine is a local newspaper office located near to the south while yours is an international law-firm on the north near the Eiffel. They’re not far away though.

I take my bicycle at the parking area on the garden beside the apartment. It’s old, classic, slim, and tall black bike that I love very much. I don’t drop you at the office; you ride on trams. We don’t have a lunch together. But it’s okay anyway, since we usually still busy with the works on the lunch hour.

I finish my work at four, and ride on my bike to your office. It almost takes twenty minutes to go there. You finish your work at five which means that I still have an hour to get to you. It doesn’t that tiresome riding that bicycle in Paris. The views are great, I can sight-seeing while riding, and it never bores me.

You wait for me at the usual bench in the park beneath the Eiffel. I park the bike and have hops on the pavements, trying not to step on the mat. You see me come, and smile happily.
Do I make you wait long, honey? I asked.
You answered, I don’t mind waiting forever for you.

The reply blushes me. We have a peck and a conversation or two while sitting on the bench beneath the Eiffel. I open the paper bag and take the sandwiches I bought for us. You love it. I love seeing your smiling eyes while eating it. And the pedestrians passing over have their eyes at us, some of them almost crying as if they see a romantic scene happens on the bench with the Eiffel on the background. Some envy on how we spend the time together with a smile on each other face.

When it’s almost dark, we go home walking. I walk alongside the bike, on the left, while you walk on its right. We grasp our pinkie together, my right and your left. You swing the grasp so it has the perfect rhythm with our walking.

We arrive on the apartment. I park the bike, you wait at the door. Then we steps on the entrance stairs and walked into the elevator. We’re home already.

What will we do in the night? You asked me.
Hmm… I don’t know, but let’s continue the story…

It’s seven already. I throw myself onto the sofa. You throw yourself onto me. I put the TV on with the remote. We watch our favorite soap opera. We laugh. We hug. We kiss. We just lay there on the sofa. You decide to take bath. Sometimes we bath together. But usually I wait for my turn and cleaning the mess first: our shoes, bags, papers, documents, put it on the right place.

After I took the shower, we’re back together again on the sofa, just sitting there still with our white bathrobe. Tonight you don’t do the take-home works. You just sit there with your masker on. You put the masker on my face too. Now we just like silly green aliens on their white robes who surprise the pizza-delivery guy when you open the door. I order it because you’re hungry again.

You eat quite lot but never get fat. I envy you somehow, I said.
I hear you chuckles, if you don’t want the pizza, I’ll eat it all.
Then I eat my slice, No, thanks, I’m hungry too.

After eating, you put the cucumber slices on your eyes. But I don’t; I want to watch the night news. You hear it too. We comment the news and laugh.

Hours later, we’re on the bedroom. It’s not that elegant, but still has the comfortable atmosphere. You’re lying on the bed. I walk to the corner and turn on the old gramophone I bought at the garage sale. The plates are the classic sixties-swing. Sometimes we dance together. Some other times, we just hear it while reading the novels or making love.

You stop reading and put the novel on the desk on your side of the bed. You turn off the reading lamp on the desk.
You kissed me, Do you want to sleep now? You asked.
I’ll have another chapter, dear. I’m still drowning in my reading, I don’t even turn around.

There’s a moment of upsetting on your face but you’re understand it already. I love reading and writing, that’s why I gave up the architect profession just to take the job I always wanted to have, works on local newspaper.

…I’ll have sleep first then. Goodnight dear, don’t stay up too long, you drive the upsetting thoughts from your mind.

I, get sober, stop reading. I look at your back. I place the page-marker on the page, close the book, and turn off my reading lamp. I put the book on the desk on my side of the bed and move towards your back,
Goodnight, dear.
I kiss your hair. You turn around and placed my hand underneath your neck so I can hug you.

We hug each other, and not long enough fall asleep at the same time as the city descends and rests its emotion into the shadow of the night.

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