Up-and-Coming
Tonight I went with my friend Laura into DC to visit our friend Katie (I've known both girls for twelve years) at her apartment where she is living with her boyfriend, for no other reason than the fact that I didn't really want to sit at home. I grabbed my knit cap, my keys and slumped into the passenger seat of Laura's Mercedes convertible as she drove us down to New York Avenue and 5th street - an area where, a couple years ago, I worked on a show and was terrified to walk to my car every night because the neighborhood was so bad. Washington, however, like most other things in my life has changed quite greatly in the last five years.
Up-and-coming is what this part of town is now called. Katie lives in an amazing townhouse with an amazing boyfriend, has a great job, plants she cares for, and a kitchen in which she cooks. I couldn't help, sitting on the couch next to her, but be so happy that she has found the life she's wanted since I've known her.
I find that there are a few people who are a part of my day-to-day life, then there are those who come in and out every few months or so, but always somehow feel like home. "I was really glad to hear you were coming back, Alli," Katie said to me. I thought back to how few people ever told me they were sad I was leaving LA, or that they didn't want me to go. But here in Washington, where some things have changed so much - like that one corner off New York Avenue - some things haven't changed at all.
"I'm really happy to be here too," I said and smiled back at her.
"My friends Robyn and Marcie are happy you're here too," Katie continued.
"But I only met them once."
"I know, but... they really liked you. I mean.. they're new here and Robyn is from San Francisco and... you know..."
I looked over at Laura sitting next to Katie's boyfriend, laughing. I listened to every word Katie said to me as we caught up. On the drive home I tilted my head so I could look out the window at the buildings we drove past, the detailing, stoops, iron work, buildings covered with the detail and character that can only be found on east coast buildings that have aged beautifully in the years since they were built.
We pulled up Connectcut Avenue, heading north, and I glanced into the window of one of my favorite bookstores, music stores, places to have lunch. I thought about the lunches I had there when I was fourteen, nineteen, last Thursday. As we pulled to a stop light a cab pulled up next to Laura and I. She had insisted on playing Oasis in the car - totally old school.
The guy in the cab next to us rolled down his window. I glanced over at him.
"You ladies going to Adams Morgan?" he asked.
"No," I said.
"Oh." He paused. I scratched my forehead underneath my knit hat. I felt Laura looking over at him too. "You Scandanavian?" He asked. "You look Scandanavian."
"Nope," I said.
"Where are you from?"
I paused. "Right here."
"DC?"
"Mmm hmm, just up the road here."
"Wow," he said, and paused. "Why are you so fucking beautiful?"
The light turned green and Laura turned to look back to the road.
"Because," Laura muttered, "that's how we make 'em here," and we drove forward, took that last turn out of Dupont Circle and up over the bridge that crosses Washington's national park, the one that precedes the painting of Marilyn on the side of the building and stretches into the final miles of DC - a stretch of road lined with all kinds of restaurants, the road dotted with white and yellow lines before ending in the circle that leads you into Maryland and back to Washington if you keep going around, right back to where you started.
Up-and-coming is what this part of town is now called. Katie lives in an amazing townhouse with an amazing boyfriend, has a great job, plants she cares for, and a kitchen in which she cooks. I couldn't help, sitting on the couch next to her, but be so happy that she has found the life she's wanted since I've known her.
I find that there are a few people who are a part of my day-to-day life, then there are those who come in and out every few months or so, but always somehow feel like home. "I was really glad to hear you were coming back, Alli," Katie said to me. I thought back to how few people ever told me they were sad I was leaving LA, or that they didn't want me to go. But here in Washington, where some things have changed so much - like that one corner off New York Avenue - some things haven't changed at all.
"I'm really happy to be here too," I said and smiled back at her.
"My friends Robyn and Marcie are happy you're here too," Katie continued.
"But I only met them once."
"I know, but... they really liked you. I mean.. they're new here and Robyn is from San Francisco and... you know..."
I looked over at Laura sitting next to Katie's boyfriend, laughing. I listened to every word Katie said to me as we caught up. On the drive home I tilted my head so I could look out the window at the buildings we drove past, the detailing, stoops, iron work, buildings covered with the detail and character that can only be found on east coast buildings that have aged beautifully in the years since they were built.
We pulled up Connectcut Avenue, heading north, and I glanced into the window of one of my favorite bookstores, music stores, places to have lunch. I thought about the lunches I had there when I was fourteen, nineteen, last Thursday. As we pulled to a stop light a cab pulled up next to Laura and I. She had insisted on playing Oasis in the car - totally old school.
The guy in the cab next to us rolled down his window. I glanced over at him.
"You ladies going to Adams Morgan?" he asked.
"No," I said.
"Oh." He paused. I scratched my forehead underneath my knit hat. I felt Laura looking over at him too. "You Scandanavian?" He asked. "You look Scandanavian."
"Nope," I said.
"Where are you from?"
I paused. "Right here."
"DC?"
"Mmm hmm, just up the road here."
"Wow," he said, and paused. "Why are you so fucking beautiful?"
The light turned green and Laura turned to look back to the road.
"Because," Laura muttered, "that's how we make 'em here," and we drove forward, took that last turn out of Dupont Circle and up over the bridge that crosses Washington's national park, the one that precedes the painting of Marilyn on the side of the building and stretches into the final miles of DC - a stretch of road lined with all kinds of restaurants, the road dotted with white and yellow lines before ending in the circle that leads you into Maryland and back to Washington if you keep going around, right back to where you started.
posted by AllDeTime at 12:43 AM
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