435 West Park Avenue

West Park Avenue was supposed to be about that next step. You know the feeling of that step. It's the one that's supposed to be the natural reaction to the events thus far in your life. The step that is supposed to be a positive progression to the next step after that, though unknown. Which, is fine, because you finally made it to this point in your life that you wanted, that seemed right, that warranted genuine excitement and the absolute adornment of life itself. Love, love, love -- love love love (yes, that is a Heartbreak Kid reference). High hopes, solid expectations, full, unconditional trust of someone else, and most importantly, of yourself. Then, things fall, unexpectedly, to shit.

We loved each other, of course it made sense to move into a decrepitly charming house right off sorority row: 435 West Park Avenue. Front porch, virtually no inside insulation or ventilation, hammock, car port, half-sized fridge, mold. The mold. What a foreboding foreshadow of what was to come.  I've scrubbed that mold infested ceiling countless times. I risked becoming blind, the ammonia soaked skin, the breathing of poison and unnatural fumes. But it always came back. It never really went away.

Looking back, we could have always done more. Always. But we never do, do we? Because deep inside our thoughts is the truth. The truth is that I knew I could never really scrub it away. I knew it would always come back because we kept up the same habits, and did nothing to prevent it. Instead, we just kept the door closed, the window locked and payed no attention to the lack of a ventilation fan. The steam was the only thing that kept us warm during the winter. What more could I have done with that mold? So much more I assume, whatever "more" really means. I finally quit trying, and now it looms over me during ever shower and routine powdering of the nose. I'm bitter at that mold.

A relationship obviously takes more than love and trust. It takes a monstrous amount of effort.. Effort in all realms. In ours -- too personal to name here. I think we gave it our all. I think that's all that matters. But, again, "more" could have always been done, and sometimes lovers resent the other for being forced to do such a thing.

--------

435 West Park Avenue served her part. She did all that she could do. She couldn't do anything more, because she's a house. But we could have. We had the ability to stop the mold from forming, but we didn't do anything about, did we? Like it was something out of our control, some blackness that left us helpless, and even left us severely empty of compassion.So it goes (yes, that is a Slaughterhouse Five reference).