They hustled down Union Turnpike, their backs to the cars speeding east. Crossing over Parsons Boulevard, they were spread the across headed towards campus, and headed straight into a stiff wind.
Buzzed off some wine jug swigs -- a red table wine, a gallon’s worth for only dollars -- they walked into the breeze with some difficulty, each forced to lean slightly into it and to raise the volume of their voices considerably. But they were certainly not disturbed by this is any way. In fact, their light wine high would probably have brought on some slight slumping of posture anyway, and it is no doubt they’d have been shouting at each other, happily of course, with or without the noisy air rushing past their ears.
In almost lock step they laughed about the wind, and how hard it always seemed to blow in their Queens neighborhood.
A study in Queens--
informal, scientific--
of how the wind blows.
The tallest one rattled off this haiku as they strided, and the two to his left, a skinny one and a shorter one, hummed in agreement. Not that the little syllables stated any real profound sentiment, but surely the wind in Queens, specifically on this day, did blow.
Dan, who was the tallest by several inches, reaching well over six feet in height, seemed only slightly so, as the friend to his left, a bearded, friendly looking fellow, wore dark, narrow jeans, a slim black and red button-down, and a pair of tiny flip-flopping sandals that highlighted his wispy, skinny frame.
Damien was much shorter than Dan, who wore a pair of thin, green shorts, very high-topped sneakers, and a long, loose grey sweater, but because he was much skinnier, and because Dan was slightly wider, their height difference seemed to level off when they were near each other, especially today. Dan’s height, which showed in the skinny legs poking out from his shorts, was off-set by the wide shoulders accented in the well-fitting sweater which made his torso seem stronger, his arms less lanky, and his legs less frail. Damien, though shorter, seemed taller because of the fabric that molded to his body, making him a sleek picture of easy, hippie style.
Their third amigo, the one on the extreme left, hugging the curb, and so the closest to the humming traffic of Union, was without question the shortest. But what separated him from the other two more than his height was the appearance of being willing to scrap at a moment’s notice. He lacked the size of the tallest, the typical bearded sign of age of the skinniest, but was certainly the man of the group. For though of the same age as the others, all in their late college days, and possessing no apparent signs of aged wear and tear, Eugene looked tough and mean, though he was actually neither. The others were lighter, more bubbly, while he was a bit more rugged and quiet, and he kept this nature tucked away close in his white beach hoodie and wrinkled tan shorts, exposing his stout, strong legs.
The haiku formed in Dan’s head quickly, for moments earlier, while the three still sat in the cozy bedroom of the Goethels Avenue apartment, they shared both glasses and notepads with equal generosity.
* * *
They sat in Eugene’s room, which was at the front of the apartment facing Goethels. There was a large window, shaded from the street by some shrubbery, a tame garden maintained by the upstairs landlord of the two-floored, tan brick and stone building, then a wide sidewalk and small strip of grass.
It was a unique side street, especially for this stretch of Queens so close to the hectic Union. Goethels stretched all the way east until it ran into campus, but here, some twenty-plus blocks west, the street was at its source, and it was unlike any other stretch along the way to 169th Street, where it ended. The apartment sat close to the street, only a few hundred feet from bus stops, traffic lights, and cross walks, but here was an impressive row of large oak trees lining the strip of apartments that ran from where Goethals began at a tiny corner with Union and 147th Street all the way to a church which sat on the corner of Goethals and Parsons, where the boys would soon be hustling.
The cathedral effect of trees ran the length of the entire block, and the tall brown trunks and thick green tops numbered in quantities almost as large as the amount of cars parked on the street, for what the block lacked in noisy traffic and fast food stops it made up for in backed-in parked cars.
The backing in was a way to cram in as many cars as possible, for here, parallel parking just would not do, there were just too many cars and all of them parked. And certainly, the residential row of low, brick apartments, some rich and dark like the red of an Ivy League campus, others light and tan, like that of where the boys sat, all far removed from the street creating a slightly more suburban feel than just around the corner, housed enough people to cause this over abundance of parking. But its ever-present nature was likely more the responsibility of the church outside Eugene’s window than it was the collection of people living there.
The large, gothic church sat with two immensely shaped panels of stained glass which stood in sharp and beautiful contrast to the slate colored steps and walls, and large brown wooden entranceway lined with black brass fixtures. Sometimes one felt the church bells chimed too often, every hour on the hour, everyday, but more often than not one could tune the noise out, allowing it to settle into background noise like the drone of planes passing overhead at night or of distant honking horns. The three pals often masked the bells unintentionally, by playing music or leaving the buzz of the television set on. The real inconvenience of having this church as a close neighbor, then, was the rate at which its patrons gobbled up parking spots on an otherwise quiet street. Every evening at around suppertime, a resident’s favorite spot close to their door would be replaced by a distant one around the corner on 147th. And each weekend morning or afternoon, when it was often necessary to shuttle friends about or to make a quick escape for food, it was the same.
But if this was the biggest problem with the location, then there really was no problem at all, for Dan most often chose to walk to their preferred hang out and leave his car permanently stashed in the garage behind his apartment on 146th and Union. He rarely used his car, a small black thing which always broke down. Trips home to Long Island were actually easier in the stages of bus, train, and taxi, then they were of loading up with gas, and praying for a full journey without breakdown. His car was there as an emergency outlet, and that was it.
For Damien it was slightly more complicated. Since he shared the place with Eugene, living in the room at the back of the apartment, a windowless bunker compared to the way in which Eugene’s room felt as if it were on display, he often struggled to find parking. But since he rarely moved his car about, a fast little thing, quick and bright, electric blue, the struggle was never too severe. The reason he had it with him at all then was too provide him with quick and reliable transport home to Maryland during extended breaks from class.
Probably Eugene took the worst of it, shuttling himself back and forth between his ocean getaways in New Jersey, but he never seemed to mind the effort it took to secure a spot. He might have even enjoyed it, for the boys preferred to take his car, a sleek silver complete with hatchback, on little trips, too, much like they preferred to sit in his room when they got together, and it likely made him proud. And whenever Eugene jetted home, he always enjoyed himself throughly, so it was a fair trade where he was a clear winner.
Eugene’s room was always the chosen spot because of its location. Though Damien’s room was far more spacious, it felt hidden because of its position in the way back of the apartment. Even the hallways which led to it felt oddly dark and dungeonous. There was nothing wrong with the room itself, but the fact that Eugene’s room was right next to the entrance of the apartment, awfully convenient, and that his door opened up to the kitchen, also convenient, made it the most picked. The television he had in there helped, as well, as this was a luxury that Damien lacked, all be it by choice.
They sat now with a large bottle which had been opened up the previous night. The bottle sat in the center of the room, surrounded on all sides by the friends. Eugene sat in a small, rickety swivel chair, once a majestic office centerpiece, his back to the window. Dan sat on the bed facing the window, his back against the wall, his feet dangling off. Damien was in a metal fold-out with the window to his right and the bed Dan chose to his left. All three faced each other, and these were their usual spots.
