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8
KARTER. “This is it?” I laughed as I motioned around the sparsely furnished apartment.
Jak’s apartment looked like someone was either almost moved out or thinking about beginning to move in. One small couch, a chair, and a wooden trunk which was used for an end table were the extent of the furnishings in the apartment. I slowly spun in a circle and scanned from floor to the high ceilings. Not one picture, photograph, painting, or piece of art hung on the walls. Jak stood half the distance between the door and the carpeted living area and watched me. I walked to the bedroom door and peered inside. A queen size bed with a plain white comforter was pressed against the center of the far wall. White pillows cases covered two pillows. A five drawer chest was positioned perfectly between the bed and the wall.
Two on the couch, and one in the chair, that’s it. Three people, not including the bedroom.
“Are you going to bring in more stuff?” I asked as I turned from the bedroom.
“I hadn’t planned on it,” he shrugged.
“You don’t even have a table or chairs. There’s no art, no decorative flair, no plants, no lamps, no real sign of life, and no,” I paused as shook my head.
“It’s empty. You have an empty apartment,” I laughed.
“I have all I need right here,” he smiled as he motioned around the apartment.
“I beg to differ,” I said as I rolled my eyes.
My apartment looked like an eclectic collection of junk. It was no different than my mind – cluttered. I had too much furniture, far too many pieces of art, too much decorative bullshit, and too little room. Being in Jak’s apartment reminded me of a hospital room. Only the barest of necessities existed. For Jak and Jak’s way of living for the last twenty years, I’m sure he felt it was enough. Jak still hadn’t offered to tell me what his occupation was, and although I knew, I had yet to ask him. I figured in time he’d tell me, but so far he hadn’t. In the last month with Jak, I had become more comfortable with him knowing my age. Part of me hesitated to tell him for fear of not knowing what his response may be. Another part of me wanted to tell him and get it over with. I decided to do two things; make a donation to Jak’s empty apartment and go fishing for answers.
“So, I’m thinking I want to paint you a picture. What are your favorite colors?” I asked as I walked his direction.
“On a painting? I’d say reds and purples. Maybe yellow,” he smiled.
I pointed at the far wall. It was roughly thirty feet in length, probably sixteen feet tall and free of any form of decoration, “Okay, I’m going to paint you a picture of me. A huge fucker - that way even if we aren’t together, you can have me with you every night. What do you think of that?”
“I like it,” he grinned.
Okay, one down one to go.
I smiled and took a slow absorbing look over the empty apartment for effect.
How can you live like this?
Do you like living like this?
How long have you lived like this?
“How long have you lived like this?” I asked.
“I’ve been here roughly a month,” he responded.
I should have guessed he’d give evasive answers and provide nothing of substance. His super-secret SEAL training probably prevented him from naturally offering anything. But he wasn’t talking to a novice. I could squeeze blood from a turnip.
“So have you always lived like this?” I sighed as I waved my arm in a circle.
He nodded his head, “Yes, as a matter of fact I have.”
Jesus Jak. Seriously?
I scrunched my nose and shook my head lightly, “What allows a man to live like this?”
He shrugged his shoulders, “Men are different than women. I’ve learned to be satisfied with far less than most.”
Learned to?
Okay…
