I See a Ghost!
Estimated reading time: 14 minutes, 43 secondsVISTA House
“Do you need help with your suitcase,” asked Barbara, one of my fellow VISTAs. “I’ve got it,” I responded. t was the last day of February 1972, and the six new volunteers and I moved into the VISTA House, which included former volunteers and others working in the community. “With Mark, Doug, Peter, Linda, Barbara, and I were probably moving into the most affordable rental in NYC. Ten dollars a month covered utilities and a once-a-month dinner party. The only extra cost was for phone calls.
As Barbara and I worked our way up the stairs, we met Linda, another VISTA on the second floor.
“I want to thank both of you for helping me get the room on this floor at the back,” I conveyed my heartfelt appreciation to them.
“We were happy to help. Mark thinks he has the right to whatever he wants.” Linda responded.
“He is so macho. Richard, I wish more guys were like you,” added Barbara.
The week before we moved in, we visited the VISTA House. Both of them had been with me when I claimed the room. Mark, according to them, had walked in after I left and claimed he wanted that room.
“I am an average guy, and I appreciate your support.”
“No, you are special. You do not hit on us. You respect us as equals,” said Barbara.
“Mark wanted that room and the two of us in rooms close to him,” said Linda.
“Not happening…”
“If he wasn’t hitting on us all the time and acting like he was God’s gift to women, he might get lucky.”
“Not with me!”
“Or me!”
“Richard, your girlfriend is fortunate to have a man like you.”
“Yes, she is fortunate to have you! I do hope we can meet her.”
All I could do was mumble thanks, and yes, I hope you can meet her. I had not told them she had broken up with me.
I thanked them again as I moved my limited possessions into my bedroom.
The bedrooms were more oversized than I had expected. But then I remembered that this had been the nurse’s residence for the closed St. Catherine Hospital. Nurses needed space to live and relax when not on duty.
The City of NY was planning to build a high school on the site, but a lack of funding had stalled those plans. Until the City opened the school, we could live here.
When I finished unpacking, I looked around and remembered McClure House, my last college residence. It was also an old house where I had many friends,
It will work, I said to myself. It would be perfect if only the woman I still loved were here. As painful as it was, I had to remind myself that she had dumped me.
After almost 48 years, I recently lost my wife, Jan Lilien. Like The Little Prince, Jan and I believed that “The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart.” This blog is a collection of my random thoughts on love, grief, life, and all things considered.
