Old Port duet

When Mark moves to the city from his small hometown, he notices the little things can help him feel at home.

Mark peeled the paper skin of the onion as a warm breeze sifted into his new apartment on Silver Street in the Old Port. His new roommates, Josh and Sarah were celebrating their one-month anniversary as newlyweds down at the Fore Street Grill, and it was his opportunity to make his first official meal in his new home. Josh and Sarah had asked him to move in shortly after their City Hall wedding, because they were saving money for a condo, and Mark’s rent would help them sock away more dough each month.

“Ah, the garlic,” Mark said to the ginger tabby cat sitting patiently behind him, waiting for any morsel to fall from the counter. He smashed a few cloves and minced them into the oiled stainless steel pan, then tossed in the chopped onions. As the spicy bulbs sizzled, their aromas filled the room, and the space began to feel like his own.

His mom taught him this tradition. They had moved around a lot when he was growing up, because she was always searching for a better job.

“Once you make your own meal in a new place, it becomes yours,” she told him, “especially if there’s garlic. It warms the body and soul,” then she kissed him on both cheeks, just like her own Italian mother did.

Mark breathed in the smells and any anxiety of his recent move into the city and his unknown future melted away. All he needed was some pasta, sauce, and Chianti. And maybe a little music.

As the garlic simmered and the pasta waited for its water to boil, he poured himself a little glass of Chianti. Through his open window he heard car doors close and laughter rise up from the street. The sky was turning a bright orange as the summer sun set and a warm breeze moved into the space. He heard some music in the distance, someone’s car radio perhaps, then he heard her voice.

“Do that to me one more time,” the words were faint at first, maybe a car driving by. Then he heard a second voice join in the chorus as they sang out Captain & Tenille’s familiar anthem. Was it a live band? He thought. Maybe some street performers nearby?

He set down his spatula and turned down the stove and ran toward the window facing Silver Street to get a better listen. Something about the voices made him curious. He looked down at the busy street and a few people were walking by. One of them looked up at him, then at the building across from him.

Then he saw them, the women, through an open window, the sun lighting up their arms and hair. One woman was brushing her auburn wavy hair sitting with her back to the window, and another was facing him, her glistening black hair sparkling in the last remaining rays of the sunset. He could see her smiling wide as the two belted out the chorus again in unison.

He couldn’t help himself. He knew the lyrics by heart, so he joined in. She turned around, her face briefly showing confusion, and then her eyes locked on his, and she smiled widely, opening her mouth slightly to say something inaudible to her friend. They stopped singing and giggled.

He froze as he watched her watch him. Her friend came toward the window to see where the voice was coming from. The light was casting a warm glow around him as the sun lowered the dusk light into a deep purple.

“Hi,” they both yelled out, and waved to him.

He smiled, despite his shyness, and waved back.

He breathed in the summer air and smelled the sauteed garlic still simmering on the stove, and suddenly felt a little closer to home.