Get Out! GAY Magazine – Issue 320 – June 14, 2017

stories / GET OUT! MAGAZINE >> GETOUTMAG.COM
BY IAN-MICHAEL BERGERON
@ianmichaelinwonderland
THE HUNT
“Hunt” really is an
appropriate word when
talking about looking for a
new apartment.
Sure, unlike a fox, the
apartment isn’t running
away, dodging you at every
turn. (No, that’s what your
landlord will do after you
move in and he doesn’t
fulfill his promise to fix that
leaky sink in the bathroom.)
But it does send you
running through the city at
full speed, wanting to find
the “perfect” apartment
before another wolf
snatches it from under your
nose, bringing out your
most primal instincts.
I had very few rules
when The Ex Fiancé
and I decided to move
in together. I wasn’t too
worried about the living
part - we’d lived together
in Iowa while we were
engaged. (And THAT went
splendidly…) All I needed:
an actual one bedroom
versus a studio. $1,400 a
month. (Not unfathomable
in Washington Heights or
Bushwick in 2013.) And -
most importantly - allows
cats.
We looked at a ton of
apartments. I didn’t like
this one because it was
in Queens. He didn’t like
that one because he said it
was too small. (He was still,
after a year in New York,
stuck in a Midwest state
of mind.) He made a big
point of complaining that
we couldn’t find anything
because my price point
was too low. All seemed
hopeless.
“I found the perfect place,”
he told me one day. He
gave me an address, and I
showed up at noon.
The apartment was in
Astoria - a 10-minute
walk from the last stop off
the NQ. It was a THREEbedroom
railroad. And
it was $1,900 a month.
We walked through the
three narrow bedrooms,
the two between the
living room and the third
bedroom having no
windows/sunlight. “I don’t
understand why we need
three bedrooms,” I said
quietly. “Also, the floors are
slanted.” Worst, the lease
started a month before my
current lease ran out.
“It’s perfect,” he said again.
I wanted him to be happy.
I thought, maybe, if he
was happy, that I would be
too. There was a nice sized
kitchen, a new bathroom,
and I’d get one of the three
rooms to do whatever
I wanted with. (It would
probably turn into a giant
closet.)
“I can afford $1,000 if
you can do $800,” he
negotiated. I borrowed
some money, put down
three months rent (plus my
last month at the current
apartment), and we moved
in together.
This is how it’s supposed
to be, I told myself. Ian-
Michael and The Ex Fiancé.
Fated to be together from
the beginning.
Our first night together,
my cat Maya shit in the
bathroom. It seemed she
didn’t believe in fate or
the “cosmic forces” that
seemed to draw us back
together time and time
again. The Ex Fiancé and I,
we were animals, following
our primal instincts, chasing
the fox (or each other,
rather) simply because it
was ingrained in us.
But Maya - she was smarter
than us. She knew the shit
that was to come.
PHOTO BY STEVE BRENNAN