Sign up for our free newsletter:

The Big Squeeze

Our first apartment was the size of a fishbowl, and about as private

by Paul Kortepeter

Forget fancy restaurants. Jenny and I couldn't afford the burger joint down the block. And forget expensive lingerie. We were lucky to have matching socks.
As economically challenged newlyweds, we relied on a lowly candle to spark a romantic evening. Actually, it only took one candle to light our tiny apartment.

In the shadows, we could forget that our kitchen was the size of a closet, that our closet was brimming with junk, and that our knees hit the sink every time we used the commode. We could forget that our refrigerator barely held a jug of milk and that we didn't own a TV or a stereo. In the shadows, we could kick back on our futon sofa (which doubled as our bed) and feel like millionaires in a resort hotel.

But the romantic spell was frequently broken by the rabble-rousers who surrounded our small paradise. The leather-clad actress living next door blasted heavy metal music all hours of the night. In the apartment on the opposite side, a Michael Jackson impersonator played the "Thriller" album over and over-vigorously wailing along-while he took three-hour showers.

Even worse were the neighbors across the alley-two Valley girls who constantly chattered about cosmetics, their therapists, and the virtues of enemas. In case you had any doubt, this was Los Angeles.

Too cramped to sulk

At times our neighbors' weird habits got to us. "We never have any privacy," I complained. "We're like goldfish stuck in a bowl." I turned around and there was one of the Valley girls staring at me sourly across the narrow alley.

"You guys are so neurotic," she snapped and slammed her window shut.

We tried to entertain friends, but even that sometimes made us feel poor. "Wow, you two must really like each other," they would exclaim upon entering our living room/dining room/bedroom. Hastily we'd turn off the lights and get out the ambience candle. Surely our guests couldn't fail to notice how lovely everything looked in the dark.

A less-than-subtle visitor once said, "No offense, but I'd go insane after a week here. How do you guys do it?"

How did we do it?

We were creative. We took long walks around our neighborhood, rain or shine. We played smash ball in the park. We created exotic milkshakes in our blender. We toured art museums that offered free admission. We drove to the mountains and gazed at the lights of the city. In those days of scarcity, we really got to know each other. We couldn't help it.

One particular night combined the highs and lows of our first year together. Jenny and I were furious with each other, but we didn't want to start yelling (the neighbors would listen in). As for stomping outside to cool down, it was too late for either of us to be roaming the streets of L.A.

Jenny tried to hole up in the bathroom, but five minutes later she emerged. "I can't even sulk properly in there," she complained. "It's too cramped."

"It's not too cramped for me," I snapped. I closed the door and took a seat on the throne, slamming my knees against the sink. It was only five minutes before I re-emerged.

"We can't get away from each other," Jenny groaned. "We don't have any room to breathe. It's like … it's like … "

"It's like we're married." I finished her sentence.

"Yeah," she sighed.

We stared at each other, confounded by the permanence of it all.

Just then the room started shaking. Our closet doors burst open and junk flooded the room. Plaster dropped from the ceiling. Jenny ran for cover under the front door frame. I dived into the closet. As the world convulsed, we exchanged frightened looks.

"I love you!" Jenny shouted.

"I love you, too!" I answered.

The earthquake was over in a few seconds. But afterward, when the dust had settled, we both felt very rich indeed.

Condensed from Marriage Partnership (Summer 1996), © 1996 Paul Kortepeter.

Copyright © 1996 by the author or Christianity Today International/Today's Christian magazine (formerly Christian Reader).
Click here for reprint information.

Last updated: September 10, 1996

Home  |  People of Faith  |  Stories of Hope  |  Today's Culture
Build Your Faith  |  Laughing Matters  |  Archives  |  Contact Us

				Try Today's Christian Woman Free! Name Street Address City/State/Zip E-mail Address No credit card required. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery. Offer valid in U.S. only. If you decide you want to keep Today's Christian Woman coming, honor your invoice for just $17.95 and receive five more issues, a full year in all. If not, simply write "cancel" across the invoice and return it. The trial issue is yours to keep, regardless. Give Today's Christian Woman as a gift Order a gift subscription!

FREE Newsletter Subscribe to the Today's Christian Newsletter    RSS Feed   RSS Help