{"id":2015,"date":"2025-10-19T23:02:19","date_gmt":"2025-10-19T23:02:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/splinteruniverse.com\/?page_id=2015"},"modified":"2025-10-20T13:12:12","modified_gmt":"2025-10-20T13:12:12","slug":"eager-street","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/splinteruniverse.com\/?page_id=2015","title":{"rendered":"Eager Street"},"content":{"rendered":"

1977<\/strong><\/p>\n

So, let me tell you about the first time Steve came over to my apartment on Eager Street.<\/span><\/p>\n

I had just moved back in after having been evicted by one of my best friends, who felt that her personal drama trumped everybody else’s life (she was breaking up with my other<\/i> best friend (hereafter referred to\u00a0 as OBF) over \u2013 I don’t exactly know. Probably over having been cooped up with each other in an RV for over a year while traveling the country.). Anyhow, she agreed it would be best for her to live in my apartment while I went to live with the OBF until the mess got straightened out, which it eventually did by her moving in with a guy she’d met on the road and going to live with him in — call it Montana.<\/span><\/p>\n

When Steve and I started seeing each other (I wrote “dated” in the by-hand version that I’m typing this from, but, really, we never actually dated<\/i>; we were just “with” each other.), he came to the 1977 Christmas party at OBF’s house, and met Archie and OBF (Archie liked him; OBF, not so much).<\/span><\/p>\n

During the time I lived at OBF’s I had gone to lunch with Steve (at the Earl of Sandwich hard by the University), talked to him on the phone a lot, wrote letters \u2013 and when I moved back home to Eager Street, I figured I at least owed him dinner.<\/span><\/p>\n

We talked a lot that first night, made out a little, and \u2013 I sent him home, because I was sure<\/i> that he was much<\/i> <\/b>younger than I was (it was the enthusiasm; the open playfulness; the belief that any<\/i>thing was possible) (also, my experience to that point had taught me that younger and older men liked me (a lot), while men my own age were . . . indifferent, or even weirded out. And, really, who could blame them?)<\/span><\/p>\n

Steve laughed when I told him I was sending him home because he was probably too young for this. <\/span><\/p>\n

“When were you born?” he asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

“September 1952,” I said, and he nodded.<\/span><\/p>\n

“I was born in July 1950.”<\/span><\/p>\n

Well, that was a surprise \u2013 but I still sent him home.<\/span><\/p>\n

The second time he came over \u2013 not many days later, if indeed it wasn’t the next, he did<\/em> spend the night.<\/span><\/p>\n

He was still asleep \u2013 with Archie on his head \u2013 when I got up to go to work. So I left him there, got ready and left, after writing him a note to please lock the door when he left.<\/span><\/p>\n

. . . It wasn’t until many<\/i> years later that I realized how stupid that was. Or would have been, if it hadn’t been Steve<\/i>. At the time, it felt perfectly right, that of course I could trust Steve<\/i>.<\/span><\/p>\n

And as it turned out, I could. I came home that evening to find the door locked, Archie in residence, all of my stuff still where I’d left it, and my checkbook, too \u2013 and a note on the grocery list on the fridge. One of the items to buy was “HUNY” and the note said, “Steve will bring huny.”<\/span><\/p>\n

Which he did, the next time he came over.<\/span><\/p>\n

Pretty soon, we were on a schedule of one night at Eager Street, the next at Willow Bend Drive (because of the cats). He had a key to my place; I had a key to his.<\/span><\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

Memories . . . Sleeping late on Saturday (after a late, musical Friday?) and going to the local diner for grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches for brunch. Exploring the Eager Street shops together and getting locked into an antique store when the owner left for lunch. Prowling around said store, realizing we couldn’t get out (it was a key lock; no latch on the inside). Finally, we found the phone, which had a number taped to it. We called it and got the owner’s wife at home. We explained our situation; she laughed, and promised to call the other diner and send the husband down to let us out. Which he did, also laughing, and we all parted in charity with each other, if not friends.<\/span><\/p>\n

Introducing Steve to the Eager Street Acme, which was a scary basement space with subpar groceries and veggies that had been fresh two weeks ago. Explaining to him that, for serious shopping, and real food, I usually went to the all-night Giant in Reisterstown, and his laugh when he said, “That’s my<\/i> grocery store.”<\/span><\/p>\n

We met there once, twice, or even more for a late-night grocery run.<\/span><\/p>\n

I should say here \u2013 should I? \u2013 that my life at the time I met Steve was . . . very odd. I stayed up until very late every work night and slept all day Saturday. I shopped late, or early, to avoid people. And the laundry . . . <\/span><\/p>\n

The apartment building on Eager Street had the washers and dryers in the basement of course, and I used them late so I wouldn’t have to deal with any of my neighbors. The basement was part of the extensive catacomb system under Baltimore City. I’m kind of sorry now that I didn’t explore it any further than the far side of the building next door, and at the same time amazed that I explored it at all.<\/span><\/p>\n

When I showed it to Steve, because naturally I would show something so cool to Steve, he wanted to know how far it went. I couldn’t tell him that, and I thought for awhile he’d go exploring himself, but I don’t think he ever did.<\/span><\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

Steve . . . I had never met anybody like Steve.\u00a0 I may have said this before.<\/span><\/p>\n

He was a music reviewer, a reporter; he was giving talks about science and science fiction at various branches of the Baltimore County Library, and workshops on how to make planes out of styrofoam meat trays from the grocery store. Paper (and styrofoam) airplanes were a particular love throughout his life.<\/span><\/p>\n

When we met, he gave me an 8×10 color glossy (no, really, Arlo got it from Steve) picture of himself (taken by Jean Appleton during their trip to Ocean City Maryland). I didn’t know anybody else \u2013 not even OBF, who lived and died by the camera \u2013 who even had<\/i> 8×10 glossy pictures of themselves, much less gave them away.<\/span><\/p>\n

He also gave me a picture of himself (smaller) giving a talk at the Towson Branch of the Baltimore County Library. I went to at least one of his talks there and I also went with him to a Boy Scout spaghetti dinner and award ceremony. There were two guest speakers.<\/span><\/p>\n

Tom Mattingly of football fame was one of the speakers; and Steve was the other. It was a Moment when they were introduced and Mattingly graciously said to Steve, “I’m really glad to meet you and I’m looking forward to your talk.”<\/span><\/p>\n

Before the talk, though, was the dinner. Steve and I were seated with the moms (who had made All That Spaghetti) and having a pretty good time until a question cast us into disarray \u2013<\/span><\/p>\n

“How long have you two been married?”<\/span><\/p>\n

We looked at each other and laughed. Steve said, “This is our second date.”<\/span><\/p>\n

The moms laughed, too, and urged us to waste no time doing the legal. I . . . was slightly horrified. I never wanted to get married. To anybody. Even Steve.<\/span><\/p>\n

#<\/span><\/p>\n

It’s kind of hard to figure out how all this happened in so short a time.<\/span><\/p>\n

Steve’s apartment was coming up for renewal, and he couldn’t afford the new rent, so he needed to find a place to live.<\/span><\/p>\n

I offered to help him look at apartments in “my” part of town (Hamilton; Echodale Avenue, Lurch Drive, and so on). We found a house that had recently been converted into two apartments, one up; one down; both within the proper price range \u2013 and it was perfect! We decided on the spot that he would rent the bottom unit, I would rent the top and we’d leave the inside staircase that linked the units in kind of a “backstairs” situation, unlocked for easy passage \u2013 of cats. We said.<\/span><\/p>\n

We explained this plan to the nice lady who owned the house (story idea credit, here: There was a fireplace in one of the apartments and I wanted to know if it worked. Her answer was, “If it doesn’t work, my husband will fix it. He can make anything work.” Years later, I wrote a story called “The Man Who Made Things Work,” about a guy who could <\/i>make any<\/i>thing work.)<\/span><\/p>\n

After hearing our plan, the lady asked if we shouldn’t take “an hour” to think it over, so Steve and I went to lunch at Gianerini’s (I’ve butchered that; it was a local Italian place; I loved it beyond reason, and it was two blocks away, right up on Harford Road). We talked the house over, and it still seemed like a good idea to us, so back we went, determined to put our money down. Sadly, in our hour away, one of the apartments “had been rented.”<\/span><\/p>\n

That was a disappointment, but the damage had been done. We had realized that we were looking for an apartment, not for Steve, but for us<\/i>.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

1977 So, let me tell you about the first time Steve came over to my apartment on Eager Street. I had just moved back in after having been evicted by one of my best friends, who felt that her personal drama trumped everybody else’s life (she was breaking up with my other best friend (hereafter … Continue reading Eager Street<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"parent":1993,"menu_order":4,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-2015","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/splinteruniverse.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2015","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/splinteruniverse.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/splinteruniverse.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/splinteruniverse.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/splinteruniverse.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2015"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/splinteruniverse.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2015\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2019,"href":"https:\/\/splinteruniverse.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2015\/revisions\/2019"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/splinteruniverse.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1993"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/splinteruniverse.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2015"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}