Frank

     It was a quiet Sunday morning when I stepped outside my building holding March’s rent check, wearing only my pajamas and L.L.Bean slippers.

     (They’re pretty pricy, especially for slippers, but the shearling liner and rubber soles are an absolute dream. They’re an investment piece, or a very good gift.)

     The walk to my landlord’s house is remarkably convenient. He lives just across the street in his own one family. A kind Hungarian man with grey hair and deep wrinkles, this has been his neighborhood for decades.

     “Come in, come in,” he insisted, looking at me with hopeful eyes, “Do you have a minute to sit down, you know, shoot the breeze?”

     As I considered generating an excuse, I realized that I truly had nothing else to do. (My outfit of lounge pants and an oversized sweater from Goodwill also did not exactly scream busyness or exclusivity.) We sat down on his floral-printed love seat with his vintage television playing a program from the Game Show Network on mute.

     Before long he was expounding upon the history of the block and about how he immigrated to New York when he was eighteen. He was a woodworker, and built the cabinets in my unit along with countless others I could find all over Manhattan. His eyes watered instantly upon speaking about his late wife.

     “Oh, this you’ll find interesting.”

     “What’s that?” I offered somewhat generously.

     “The first floor apartment finally got rented out. Two girls. Younger. Might be good for you and your brother, eh?” He nudged, referencing my younger sibling and roommate.

     I briefly considered playing along before realizing the litany of housing laws that protected me. My lease was already signed. So, like many times before and since, it was time to come out.

     “Well, maybe for Joey, but not for me.” I proclaimed.

     “What do you mean?”

     “Well, I’m gay.”

     Frank glanced down at his baby blue carpet, clearly not expecting this development. I curled my toes anxiously in my shearling-lined slippers. As he looked back at me, I met his eyes, shimmering.

     “Oh, nothing wrong with that,” he assured me, as if I had only spilled a glass of milk.