His Name Was Lola - J.Marie

Mon, 07/06/2015 - 19:04 -- J.Marie

The sound of high heels clacking would echo through the cement hallway of my apartment building.  Each step in perfect rhythm growing louder as she moved down the hall closing in on my door. If only she would stop I used to fantasize, that just once the sound of her shoes would stop at my door, instead of fading into silence as she passed me by. 

I had only seen her twice from a distance before I became totally infatuated with her, or should I say the idea of her.  Every night going out, trashy yet glamorous.  I classified her as the perfect representation of the early-sixties lower eastside. I sat night after night in my bare apartment waiting up to here her shoes.  Sometimes at five a.m... sometimes not at all.  I often compared myself to a concerned parent, or a jealous lover, even though we had never met.
I being a shy naive boy, at the ripe age of 19, could do nothing more than spend countless hours plotting an introduction to someone like her.  I moved to New York six months after my nineteenth birthday, with big dreams of being a writer, the classic type like Hemingway.  It was 1959, smack dab in the middle of the beatnik movement, when I headed to the city of lights and dreams. I knew nothing.

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