S tton Place – February 28, 2003
Because I am slowly but surely making my way through five hours of sunny Sebring . . .
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I was reading my latest assignment (Sexing the Cherry), and happened to look up and out of my window. My window faces the east end of campus, and I get a spectacular view of the red neon sign from Sutton Place. However, the ‘u’ was missing tonight.
I started to speculate as to when they would fix it, and why they hadn’t done so already. Did it just burn out tonight? Or has it been like that for a while, and I’ve only noticed now? Having been gone for nearly two weeks, it’s not impossible to imagine that it’s been burnt out for quite a bit of time.
Contemplating the ‘u’ in Sutton Place led me to think of other views I’ve had over the years. The church across the street from my apartment in Ann Arbor; as I slept in on Sunday mornings, I could hear children screeching "I don’t wanna!" and I would feel their pain. I didn’t wanna, either. Or the medical fraternity across from my old dorm; my friends and I could hear their whoops of delight (yuk it up, med guys) and their music playing at all hours of the night. What about the view of Observatory Lodge, with it’s weird architecture, housing astronomy students?
The most classic view I can remember from recent years was the open field behind my parents’ house before our neighbor sold all his land and a subdivision was developed. Slowly but surely, our view has devolved from spotting multiple deer and other animals to houses popping up, kids playing, cars screeching. Currently, a house is being built right outside our kitchen window. While at home, I’d stop and look at the workers, wondering how they survived the cold, wondering who the hell dared build behind us, wondering if we’d get along with these people.* The backs of our houses are to each other, so we might never see them.
The view from upstairs (I have a two-level apartment) is almost the same, but there is one aspect of the upstairs view that always grabs my attention. Curiously enough, Sutton Place never does. Instead, it is the sight of two chairs on a fraternity’s roof, one facing Robarts Library, the other facing God knows whatever building. If there were people up there at one point (there had to have been, right?), then they were never facing one another if properly seated. It’s as if one person was facing east while the other person sat his chair south, and their respective gazes never met – nor did their voices. A third chair is between them, but it is collapsed, folded up on itself. It’s a very desolate scene, and I’ve actually taken a picture of it so my sister can render it into eternity with paints. My roommate and I have contemplated it many a morning, and it feels so lonesome and depressing that we’re actually saddened. I’d love to go up to the frat house and speak to whoever placed the chairs in those positions, but I’m afraid of being sexually harassed and invited in for an orgy (in which case, I’ll have to smack the pretentious undergrad).
The views out of our windows. In considering how we interpret them, how much do they say about the views of our lives?
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*The house was just recently inhabited, two years later. There were apparently legal wrangles and what not. I think the builder is living there, and seeing as how my father hates the builder, I don’t think we’ll get along. But they have a baby! A baby girl! I want to babysit the baby girl! Babies are so cute!
