#islalore

⋆ ✧ APT 4C ✧

✦•····································•✦•·····································•✦ CECE

even after all her success as a runway and print model the last few years, she mostly sticks around new york to keep rooming with her childhood best friend, jess. ever-glamorous with biting wit and a serious knack for style. maybe the most genuine girl i’ve ever met. truly generous and compassionate, she’s just one of those people you don’t let go.

✦•····································•✦•···································•✦ JESS

teaching has always been her passion, so of course she jumped when offered the chance to teach at the very elementary school we attended in greenwich village. it doesn’t hurt that her and cece were already living nearby. a sweetheart through and through, yet never one to shy from confrontation. brings everyone closer together with her warmth.

✦•········································•✦•·······································•✦ JJ

once she started working at the behavioral analysis bureau a few years ago, she never looked back. the work fuels her, along with a constant intake of whole milk caramel lattes. courageous, loving, and always down for anything, she’s been my closest friend since we were kids. not a moment passes where we aren’t cackling like witches at what would appear to be absolutely nothing.

⋆ ✧ APT 4D ✧

✦•······································•✦•···································•✦ ISLA

hi, it's me again. even though the girls didn’t have a spare bedroom when i had to move out of my ex’s place, the neighbors across the hall from them did. i figured it’s close enough, right? i moved in a couple months ago and it’s been…extremely interesting. these guys are kind of freaks. lovable freaks.

✦•······································•✦•·····································•✦ REID

somehow has his doctorate at the age of 24, and will never let you forget it. he works as a forensic psychoanalyst with jj at the behavioral analysis bureau (he likes to say “the babs”). he has a gentle kindness towards everyone he meets, and will always recall small details of a conversation that other people might overlook.

✦•·································•✦•·······························•✦ WINSTON

he is an absolute angel and such a smooth talker. always has us all laughing with tears in our eyes. currently working at a radio station downtown, vying for his own slot on the air. definitely the best music taste of us all, always humming and singing along. met reid at a casino when they were in college. welcomed me with a frozen watermelon margarita on my first day in the loft.

✦•····································•✦•···································•✦ NICK

has only been bartending for a few years but the ways he acts you would think it’s twenty. frequently found rolling out of bed a prompt thirty minutes before his shift. socially awkward, which can sometimes come off a bit rude. his bitterness for life indeed runs deep but it never outweighs his desire to vibe. reid drives him insane.

✦•·································•✦•································•✦ SCHMIDT

nick’s college roommate. even though they've known each other for years, i hesitate to say best friend on account of the fact that they constantly bicker. never seen sleeping, always running around the city for one thing or another. works at a marketing firm doing whatever they do there. passionate about everything he does, never lets anything go, and will rally us all to go out on any occasion. do not show weakness.

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the dance studio could be so hectic with all of us kids buzzing between classes and gossiping in the hallways, stairwells, bay windows. the barre was always quiet. the lulling piano, the repetitive routines, my pink wrap skirt. everything about ballet seemed to oppose the hustle and bustle of the busy city we lived in. and so, ballet became my favorite. at the age of ten i became obsessed with the beauty of its structure. along with structure came turning out just a little more every time, staring my leg in the mirror until i forgot i was attached to it, practicing for hours even when i was beyond sore. my mom worried i was spending too much time at the studio, but, the independent little new yorker i was, i assured here there was nothing to worry about. and over time it paid off. when i turned thirteen i was moved up to pointe with the high school girls. no one seemed to mind as long as i kept up, and i was elated to meet the challenge.

the pointe instructor, ms. aiden jacobowitz, was a bit elusive. i had never seen much of her because this was the only group she still taught regularly. she was a bit older, and a true ballerina in every right. grey hair put up into a beautiful bun, all black attire, eyes that pierced into your being. the works. except, she did things differently than any dance teacher i had met. she used hushed tones where others might shout, smiled at me when i expected disgust. she had a way of wordlessly welcoming you into her world of not just dance, but creation. i was extremely fond of her.

my second month of pointe class, ms. aiden choreographed solos for each of us to perform. honored to be given a solo so soon, and desperate to impress her, i was practicing for hours every night. recording myself, watching it back, performing it in reverse, going full out, marking it in silence, memorizing every nook and cranny i could fathom. the girls at the front desk looked forward to my goodnights, and my parents just asked i get home by midnight. it was a very lonely week. one chilly evening walking home, i wondered if i even liked being so independent or if this had just happened to me. what if i had trapped myself, at the young age of thirteen, into a routine i could never let go of? i arrived home, walked diligently to the bathroom and started to brush my teeth. looking in the mirror, i reasoned that routine and independence had gotten me this far. surely i couldn’t give it all up now.

the time came for me to show what i’d been working so hard on, and you better believe i had everyone in that black box hooked on my every breath. as i was dancing, i felt that same serenity i’d known for years. it was familiar, and it guided me through every step with a gentle sigh. i knew that ms aiden would be pleased with me before i even ended the dance. as i held out the final pose, everyone applauded. and as the applause faded, ms. aiden smiled at me and said,

“that was perfect, isla. now i want you to try driving it like you stole it.”

and before i had time to think she restarted the song. i scrambled, fumbled, glitched, all of the above. i must have looked like the child i was. a few measures in and my muscle memory took over, reminding me of the movements i’d been rehearsing so rigidly. only, as i began to understand what she meant, my limbs weren’t so rigid at all. a new energy had inhabited me, whether it came from the nerves or directly from ms. aiden, injected into my body i could not tell you. regardless, the second time was magic. my leaps were higher, my turns sharper, and my hands felt like they were casting spells each time i pressed into a line. i even started laughing out loud at one point (would have gotten me shot in any other ballet class). when i was finished, i laid flat on the floor, exhausted and elated. i was met not with polite applause but rather a pile of girls giggling on top of me. when i thanked ms. aiden after class, she thanked me in return. after that, i started to trust myself more than my routines.

i quit pointe once i graduated high school, but the things i learned from ms. aiden about being an artist have settled quite nicely in my soul.

there was this one evening, near the end of my first month living in the loft, where schmidt came home with an intense urgency about him. he quickly explained that he needed us all to rally for a work event of his at a bougie club opening uptown. at that point, the only thing the five of us had done together was hang out at the laid-back bar nick worked at. which, to our credit, did produce some heinous laughs and ferocious made-up drinking games. every time we had gone out dancing or clubbing, we would always invite the girls because, well, they were right across the hall. but this time jess, cece, and jj were all otherwise occupied, and it became our first real outing as apartment 4D.

the club had partnered with a strawberry flavored vodka brand oh-so-lovingly called “strawdka” to promote the opening. when we arrived there were strawberry shaped balloons covering the ceiling, pink and red streamers draping between corners, and lights of every color illuminating the already packed venue. nick kept joking that thank god we made it out for this and they really would have missed us. my pink dress, along with schmidt's pink tie he put on so we would match, were pleasantly on-theme. the circulating trays of free “strawdka cranberries” made it immediately evident that we were all going to get stupidly drunk at the function. winston and i, both proud enjoyers of a disgustingly sweet drink, each downed two upon entry. reid warned us of the dangers of having too much sugar while drinking, so we handed him two of his own. 

we all ended up having a blast. the dj played every song we wanted to hear, even reid’s niche ‘90s garage rock was mixed into a club beat. we jumped and danced and sang along for hours, intermittently screaming over the music to talk to each other. schmidt’s boss was thrilled to see us, so much so that we ushered her into the photobooth to get a picture with us all. the strip of photos now hangs on my wall in all it’s terrifying glory.

eventually, with not a single drink paid for between the five of us, a pink glitter permanently ingrained into our clothes, and a strawdka-fuelled frenzy taking over our brains, we began the the journey back to the loft.

i don’t know why or how, but we decided to walk the thirty blocks home at three in the morning. it was a nice enough night, the late-august air, the gentle lull of the city before any sign of sun. it was somewhere along these thirty blocks that i began to realize how much i really loved these guys. and that — through all my drinking and dancing and scream-talking — they must love me too. it must have been something in the sound our shoes all made on the concrete, or something in the cigarettes we quietly passed around, or something in the taxis passing us by, or maybe something in the buildings herding us home. the closeness i felt only grew after that night, but i cherish it dearly as the moment i realized we were not just roommates, but a little family. i remember my cheeks hurt from smiling, and i kept wishing we lived much, much further away.

mitzi, sweet little thing, is usually up when i am. she is a great comfort to the thoughts sprinting between my ears. with her delicate white fur and dewy eyes, she has never failed to bring me peace in the darkness of the loft. not to mention she never stops purring when we are together. i wish i could purr back to her so she knows that i feel just as blissful in her presence, but i can’t, so i just look her serenely in the face and will her to understand. she’ll lovingly wrap her tail around my legs as i tiptoe to the bathroom, chirp gently at me while i splash water on my face, flop herself down and stretch out her paws as i sit to pee. to someone who grows uneasy all alone at night-time, she is the perfect guardian. petting her often soothes me straight to sleep.

sometimes, though, she is fast asleep while i am tossing and turning (how she stands sharing a bed with me at these times i’ll never know). despite the comforts of watching her sleep, some late night thoughts demand immediate consideration. now that shifting is a rhythm in my life, i often find myself laying down to rest and suddenly, ravenously, contemplating all corners of the universe, how i might fit into them, where i’ll go next, who and if i really am at all. i don’t know if this is a bad habit, but it’s certainly a jarring one. enough to stir me so that sleep seems ridiculous. luckily the loft is the sweetest, warmest place i’ll ever know, full of comforts that return me to myself. after thirty minutes of consistent wriggling, i’ll give up on sleep and peel myself from bed. i waddle into the kitchen, my socks meeting the hardwood planks with barely a sound. intently, i make eye contact with every glass and mug in the cabinet before choosing one lucky winner to hold a drink for me. said drink will then accompany me for a sit on the balcony, which i sneak out to from the glass door in the kitchen.

huddled in one of the wicker chairs we keep out there, i wrap myself in a blanket and sip gently. sometimes i have a smoke, too, if for no other reason than to trick myself into taking a few deep breaths. the park lights become dimmed after midnight, seemingly just for me. the lush garden of buildings uptown of us glows. no matter how many times i see the skyline like this it is the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen. the love between new york and i quells my existentialism like nothing else. at all hours of the night there’s music, laughter, sometimes commotion, sometimes sirens. it all reminds me that i was meant to be right here, in this body, with these people. sleep comes easier after goodnight kisses from the city.

isla persephone simon

hi, i’m isla. i was born and raised in greenwich village. my parents, will and erica, are writers. i mostly spend my days roaming the city, in the dance studio, or studying at the library. i’m always learning something new.

my favorites include: singing in the shower, smoking spliffs in washington square, painting animals, sauvignon blanc, shades of purple, sandalwood, writing poems, hosting parties, meditative walks, frozen yogurt, late night chats on the fire escape, my cat mitzi, new york in the fall.