Part one: the brownstone that wasn’t
On the corner of Marcy and Jefferson there’s a house. If you’re walking north from Fulton, you’ll be able to see it on the left-hand side of the street.
I wish it was a brownstone because I regularly fantasize about Brooklyn brownstones, but this is definitely a house.
It’s an odd looking thing.
Odd, in comparison to its neighbors I suppose, yet there it sits on the corner, beaming with pride, perfectly fitting like it was meant to be. I also can’t quite pinpoint the architectural era for this one; at least with brownstones there’s a formula:
I haven’t seen many of these around here that’s for sure. The outside is made of creamy, dreamy beige bricks. There’s a rapunzel-esque ivory tower to the right-hand side and a balcony on the second floor. Altogether, there’s 3 floors. The house is decorated with brown-ish grey accents and you can see 7 windows if you stand right outside at the front, as if you were about to walk in.
If you slice it in half, separating the first floor from the second and third, the bottom half gives you colonial vibes while the top half is reminiscent of houses that I saw growing up in England.
The ground floor is slightly elevated; not nearly as high a brownstone and there’s still 5 steps you need to walk up until you get to the front door. Before you do though, you might want to enjoy your morning coffee from the cute little porch that’s directly beneath the balcony. Even thought its covered, I think there’s still ample sunlight, enough at least to caress your face.
If you’re entering from Putnam, you’ll have to open the black iron gate first. It’s about 4 1/2 ft high and splits down the middle which, could get really annoying depending on what you’re bringing in or taking out. There’s also half a hedge of green next to the gate. A little out of place if you ask me. Anyway, now you can climb the stairs to the front door.
Upon entering, there’s a tall glass credenza-looking thing, made from just one seamless, tempered piece of glass. Nestled neatly on top are some Taschen travel guides: Paris, London and Marrakech, and sitting on top of those, is a white ceramic vase with fresh white tulips. Yum. There’s also a small black and white woven caddy, you know for keys, trinkets and things.
The outside might be a disguise, because it’s definitely giving me brownstone interior vibes on the inside. The walls are stark white, either just freshly painted or well-maintained and a chocolate brown wood traces the skirting boards, doors and staircase. A black and white photograph of a family hangs alone. There’s feint jazz playing in the distance, maybe somewhere upstairs?
The front door creaks shut and to your left there’s a walnut, slatted bench anchored by 4 black iron coat hooks. A pair of a old, stained wellies lean casually against it. Looks like they haven’t been out in a while. Next to the bench, double wooden doors lead the way to the living room? I couldn’t be sure.
Straight ahead though, is the kitchen. That I do know. The bright and airy room is filled—no—drenched in sunlight. Floor to ceiling glass windows overlook the lush green garden, surrounded by trees for idyllic privacy.
It might be time for breakfast.
Stay dreaming + stay scheming,
Hardeep
I log into Facebook maybe a handful of times a year and each login reminds me why I don’t visit frequently. This time I’m glad I did, though. Because I came across this piece and all your other diary entries. Your writing is so blessed! And Hardeep, that house will one day be yours. An old friend, Vikrant.