Page 13 of Strings
I nod like I understand. This may be harder to fake than I thought.
“Anyway, that is your key. It opens the main door and your apartment. We’re all women on this floor. Management acts like it’s a dorm or something. Guys are on floors one and two, girls on three, four, and five.”
She walks me back into the hall and points to the doors as she speaks. “Three-A has the biggest and best apartment. She’s in the symphony too. Three-D is in social media and Three-E is in Finance. They’re mostly nice. I‘ll let you form your own opinions when you meet them. The walls are super thick, which is good because we practice a lot.”
I feel like I need to take notes.
“It’s a little pod, so we run into each other all the time. I’m not much of a gossip but if you’re bringing a guy home, especially from work, try to avoid six to eight in the morning and at night. Everyone is leaving for work, coming from work, or practice, or working out or eating out. There’s a lot of inter-musician and office dating so it can kind of get to be a soap opera. Seems like some people don’t know how to mind their own business.”
She scowls as she glances at 3A. I make a mental note.
“Did I overwhelm you? Too much info?”
“No, it’s all good.” I smile, although I feel mentally drained.
“Alright, well if you need anything just shout. Well, actually, knock. Like I said, thick walls. See you.”
“Bye.”
Flipping the key around in my fingers a few times, I wait until she’s safely inside before I try it. Placing the key in the door, I slowly turn it and close my eyes. Memories flash in my mind of what home has meant to me in the past.
I hear a man asking my father where his money is and see my mother smoking a cigarette as I walk through the door. My dad is in the bedroom and mom is sitting on a barstool at the kitchen counter, tapping her foot. She presses a finger to her lips, telling me to be quiet, then points to the closet. I step over the hypodermic needles as I make my way to my normal hiding spot after school. Once I’m in the closet, I open my backpack, pull out my flashlight, and count how many bugs are hiding with me. When I tire of that game, I pull out my first grade math paper. I wish I were back in school where I feel safe.
I silently pray there are no bugs as I open my eyes and reach for a switch. Finding it, I flip on the light to my right. The floor is the first thing I see. It’s dark brown vinyl plank, and although it’s a little dusty, I don’t notice any sudden movement. The walls are a pale green and the couch and chair are a very light shade of brown. I can’t help but smile as I pull my bags through the door. Calmly, I close it behind me and lock it. I turn around and check out my new home. It’s almost the same layout as Cherese’s. Although her apartment is decorated beautifully and mine is bare except for a few pieces of furniture, I feel as if I won the lottery. I’ve never had my own place before.
I walk toward the bedroom and smile brightly when I see it’s small but homey like the rest of the place. I have my own fridge, oven, and microwave. There’s a small half table against the wall with two chairs, and I imagine having a friend over for pizza while we talk about shoes. That’s what friends do, right?
I hurry to the bathroom and pray it’s clean. It is. I have my own shower/tub combo and I immediately picture myself taking a long hot bath with candles burning around me as Mumford and Sons help me wash away my troubles.
There’s a part of me that wants to jump up and down. Can this really be mine? Was there some kind of mistake? Can I afford this? Is this really my new life?
The reality of my situation keeps me from getting too excited. If I know anything, it’s that nothing in life is permanent. Anything you have can be gone in the time it takes to breathe.
But I’m here now. Thisismy life. I allow myself one moment of bliss before I shake it off and start pulling clothes out of my bag. The few things I own besides clothing should be arriving tomorrow. I need to put everything away and get to work. I won’t let anyone take this away from me. I’m going to be the best—I lift my phone and check what my job title is again—the best events manager they’ve ever had. Time to get to work.
Less is more until you’re hungry.
The pounding on my door lifts me from my slumber. I check the time: 1:15 PM. Holy crap! I rush to the door in my tee shirt and underwear to meet the FedEx guy with my stuff.
I’m mortified when I realize I’m half naked, but he doesn’t seem to care. I guess he sees a lot here in L.A. After I sign for the three boxes containing my life, he sets them down inside.
Once he leaves, I stretch my hands over my head and silently berate myself for wasting half of my day sleeping. Grabbing my switchblade from the counter, I slice open all the boxes.
Box number one contains a few towels, my alarm clock, my favorite book of all time and the only book I own—“Pride and Prejudice”—a picture of my grandmother, which I promptly display on my end table, and a bunch of bathroom stuff.
Thankful I have towels and soap, I hurry to my new shower, hoping the water pressure is decent. I practically squeal in delight when I find my showerhead is removable and contains a pulsating switch. It will come in handy for taking care of my personal needs during my single life.
My short hair doesn’t take long to dry, so I dress and decide to explore before I finish unpacking. I need groceries and some vodka.
Even though it’s January in L.A., it feels amazing compared to Detroit. I’m wearing a long-sleeved shirt, my favorite ripped jeans, and my Chucks. I almost feel like I should have worn shorts and a tank top. Checking the temp on my phone, I laugh when I see it’s fifty-nine degrees. I laugh even harder when I walk down the street and see people bundled up in coats like it’s freezing outside. We stare at each other as we pass, each probably thinking the other is nuts.
Cherese was right. There’s a Target superstore, Chili’s, Starbucks, and Trader Joe’s all within walking distance of Sym’s Square. I feel as if I’ve died and gone to heaven. I try to purchase only the necessities, but I can’t help but add some amazing, sleek, fine-tip black pens to my cart, as well as a desk organizer, a planner, and a plant of some kind. Growing up, I always wanted a pet, but never got one. I figure if I can keep a plant alive, maybe eventually I can get a fish.
I talk to her all the way home. “I promise to do my best to not kill you. You and I are going to have an incredible life.”
I decide to name her Stella. I don’t know why I name her at all, but she’s cute and full of life. I decide that she will be my new best friend. I think of all the ways I will be able to use her. “Oh, I’d love to work late, but my friend Stella is waiting for me at home. Oh, I’d love to hit the gym with you, but my friend Stella isn’t feeling very well, and I promised to sit with her all night and watch TV.”
I snort-laugh as I pull Stella close to my chest and walk up the stairs of Sym’s Square. I open my door.
