It was my favorite. Still is.
I found it after hastily signing a lease on a place in a more trendy part of town. That place was nice on paper; an exposed brick wall, high enough up for a view and a cute doctor lived next door. The allure didn’t last long, though. The roof leaked, I hated that the only space for an actual bed was in the closet and that the “kitchen” was three cabinets, a small fridge and a two burner stove. Anything other than efficient though the leasing agent used a version of that word when she sold me on the place. And the doctor? Total jerk.
So I went further north. Instead of trendy I got a gorgeous courtyard, a secure lobby and only one flight of stairs. The front door opened to gorgeous hardwood floors and a living room so big I could barely see my teeny tiny TV from where I placed the couch, and the back door opened into an honest to goodness kitchen with a separate pantry and built-in hutches.
It. Was. Gorgeous. And big. So big, in fact, that the friend who helped me haul everything up the back stairs and in through the back door on a rainy and stormy weekday afternoon was floored when he asked me where to put a box and I said ‘down the hallway, in the living room.’ He thought the dining room was the living room.
I loved the ginormous windows in the living room and the sunlight that washed across the floor and the walls every morning. I loved that my tiny little dining room table looked like it was floating in the middle of my big dining room. Back then I didn’t have much furniture, so instead I honored the space. There was less clutter. Less stress.
I even loved the closets. There was one in the living room that snaked through the wall, behind where the tiny television sat and around the corner from the front door. Two doors, one closet and all that space. There was another one at the end of the hallway that I briefly thought I’d turn into an office of sorts, but never did. It sat mostly empty; it was just me, right out of school, in that big, beautiful apartment.
It was off the train line so I’d have to take a bus and then a train to get back and forth to work or to plays, movies or malls. I normally didn’t mind, but when the bus stopped running at night I often found myself walking countless blocks in the dark, regardless of the weather. There’s no doubt that’s why I was thin back then. I walked everywhere without reservation, every day, whether from the train or to the grocery store. That’s actually something I miss about city life.
I often wonder how life would be today had I kept calling my favorite place on Claremont home. I moved because we wanted to move in together, my ex-husband and I. I thought it was important that we have a place that was ours, instead of a place that felt so mine.
So we moved. And life changed.