Young professional who respects communal space.
It was Monday. I was thirty minutes early to this viewing. The apartment was only a couple of blocks away, so I sat on a bench in Riverside Park to kill some time.
A woman with paper bags was waiting to catch the 5 bus. A couple walked by with their fluffy dogs. A jogger passed by. I typed some notes on my phone to use for my thesis later. I knew I wouldn’t remember them once I returned to my apartment. I couldn’t wait to be done with it.
After saving the note, I let the sun hit my face as songs shuffled in my ears. Lyrics about “rising up” and “holding on” only made my heart race faster. It amped up my anxiety.
Halfway through July…
Still haven’t found a new place…
Maybe you aren’t supposed to live here…
It would be easier to go back home.
That’s where you should be.
It would be easier to return home. I could live at home until I found my dream apartment there, got married and moved into my dream house with the love of my life, but I didn’t want my journey in NYC to end. Part of it was all the opportunities the city could give me and had already given me. The other part, I hated to admit, was pride. I didn’t want the last two years of my life to be commemorated in a “I went to New York and all I got was an MFA” t-shirt.
After a little more time has passed, I left my spot on the bench and headed to the designated apartment building.
*
The apartment was cold. Not just in temperature but in the surroundings. There was no pictures or knickknacks to personalize the place. No life. The only color that exists was the bottle green rug in the living room. Everything else was either stark white or beige.
“I work out of my home,” the woman, Aurora, said.
“What is it that you do?”
“I’m a psychiatrist.”
If I was her, I would have an office. I wouldn’t want clients to coming into my home. There had to a separation of work and home for me to function.
Aurora wasted no time showing me the apartment. She took me to the half-bath. More like a fifth-bath. It was half the size of my closet in my current apartment. The kitchen was next to the tiny bathroom and could, thankfully, fit more than two people. The master bedroom was across from the kitchen, and Aurora pointed to a closed door to the right of the room, stating that was where the full bathroom was.
I had to go in her room to take a shower? Nah. This was the beginning of a horror film. I’ll be in the shower, minding my own business, and she’ll pull back the curtain, holding a butcher knife. Or, she’ll hack off the door handle and trap me in there for her enjoyment. I hated how extreme my thoughts could get sometimes…
The next room Aurora showed was a smaller bedroom, which, like every other room in the apartment, had not a splash of color. It did have a bed, twin, a dresser, and a desk. As Aurora led me back to the living room, she explained that the other bedroom belonged to her daughter, who now lived in Brooklyn.
“She calls every now and then,” Aurora added.
Aurora never mentioned if the daughter traveled uptown to visit her. It made me feel bad for her and think of how close I am with my family. If I was a subway ride away from my folks, I’d see them every other week.
We sat at the coffee table in the living room, and Aurora asked me if I had any questions. I secretly hope that she won’t psychoanalyze me.
“You said that you have clients come here, right?” I said.
“Yes. They sit right here in the living room. I keep very long hours,” she responded.
“Oh ok.” I imagined strangers rummaging through my room while I wasn’t at home and that bothered me. “What days are you not in session? I wouldn’t want to come in and interrupt you and your client’s time.”
“You can’t use the living room.”
I stopped myself from projecting my thoughts on my face. It was a trait my entire family shared. Depending on the situation, it could be seen as funny. In others, not so much. Like right now.
“Excuse me?” I tried to say with the least amount of attitude as possible.
“You can’t use the living room. It’s strictly used for my clients.”
“I can’t come in here to read or watch TV when it’s not in use?”
“I’m sorry, but you can’t.” Great. A control freak. “And as for bringing other people over, or having them or family stay the night, that’s not allowed either.”
I wasn’t entirely bothered by this. I wasn’t the most sociable person on Earth, not even an outgoing caterpillar, but I wouldn’t dare bring someone to this stale place. I definitely wouldn’t bring my family here to spend the night. That bed couldn’t hold more than one person, and I wasn’t about to have my family sleep on the floor. If my brother ever visited, he would take up the entire bed, feet reaching the floor. I was more shocked that she banned me from the living room. I couldn’t enjoy the living room, which was large enough to fit at least twenty people? Weird.
“May I ask why?”
“Oh, yes! The last tenant, a Chinese exchange student, had her friends coming in and out of here like a hotel. Stayed up all hours of the night.”
The way she stated her reason made me flinch a little. She couldn’t have been that bad.
“You wouldn’t have to worry about that. I would be meeting people outside of the apartment, and my family would be staying in a hotel,” I said. I was very sure they wouldn’t want to meet her anyway. “Could you reiterate how much rent is?”
“It’s $875 a month. How do you intend to pay it?”
Obviously not with a card. “With a check.”
“You said you’re currently interning Midtown. Do you have a job lined up afterwards?”
“Not yet, but I’m constantly sending applications.”
“Are you sure you’ll have enough for rent?” she said, covering up a laugh on the word “sure.”
I held back from saying what I really wanted to say to Aurora.
“I have savings. I’ll use that until I find employment.”
“Well I know that college students don’t have a lot of money saved.”
Says who? Not every college student was irresponsible with money, though I did know a few friends from undergrad who spent the money from their meal plan in the first two weeks of college. Fun times.
“I do,” I said, keeping my tone even. I prayed this viewing would be over very soon before I said something that I might regret.
“Can you tell me why you want to live in Morningside Heights? What is it about this neighborhood that attracts to you?”
Was that code word for “I think it would be easier for you if you found somewhere where your people live? Like Harlem.”?
“It’s a nice, safe neighborhood. And I’m familiar with everything since I attend Columbia.”
“Ah.” She changed her tone. “We do love familiarity. I’ve lived here for almost thirty years,” Aurora said. “This has nothing to do with the apartment, but I wanted to ask you if that Southern house — Southern — What’s it called again?”
“Uh. Are you talking about Southern hospitality?”
“Yes! Yes! Is it true that people are nicer where you’re from?”
“They’re a little bit more considerate, I would say.” And I didn’t have to worry about a runaway bike or taxi trying to hit me when I had the right of way. There were also those little pesky problems of discrimination and prejudice, but that was an entirely different conversation.
“Very good. I’d love to go to Alabama one day.” I rolled my eyes in my mind. “Do you have any other questions?”
“No, I can’t think of anything else.”
“One last thing.” Aurora got up from her chair, picked up a sheet of paper from the coffee table, and handed it to me. “It’s a contract stating when you’ll be paying rent and so on.”
“I still plan on viewing other apartments.”
“I know that. The contract is to show what I expect from tenants. At the end of the day, I have to decide whether to accept the tenant or not.”
“Right…” I didn’t exactly see a line outside her door to rent the room, but I did give her kudos for having everything typed. “This is my copy?”
“This isn’t a copy you can take with you, but you can take a picture of it.”
So she was a control freak, condescending, and cheap. It was just a piece of paper. I quickly snapped a photo of the contract, and we both wished each other a good evening.
Now I understood why Aurora’s daughter never comes to visit her.
Part 4: https://jadetheeditor.medium.com/revolving-door-part-4-cd4b6543cda0