The hallways were narrow, hot and humid. They were dimly and inconsistently lit. The mailboxes on the wall inside the foyer door were differently sized and labeled with Post-It notes taped to their doors. Every wall was spider-webbed with cracked plaster. None of the utility plates matched. Every door in the building seemed to be a different size, just as no corners seemed to be exactly ninety degrees.
There were two flights of stairs to get to my older son’s new apartment, and they were both narrow. The stair heights and depths seemed just random enough to make normal, predictive walking difficult. We used rocks someone had gathered to hold the doors open while we moved in his things. We had to buy him a bed frame we could assemble in his apartment because we couldn’t get his box-spring up the stairs.
It’s an old building, and shabby. Not the shit hole that my younger son and his friends moved into, but not far off. It was clean, and obviously attended to, in it’s way. But it was a large house, cut into many apartments, lived in by college students.
And of all the places my son has moved into, this one is my favorite. It has funky angles and curves. Everything is just a tiny bit skewed. Nothing is standard or uniform. Hell, I think if he were to put curtains on a window, each side would have to be a slightly different length. He put a locker (an old school locker he’s had for years) next to an Ikea entertainment center. He had to put cardboard under two legs of the locker. Not because it wobbled, because it didn’t. Nor did the entertainment center wobble. He put the cardboard there because while each was stable, they rose from the floor at slightly different angles. Weird.
But it’s my favorite so far. It suits him. It’s comfortable, and welcoming. I could’ve sat for hours, She and I, my son and his Girlfriend, drinking beer and hanging out.
Younger son is currently in the ninth month of a twelve month lease. He’s got 4 or 9 roommates, depending on how you describe his situation. He and nine of his friends leased a two-unit house, five on each side. It’s a shit hole. A Shit Hole. It’s old, it’s shabby, and in places probably dangerous. It’s much closer to condemnation than We The Parents are totally comfortable with, but the boys seem happy and content. They won’t, however, be extending their lease. At the end of the summer they’ll be moving out, to an apartment building about 50 yards away from the house they live in now.
I’ve liked moving my sons into their dorms and apartments. I feel connected to them. When they tell me stories of what they did yesterday, or what they had for dinner, I can picture them in a place, and that gives me comfort.
Don’t get me wrong, I also like the idea of never hauling a couch up a winding stair case ever again. Ever. But I love seeing their new places and helping them put their things in it.
I like the changed perspective their new places give them, and us.
Unless it’s a locker and TV stand rising from the floor at odd angles. That’s just hard to look at.
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