Lady of Land pt II -- 'Life in Boxes'

It’s early October. I’ve been sharing Sally’s flat with her for two weeks since Anita left. Just Sally. And I. Sharing. Two weeks. I arrange to move out. I tell Sally I’ve found a new place in Greenpoint that’s closer to my office, closer to my friends. I would love to continue living here, I say, but the new room offer is closer to my office, closer to my friends. Those are my only reasons. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘I won’t take any personal offense if you move out!’

I return from a local cafe one night, and straight away she says, ‘I hope you don’t mind, I tidied your room. I was showing it to someone and I wanted it looking good.’ I keep my eyebrows raised. She says, ‘I left a note on your bed.’ As if by leaving a note, I couldn’t possibly mind her invading my private space. Later, when she sees I’m put out, she makes me pancakes.

In the bath I turn on the taps and wait for the right heat. Something tickles my feet: a giant cockroach with three-inch tentacles. There is no word for when a grown man screams involuntarily. I scramble to stand on the sides of the bath, grasping for the rails. I flick the roach into the gushing water with my toe and when the pressure has eventually killed it, I use chopsticks to fish it out. The memory makes me retch.

The next day I tell Sally about the incident (in less detail). She says that roaches aren’t the problem, mice are. She’s seen them darting across the kitchen. As a solution, she has laid out glue traps. The mouse is supposed to scuttle over the pad and find its feet sinking into rubbery glue. The mouse thinks, ‘how strange,’ and by nightfall is thrown out with the rubbish, still alive.

Sally has been re-painting the big bedroom room with help from Uma–the sixty something artist who stayed here recently. Uma is kind, canny, and has a worldly energy gleaming through green eyes. Sally is paying Uma for the help. I think about the word ‘help’. Sometimes I overhear Sally spilling information about her past to Uma; she’ll say, ‘It’s great you’re doing this, I really enjoy having you here!’ Sally is usually awkward and apologetic towards me, but when Uma arrives she becomes hysterically talkative. Uma listens to her as she would anyone else. Uma could hear out Hitler.

The paint job is done, and Sally wants me to see. ‘There’s no pressure,’ she says, ‘but it’s ready.’ I agree to inspect the mango-walled room with her. Having devoted much of her recent life to renovating what was originally a dilapidated, crumbling, barely plastered flat, she is very proud of the results. In the room I say I’m impressed, while eyeing up the old wooden piano in the corner. I forgot she even had one. I sit at the stool and begin to play, but it sounds all honky-tonk. Sally is smiling. ‘It makes me so happy to see someone play it. My father used to, but It’s hardly been used since he died.’

*

Sally is away over the weekend to collect a truckload of belongings from Michigan. I’m not sure it’s her original home she’s going to, or just a temporary one she had while enduring her long stay at the psychiatric hospital. I could ask, but I’d rather not. I think she told me once, but I have forgotten. Anyway, since I have the flat to myself, I consider starting a party. Problem is, the building manager would break it up.

On Sunday evening I return to find about thirty filled boxes piled against the living room wall, nearly touching the ceiling. I stand next to Sally in front of the impressive stack, just looking at it.

‘That’s a lot of stuff,’ I say.

‘Yeah,’ she says distantly, ‘I think I’ll give most of it away.’

‘Really? How come?’

‘Well, mostly it’s my parents stuff, but since they’ve both passed away I don’t really have a use for it. I thought there would be some cellar space in the building, but there just isn’t enough. I’d rather other people had it than just throw it away, I couldn’t do that. I could go through everything and work out what I want to keep and what I don’t, but it would take so long and I know that once I started, it would all come back, it would be too much, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘I just need to let it go. There’s a lot of sentimental value, but I think I’m ready to leave it behind.’

‘Yeah.’

I stand there, not sure what to say.

‘So . . . is there anything I might like?’

I am moving out in a few days. Sally has been looking for someone to fill my room. She has had many leads through craigslist. Two separate people even confirmed, but after further calls one backed out. Then the other. Curious. Despite her ads on craigslist and many viewings, there is no one set to fill the room. Sally says it’s because it’s of the painting she intends to do; and besides, it hasn’t been her top priority to find a lodger.

I ask her about giving me back the $300 deposit. She says, ‘sure. What I do is give it back after you’ve gone. Just to be sure’.

‘I’m not going to take anything when I leave,’ I say jokily.

‘No I know! Hah, you’re very trustworthy, it’s just a security thing.’

‘Sure. Have you given Anita hers back yet?’

(Anita has already told me Sally is refusing to return her deposit. When asked why, Sally sent her a long angry email bringing up minor issues dating as far back as Christmas.)

‘Well,’ she says, ‘the thing with Anita is, she accidentally took a few things that were mine. Like a green bowl. I haven’t seen it since she’s gone, and-and-and you know, I saw her using it!’

Her voice is verging on hysterical.

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Well, if there’s any reason why I wouldn’t get back the full deposit, please tell me now’.

I am packed and ready to move out. Uma and Sally are talking in the lounge, while I do a final room check and call a cab. Thing is, I need a reasonable excuse to come back to the flat, so that I when I do, Sally will be here to give me the deposit. I don’t want to risk her making it difficult to arrange collecting it. This is my strategy: I wash my clothes in the machine. Then I hang them up to dry. I say to Sally, ‘Oh dear, I’ve timed this badly. I’ll have to come back to collect my clothes when they’re dry.’ I hold the apartment key tight, so that if she asks for it I can say, ‘Sure, once I’ve got the deposit’. I am ready to justify this.

I say, ‘So, the deposit–’

‘One sec.’

Sally is walking away from me while I’m talking. When she comes back, I’m about to finish my point when I see that she’s taking out twenty dollar bills from an envelope.

‘There you go!’

I look down at my money, bemused. According to Anita, not once has Sally given back a deposit before the subletter has left. It’s rare enough for her to give the full amount. So why the special treatment?

‘You’re welcome to come back any time’, she says, ‘to cook or whatever.’

She means it, but I’m thinking about my wet clothes excuse.

‘Yes,’ I say. Then: ‘You know what? I think I need my shirts for work. Probably best I take them with’.

My cab arrives. I load it up, and on my final entry to the flat I say goodbye to Uma and Sally. I feel awkward, like I should give Sally a hug. I go over to the couch and give her one, but she doesn’t stand up and it’s very awkward.

‘I’ll be back!’ I say.

‘Hope to see you soon,’ says Uma. Sally is smiling.

One week later I do my laundry. When it comes to ironing, I realise I left my iron at Sally’s place. I can’t go to work with un-ironed shirts. I’m a professional. I write a text to Sally asking to collect it. My thumb hovers over the send button. I press cancel and pocket my cell.

I will make do with slightly creased shirts.