My First Apartment

It wasn’t much, but it was home. My first home, after moving out of my parents’ house; an upstairs apartment that I rented for $130 per month. A studio apartment.

As studio apartments go, it wasn’t bad. The place was clean, sort of, with fresh paint and appliances that worked – almost all the time! Out of the seven light bulbs, two of them weren’t burnt out, a problem I solved by quickly purchasing more light bulbs. But I couldn’t do anything about the unique smell, an odor that lingered even after I scrubbed everything with bleach.

Although it was small, (200 sq. ft) it did have four rooms – a kitchen, living room, bedroom, and bathroom. Okay, the bedroom was actually a closet that my bed fit into perfectly, and a bathroom isn’t usually counted as a separate room, I know. But a four-room apartment sounded far more impressive than a two-bedroom one. The one window allowed me to see the outside world – in the form of a picturesque view of a grand old brick building just five feet away. Between the two buildings was a walkway that led to the back stairs.

Of course, there were neighbors, and in a college town that meant students and, you guessed it, parties – not a good fit for a guy who had to get up at 4 a.m. to go to work!

There were five apartments in all – above a row of storefronts on a side street. Access to the apartments was a big wooden door with a thick pane of glass, situated between two of the stores. The door was locked after 10 p.m., and to open it, a four-digit code had to be entered on a number pad. Or, as I soon discovered, a good hard pull worked just as well. Since that was faster, it was my preferred method of entry. Not exactly secure. But then, there would have been no point. The door for the alley entrance was propped open twenty-four hours a day. All anyone had to do was go through the doorway, side step the water heaters, and climb the narrow staircase.

At least the door to the apartment itself had a lock – with a key. And, yes, it worked. Of course, if I ever forgot my key, all I needed to do was walk around to the window – it didn’t lock.

The place sounds rather horrible but, at the time, I didn’t consider any of its “problems” an issue. Back then; it didn’t even seem that small.

I only lived in that apartment for a few months before moving to Wisconsin – wedding bells were calling my name. Yes, I took my light bulbs with me, eventually installing them in my new home – a trailer. And let me just say, it’s a good thing I hadn’t had a problem with the condition of my former residence because this trailer made the apartment look like a mansion! Perhaps I’ll tell you about that next week.

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African Me & Satellite TV

by Jo Robinson

Bruce A. Borders

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on Apple®, Amazon®, Barnes & Noble, Kobo®, Diesel Books®, and Smashwords®, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Bruce A. Borders also serves as the Vice President of Rave Reviews Book Club http://ravereviewsbynonniejules.wordpress.com