In an anonymous landlocked area of the United States, in one of the sprawling suburban cities on the outskirts of a larger metropolis, surrounded and nestled within a complex labyrinth of 4 lane roads, choked off by a thousand traffic lights and chronically backed up traffic. Within this endless spread of franchise fast food chains, minimalls, and streets which go nowhere is an apartment complex. An apartment complex like all the others, idential in character, unique somehow in the shade of grey paint used to cover it’s siding. In this apartment complex is a building, nestled furthest away from the access road in a corner of the property. In this building is my apartment, on the ground floor, my view out the back is of the peremeter fence and a line of trees planted during the complex’s construction. This apartment of mine has off-white carpet covering every floor except the kitchen area and bathroom. The walls are a similar shade of off-white and are undecorated. In this apartment I have no decoration, and no other furniture except for my bed, a computer desk, a computer chair, and of course my computer.
I had deliberatly, through years of research, settled on this particular apartment room, in this particular apartment complex, in this city, in this state. I had first concieved of it in my mind, and then slowly went looking for it, as if to manifest if out of thin air. Other cities had too much character, other states were too interesting, and other suburban areas had too much geography. Some apartment complexes were too new and novel, and others were too old and had too much character. Once I had settled on a city and town with the most likely candidates I flew in, rented a car, and began to inspect each one.
I first entered Meadowbrook Terrace like it was any other anonymous apartment complex. They were all idential 2 story structures, each arranged in a semi random configuration of rows which followed some kind of it’s own logic, as if they were following the banks of an invisible river. But there was no river, there was only the endless rows of similar complexes, suburbs, minimalls, and 4 lane roads. When I arrived I greeted the apartment agent, who was to show me the room. She was a biology student who was doing apartment showing part time, but was set to move out in several months after graduation. I sighed knowing that she had a way out.
We took a golf cart around the complex, navigating the parking lots and rows of covered and uncovered parking, finally arriving at the back corner of the property. As we walked up she fumbled to find the correct keys, and in a few moments produced the right one, which opened the door to the completley empty apartment. The blinds were drawn and the afternoon sun filtered through them, scattering over the anonymous carpet, walls, and ceiling. Looking into the dim apartment, I knew I had found the perfect place, and did not need to look any further. If only the apartment agent had not flipped the lights on, ruining the perfect banality. I had made up my mind then, but went with the short tour out of courtesy.
30 minutes later I had signed the paperwork for a 3 year lease. I never saw that agent again. I went to a department store to get the basic computer desk and chair, I procured a bed and bedframe, a single towel, a single set of sheets and pillows, a single dinnerware set I would never use. I would never use the oven, just the microwave. I got nearly all my food delivered, rarely driving my car anywhere. There was nowhere to go, and any place would be a 40 minute drive into the city, and then you’d have to find parking.
No, several years ago I had the idea to completley isolate myself, not just geographically and socially, but from feelings themselves. One cannot go into the woods into some cabin like the authors of old anymore. One needs the internet, and the convinences of fast food and department stores, and internet shopping. I could not just numb myself with opiates, but I found that the suburbs and complexes of the country produced their own kind of painkiller, and a painkiller that was just as intoxicating.
Here in the apartment of Meadowbrook Terrace I huddled away, and stopped feeling anything. No happiness, but no sadness eaither. I never opened the windows to let fresh air in, or drew the blinds to let the sunlight in. The state was always either a little too hot in the summer, or too cold in the winter, and so I stayed inside. I dutifully took my trash to the dumpster every week, and checked the mail, but that was about as far as I wished to venture for most days a week. Once in a while I would get fastfood via a drive through, always choosing different ones and rotating them in a precise manner, so that none of the workers would see me enough to ever recognize me. And even in these, I would have to order something different each time, rotating a selection of fast food orders with each one, to avoid the possibility that someone would recogize me, recognize my order, and ask if I wanted “the usual” that would be the greatest insult to the whole operation.
And much to my satisfaction, the years began to tick by and I did not notice them. I marked the passage of time with my lease renewals, which was always for 3 years, but required me to return to Meadowbrook Terrace’s office. Each time I returned it was the same, the receptionist wore identical dresses, and the agent who did the paperwork was always different. I started to dread these after a while, because sometimes they’d remark “well, you’ve been with us for a while” and then “you’ve been renting with us for quite some time” and then “you’re one of our longest lease holders” and it got to the point after the last one where, after the last remark, I requested that any future lease renewals the agent would simply not talk to me during the process or remark on “how long it’s been” as this produced such a dread in me of anticipation that I felt it more and more as each lease renewal came up. And this worked, for some time.
This time I had dutifully come to Meadowbrook Terrace’s office to sign a lease renewal. The routine was the same, I would shake hands with the agent, they would present the new lease and any rent increases, and I would sign again, and return to my apartment for a week or so of decompression. The agent was a face I had never seen before, he looked like a young college student of some kind, and I did not expect to see him ever again. I took a pen from the basket of free pens marked with Meadowbrook Terrace’s logo, the basket of pens losing pens gradually over the years, to the point where now there were just a dozen or so left. After signing the lease once again I breathed out a sigh and dutifully put the pen back. The agent went to file the lease into the large filing cabinet where all the paperwork was kept, upon opening this, he uttered something that shattered me.
“You are our longest tenant”
And just like that, the peace and numbness I had built around myself had shattered, I stammered a polite thank you, but I rushed out and ran back to my apartment. Suddenly I noticed all the cracks in the sidewalks and unmaintained tarmac of the parking lots and roads. I noticed the faded apartment number signs, I noticed the shingles coming off of the roof of the structure that held the mail boxes. I noticed that all the tires on my car were flat, the unwashed exterior was covered in dirt and accumulated pollen. I opened the door of my apartment and noticed all the trash I never took out, all the pizza boxes, all the empty beer cans, all the spent soda cups, all the mail order boxes, all the dust on top of all of it. I noticed my computer and my desk, the worn and flattened seat of my computer chair, the sagging mattress of my bed, the long torn and tattered pillowcases. The empty refridgerator. The paths of carpeting between my desk and the bathroom and bed. I noticed all of it all at once, and it was overwhelming, and I tried to retreat to my bed, into the games on my computer, into my mind.
But that’s the thing about this place, is while there is the incursion of the outside from time to time, eventually the numbing effect of the carpet, the wall color, the quiet of it all, the isolation, deep in the maze of 4 lane roads, strip malls, and fast food chains. It numbs even the greatest insult. And so I once again dove into it like a dream.