My First Apartment

 Originally Published Dec. 2012

“Okay, dad, turn left at the corner on English Street.”  And, so, my adventure of living away from home had begun. I had the car filled with clothes, dishes, towels, and my one piece of furniture that would follow me from apartment to apartment for quite a few years – the coffee table made out of the side of the TV console that I had set on fire when I was a child.

Dad pulled up in front of the three-story apartment building at 424 English Street on the East side of St. Paul and we started to unload my belongings.  My roommates – Kathy, Carolyn, and Millie were going to move in the next day.  This meant that I was going to be all alone my very first night in my very first apartment.  I never thought about that fact, however, since I was already thinking about all the parties we were going to have, the freedom to come and go as I pleased without having to “report in” or ask permission, and all the new people – and by that, of course, I meant the “boys” I was going to meet.  Staying alone overnight was not even on my list of things to think about.

My dad and I were very close and I was really glad he was helping me move – especially for his ability to carry all the heavy boxes.  My apartment was on the bottom level – or what they liked to call it then – the “garden level” which meant we were half in the ground and half above the ground.  When looking out my living room windows, I could only see the legs of those walking on the sidewalk! 

After unloading all my stuff, dad took me to the grocery store so he could buy me a few essentials to get me by until the next day – such as milk, bread, butter, corn flakes, pop and some snacks for the evening.  He also took me to MacDonald’s for supper.  And, then he was gone.  And I set about happily unpacking my things.

The apartment came furnished.  By “furnished,” I mean the beds, dressers, kitchen table and chairs, and a couch, two chairs, and a couple of tables and lamps – all in the Danish Modern style of furniture.  And by Danish Modern style, I mean – wooden arms and padded cushions.  Not comfortable at all.  And certainly not conducive to lying down on the sofa for a good winter’s nap.  

Kathy was going to supply the TV the next day and so, I had nothing to keep me company as I unpacked and got settled in.  No matter – I was just happy making my own decisions as to where I would place my pictures and household items.

It wasn’t until it got dark out did I start thinking about the fact that we had no curtains or drapes.  Not even the bedroom – which meant that I would have to get into my jammies in the bathroom.  No biggie – except someone walking by would be able to look in and see me sleeping.  That person would also be able to notice that no one was in the living room and that I was truly alone.  I consoled myself with the fact that maybe once I had all the lights off, no one would really be interested in looking into my apartment to see if anyone was in there.  I also figured out that with two bedrooms – and only one with windows, I could sleep in the second bedroom – and also lock the door.   

It’s now only 9:00 and I’m completely unpacked.  My bed was even made and ready for me to climb in for the night.  I had no phone.  It was way too late to start getting acquainted with my neighbors and it was too dark to take a walk around the block.  So, I grabbed one of my books and tried to get comfortable on the Danish couch. After a while, I was completely absorbed in my book when I heard footsteps coming down the main hallway of the garden level.  They stopped at my door.  I waited to hear a knock – but heard nothing.  The footsteps then continued on down the hall.  I would say that was kind of creepy.

Then, I heard the wind and rustling of the leaves outside.  I heard the furnace kick in.  And the drippy faucet in the kitchen.  All sounds that I’ve heard before – but, when one is in a brand new – and strange – place, -- and alone -- those sounds are enhanced ever so greatly.  Maybe it’s time for me to get ready for bed, turn off all the lights and lock myself in the second bedroom and continue reading my book there.

Since I had spent the day packing, moving, and unpacking, I certainly needed a bath.  But, I have got to tell you – the memory of the movie Psycho immediately entered my head.  There was no way – even if I had checked, and double checked – hey, even triple checked the locks on the doors to the apartment, the bedroom and the bathroom – was I going to take a shower in an apartment with no curtains, no phone, and no way to defend myself! 

And, so…. I went into the bathroom, locked the door, washed my face and hands, and changed into my PJ’s.  I then went into the kitchen and grabbed a sharp knife from the drawer and placed it under my pillow in the bedroom (the one without a window).  I locked the door, climbed into bed and slept with the lights on until morning came.

My roommates did arrive the next day.  That was forty-some years ago.  This is the first time I have ever told my “home-alone” story.  And….. I have to tell you….. if I’m ever alone in my house, I still don’t take showers!