{"id":165570,"date":"2023-09-27T10:31:41","date_gmt":"2023-09-27T14:31:41","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=165570"},"modified":"2023-09-27T11:45:34","modified_gmt":"2023-09-27T15:45:34","slug":"apartment-four","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/09\/27\/apartment-four\/","title":{"rendered":"Apartment Four"},"content":{"rendered":"<div id=\"attachment_165572\" style=\"width: 778px\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-165572\" class=\"wp-image-165572 size-large\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/09\/apartment-four-768x1024.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"768\" height=\"1024\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/09\/apartment-four-768x1024.jpg 768w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/09\/apartment-four-225x300.jpg 225w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/09\/apartment-four-1152x1536.jpg 1152w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/09\/apartment-four-1536x2048.jpg 1536w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/09\/apartment-four-scaled.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"auto, (min-width: 62.5em) 67vw, 100vw\" \/><p id=\"caption-attachment-165572\" class=\"wp-caption-text\">Photograph by Jacqueline Feldman.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>One spring evening I pulled in and saw my neighbor Stefanie was sitting on her car, which has the next spot over, with a friend. It was possible to worry for a second that I\u2019d hit her.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHi, my neighbor,\u201d I said as Stefanie hopped down. She and I had a project to one day go in on compost pickup.<\/p>\n<p>We had something else in common, we realized that evening. Neither of us had been told about apartment four.<\/p>\n<p>And the vacancy had filled so quickly. We both may have had reasons for considering a move\u2014mine being I have mold\u2014and that apartment, I happened to know, was a two-bedroom, with a bay window, beautiful gold-and-cream striped wallpaper, and decoratively ribbed molding that pooled, at the corners, in concentric circles. It was not, however, perfect. \u201cIt\u2019s really loud in there,\u201d I said to Stefanie. \u201cThat\u2019s why Alex\u201d\u2014my ex-boyfriend\u2014\u201chad to leave.\u201d I had started seeing Alex during the pandemic in 2020, a month or two after my arrival in the Northampton, Massachusetts, building. He was there already.<\/p>\n<p>I had been aware that he paid more in rent than I did. But my thoughts, as I left Stefanie and made my way inside, turned instead to the way I\u2019d had of judging Alex, privately, for giving up his lease on what was truly a nice place \u2026\u00a0so that it only later occurred to me to investigate my feeling that out of all of us in the building, a converted Victorian that has eight units, each neighbor had a different curiosity, or jealousy: an opinion about which apartment is the best. Or worst\u2014built out of the irregularly shaped old house, they are all different.<!--more--><\/p>\n<p>I called Vernon, my downstairs neighbor.<\/p>\n<p>For Vernon, a cellist born in Nebraska and raised in Richmond, Virginia, a curiosity about the contents of the other apartments, and about the people they contained, was much on his mind; this had led him to investigate, one day. \u201cThere was a woman,\u201d he said, \u201cwho worked at UMass, I\u2019m forgetting her name now, and she never went out, she only went out to teach her class and come back. She was very fair-skinned, blond and fair-skinned, and she actually had a witch hat. And she was kind of attractive in a strange way. From far away she wasn\u2019t, but up close. And I thought that was mysterious, too.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat one that Alex had,\u201d he went on, \u201cI\u2019ve been in there, long before your time. I saw that. And I\u2019ve seen yours because I was checking out the plants, doing the plant thing. But that one on the very top floor\u2014when the woman moved out and they were working on it, I went and looked.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Visiting her apartment, my apartment, or apartment four had not made Vernon jealous\u2014on the contrary. \u201cIn some ways, because of the layout and the windows, I kind of fantasize that mine is one of the better apartments,\u201d he tactfully explained. I had my opening to let him know the one that had been Alex\u2019s had a dishwasher.<\/p>\n<p>But there was a lot of noise from the street, I added. \u201cI feel like he was getting hung up on it,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou have to wonder,\u201d said Vernon delicately. \u201cHe might have been getting hung up on it, or he had other reasons for wanting to leave and he was thinking, I\u2019m focusing on the traffic now.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Next I called up Allie, my shy neighbor who\u2019d taken the time to show me a third pilot light, all the way at the back of the stove, when I first moved in. She did not need to be told about any dishwasher. \u201cHank\u2019s and apartment four are good,\u201d she said, \u201cbecause they both have dishwashers.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Allie used to live in a first-floor unit; Chris, that unit\u2019s current occupant, recalled having had the opportunity, before moving in, to view still another on \u201cone of the upper floors\u201d\u2014too big for just him. \u201cThat\u2019s apartment four,\u201d I said, as Chris began his description; a garage space that went with it had been of special interest. Ben, who lives on the third floor but used to have my unit, on top of his other preferences\u2014like the one, with its bitter meaning for me, that that move had signaled\u2014ventured that apartment four, though too expensive, was the best. (\u201cI felt more secure in my situation, it\u2019s just a nicer apartment, sorry,\u201d he said. \u201cI will tell you that when I moved upstairs my allergies suddenly got a whole lot better.\u201d)<\/p>\n<p>Which left only Megan\u2014our most recent arrival. Though I asked her repeatedly, the current tenant of apartment four said she didn\u2019t feel \u201cany desire to live in any other than the one I\u2019m in,\u201d saying, \u201cI like mine.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>There is, just inside the front door of our house, a black-and-white photo that shows the house. The image, mentioned by several of these tenants, is easy to love, I think for its suggestion of infinity. One day, before another move, I had the bright idea to \u201cjournal\u201d about each \u201cchapter\u201d (\u201cepoch\u201d? \u201cera\u201d?) of my time where I\u2019d been living: rooms I rented, my young men, every factor that gave texture to that period of my development. This was interesting as an idea, a good \u201cidea\u201d and not a \u201cgood idea,\u201d not an idea that lent itself to execution. Still, if I were to do one of those for here\u2014the Massachusetts town where I moved to be a student\u2014I would be sure to make a note of the woman I saw approaching on foot, very close, where, at the side of my building, I happened to find her. I asked if I could help her. She was holding and all at once, with a flick of the wrist, liberated a brief length of already peeling blue-green paint. \u201cPretty color,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n<p>So there I was another evening, out on the porch with Vernon, my friend even if, as we discovered recently, each of us has long harbored in parallel, but paradoxically, a suspicion the other\u2019s apartment is smaller; he called mine one of \u201cthe tinier ones.\u201d A spring rain articulated smells of soil, wilted azaleas just outside the porch light\u2019s focus barely lavender as dark fell. We were going to drink the last of the pastis I\u2019d brought him the previous summer\u2014a thank you for watering my plants\u2014but it was cool and rainy and Vernon provided, instead, Pinot Noir. That sunset still was visible, in flashes, in Hank\u2019s windows. \u201cThese are pretty solid plaster walls,\u201d Hank, when I\u2019d interviewed him, said; as he spoke I\u2019d heard, loud and clear just over my left shoulder, Hank\u2019s grandfather clock\u2014like a plucked bow, not a plucked string, tolling some hour.<\/p>\n<p>So it was that later, playing back the tape I\u2019d made of Vernon describing a sort of distance that housemates did well, he thought, to calibrate in forming friendships\u2014\u201cto protect ourselves\u201d\u2014I was, strangely enough, surprised to hear a real roar of passing cars. I knew how loud the road could be where we all lived. I guess I had been able to forget.<\/p>\n<p>Why <em>had <\/em>Alex moved away? I couldn\u2019t ask him now.<\/p>\n<p>But this was more or less what some of us did like about our building\u2014in Megan\u2019s words, \u201cthe intimacy of being around people without sharing deep knowledge of them.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><em>Jacqueline Feldman<\/em><em>, a writer living in Massachusetts, is moving out<\/em>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>\u201cEach neighbor had a different curiosity, or jealousy: an opinion about which apartment is the best.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1338,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[68584],"tags":[67827,68596,2711],"class_list":["post-165570","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-home-improvements","tag-featured","tag-home-improvements","tag-massachusetts"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized 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