Alpine

Gambit 2 - Blossom

When I moved south, I had already picked out where I wanted to live: this old, brick, four-floored, apartment building. It was out of the downtown epicenter, but still a ten-minute drive from work. Five from the grocery store. The place was called "Blossom." Not "Blossom Apartments" or "The Blossom" or "Blossom Place." Just Blossom. It felt simple and right.

The whole reason I went south was for the heat. The sun. No more crappy winters and endless grey skies. I think flowers represent spring to most people, but for me they mean summer. Between Blossom's name and low rent, I was happy to put up with the plumbing and electrical quirks that plague older buildings.

I was on the top floor. Unit 403. A studio without much in the way of a kitchen. Cooking and I are tentative strangers at the best of times anyway. There was enough counter space for my coffee brewer and to make a sandwich. As for appliances, I had a stove to boil pasta water and a microwave for popcorn and leftovers. That was all I needed.

Half-wall dividers broke the space into the kitchen, a much larger living room, and a bedroom nook. In the living room, I set up a couch, coffee table, floor lamp, and a console table with an old tube TV. A few other things were scattered about, like a bean bag chair left over from college. I was never a pack rat.

My bedroom area only had the bed and my radio alarm clock. And the clock sat on the floor by my headphones. Otherwise, there was the small bathroom where two of the five vanity lights were out. I never bothered replacing them. The place was sparce, but it felt cozy to me. Especially with the floors. For some reason, they were old, polished wood instead of tile, laminate, or carpet. I loved that.

The feature that sold me on this apartment was the little balcony. The view was mediocre, but I could walk into my own private piece of the outdoors in my boxers to enjoy the morning sunshine with my coffee. That was a big deal for me. It was the kind of basic luxury I had seen gritty bachelors enjoy on tv and in movies. Something I had wanted since I was a kid.

I tried to grow plants out there, but they never made it. When I felt good enough to care for them, I drowned them. When I barely felt good enough to care for myself, they shriveled up from neglect. The only thing that survived up there was the dandelion.

That obnoxious pest planted itself in a tiny crack between the concrete floor and the wall. Its twisted leaves and stems stretched out from the crevasse, defying all logic and sense to thrive there. I suffered its existence until it grew on me. I adopted it. Its name was Charlie. I thought that was a good name for a lion.

What I am trying to get at here is that this place was my home. Even when work was shit, even when I spent sleepless nights on the couch, even when I had to throw away another failed plant experiment, I was safe there. This space was mine. It had been a long time since I felt that way about a place that I was living in.

Saturday. A few weeks after my harassment claim against Ryan. I felt okay. Life at the office had mostly gone back to normal. I still asked Bea for things in person instead of via email, but not because I had to. She preferred human contact. A small price to stay on her good side.

I was still a stranger to everyone outside the Alpine team, but my entrances no longer triggered a hush. My co-workers stopped avoiding me. I never found the guts to ask what their understanding of the situation was, but everything seemed fine.

My alarm clock beamed 10AM. Rolling out of bed, I meandered to the coffee machine. The rich, roasting smell brought a smile to my face. Past me had remembered to preload the grounds. I usually forgot on Fridays. Thursdays were rough too. But on that day, a warm pot had been patiently waiting for me for three hours. It was a welcome sight.