There are over 70 thousand apartment buildings and over a million residential apartments crammed into New York City's 300-square miles. One may say it was the low, yet still ridiculously high, rent at The Mare's Nest that drew her in. Or the fact it...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Here we are!" Betty opens the door to the apartment and welcomes her perspective tenant inside. This spot is special to her and the excitement in the new girl's eyes brings her a sense of joy and comfort. It was worth the struggle to walk up the stairs to see the happiness on her new resident's face.
"I love it," Mara smiles, unable to contain her excitement. She runs her hand up the frame of the entryway and presses her left palm against the other in a prayer-like position. Each of her neighbors has a different type of front door, a charming quirk of the complex, with the dutch-style door unique to this particular apartment.
Light leaks through the small windows and spills onto scuffed hardwood floors and dust dances on the rays of sun, settling on the stained window sills. The space is quaint and dim, and while the building is old and holds a history of which she deeply appreciates, it also represents new beginnings.
"When can I move in?"
The next day, the apartment is in hers. It was a whirlwind romance she never saw coming. Placing her last box on the ground, she looks around in adoration. She can already see moments of freedom. Finally, a place of her own. A place where she can dance around in her underwear. A place where she can bake with music blaring or read in complete silence. A place where she can live in peace, clear of judgement and odium.
A beautiful bouquet of wildflowers sits proudly on her kitchen counter, accompanied by a post-it note. White baby's breath tightly hugs tiny pale pink swamp roses and fragrant lavender, all tied together by a small piece of copper wire.
"Welcome to The Mare's Nest," she reads aloud, taking in the scent of the spring treasures. "We hope you love it here."
The fact she must learn this new territory is exciting, much like the first day of high school. Yet she knows she doesn't have the knowledge of the patient upperclassmen to lean on. She must be self reliant.
"You got this, Mara. You're okay," she mutters to herself. She's spent her life begging for the acknowledgement of others, making her question whether she'll be able to make it on her own. She doesn't think she's strong enough. Able enough. Loved enough. There's always been a piece of her telling her to quit and rest on her laurels, but her tainted history rings in her head and pushes her forward. "You're gonna make it."
To stifle the feeling of embarrassment for talking to herself, she imagines she's speaking to the spirit of the ones that live here before her. Those that found their sense of independence in the tiny apartment. It was comforting to think she was surrounded by the gumption of those that came before her. Their bravery, mixed with the welcoming disposition of her new landlord, would give her the confidence to move in the right direction.
"Hi! Um... Could I get a large pepperoni pizza, please? Extra cheese. Yes... Sure, sounds like a great deal. Raspberry lemonade." She digs through her purse to locate her credit card, tapping her heavy combat boot on the floor. "Yeah, 15 Washington Avenue, Brooklyn. Thanks so much!"
She paces back and forth, listening to the tick of the clock her mother bought her. The simple task of ordering food never felt more crucial and learning about her own nuances and tastes frightens her. Did she even like extra cheese or did she always order it for her boyfriend? Should she meet the delivery downstairs? Should she have told them her apartment number? Ordering a meal for herself and herself only is a foreign experience.
She decides to hustle down to the foot of the apartment building's stoop to await her indulgence and avoid criticism from her new neighbors.
"Are you Mara?" the delivery boy asks as he approaches. She nods and snatches the box out of his hands before running back upstairs. Along the way, she trips and knocks a floorboard loose on the main staircase. "Fuck," she whispers to herself. Her pigeon-toed feet have never been her most appreciated feature.
"Hi, Betty. It's Mara."
"Hello, dear! Everything alright?"
"I tripped coming up the stairs and kicked a board loose. I'm so sorry!"
"Don't be silly, love. You have nothing to apologize for. The wallpaper peels if you just look at it the wrong way."
"Can I help pay for it? I would have fixed it myself, but I'm not exactly handy. I feel terrible."
"Are you sure he's working on that? It literally happened two minutes ago."
"Yes, dear. Would you like to come down and meet him?"
"Um... I'm okay... I think I'm going to eat and unpack. Please tell Harry I said thank you!"
She quickly hangs up in a panic. Although Betty's concerned voice warms the cold outer shell of Mara's heart, "handsome" spells trouble. Something best avoided and replaced with the melted cheese and crisp crust patiently awaiting her consumption. She didn't need to muddy it up like she had usually done. This was her time to be alone. Her time to find herself. A fresh start.
