Apartment 3B

New York City baby. The Big Apple. The City of Dreams. The City So Nice, They Named it Twice. Or in my case, the raggedy apartment 3B on the corner of 110th street and Cathedral Parkway. And when I say raggedy, I mean that the second I stepped foot in this place, I wanted to grab my bags and get myself out ASAP. The sickeningly yellow walls, the caveman-era looking architecture, and the windows, those rickety, grimy, windows, all come together to make a real eyesore of a place. Oh, but of course, Cam. If it weren’t for Cam, I wouldn’t be anywhere near the East coast, let alone this dump of a city. Seriously, what is so great about New York - the sewer rats? It was Cam who had insisted, correction, begged, for us to pack up our perfect little condo by the sea and move halfway across the country.

Now you must be thinking, “Wouldn’t any sane person love to move to New York?” No. The answer is no, because I’m perfectly sane and perfectly convinced. This city is not a dreamy little postcard. It's a dump filled with the worst kinds of people imaginable. How do you know this, you ask? I spent the first 12 years of my life in a musty apartment just like this. Mold infestation included. 

It wasn’t until 7th grade that my dad and I packed up our few belongings and moved to the small town of Del Mar, California; population 4200, to live with my grandparents. About a year and a half later, my dad finally landed a decently paying job as a security guard. Truth is, he kind of fell off after what happened to my mom. I mean, he went from being an accountant to unemployed and living with his parents in the span of a few months, that can’t be fun for anyone. Anyways, after he got the job we moved a few minutes down the block to an apartment that was - get this - ocean-facing. What more can one want in life? The sea just out my window, the warm winds, the blue skies, it was perfect, and perfectly opposite of where I am now. It was in that apartment that I saw her for the first time - the bubbly, dirty blonde girl struggling badly to roller skate across the sidewalk. I imagine what Cam must have thought of me at the time, the scrawny boy sitting on the porch, Gameboy in hand. 

We didn’t meet officially until weeks later on the first day of sophomore year, where we were lab partners in chemistry. I know right, the most cliche possible setting. Somehow, we hit it off right from the start, and there was something about my awkward, incompetent 15-year-old self that she liked. Me? I had fallen head over heels in love with her by the third week. When I finally mustered up the courage to ask her to the Homecoming dance, I was beside myself in excitement when she agreed. I kept asking myself what a beautiful girl like her could possibly see in me. She was outgoing, friendly, and spent her free time playing tennis and soccer. She had perfect grades and every teacher, hell, every student, loved her. Everything in her life fit perfectly into her place, from her neat bedroom to her font-like handwriting. I, on the other hand, was a complete and utter mess. I played soccer and piano, solely because my mother had forced me into them when I was younger and I didn’t have the heart to quit, but besides that, I did absolutely nothing. A B average student, I wasn’t particularly smart but I wasn’t dumb. Every hour I sat in school was spent quietly. I wasn’t a loner, but I didn’t really have any valuable friendships either. That is, until I met her. 

We stayed together from Homecoming through graduation, with the regular “breaks” of any high school relationship. By the time graduation did roll around, however, we decided that it would be best to break up. First loves are fun and all, but college was the best time to be free of all relationships, we agreed. It wasn’t a bitter ending, and even though I missed her, the feelings slowly faded away. After all, she was going to college in Washington while I was staying back home. 

Flash forward a few years and a library-collision-turned-coffee-date had us right back where we started. Funny how the world works, all the feelings flooding back just like that. We met at the perfect time, both having just graduated from college and home for a summer before we went out into the “real world”. It wasn’t long before we had moved in together 30 minutes south of our hometown and I finally got down on one knee and popped the question. We had a small, elegant wedding that was “Pinterest approved” according to Cam (though I don’t exactly know what that means). And with that, we’re basically up to speed. Last week we made the big move and here we are, The Big Ol’ Rotten Apple. 

At this point, you’re definitely wondering, “What the hell is this guy’s issue with New York?”

Let me just warn you, It’s nothing fun. No, I was never attacked by a rat in the subway, and no, I wasn’t hunted down by a cold-blooded mafia boss either, though those do seem kind of entertaining. 

My mom was shot here. Wow, definitely not what you were expecting, was it? I don’t want to get into the details, but to put it simply, she was walking home from work one evening and was approached by some lowlife, scumbag thug who tried to mug her. I’m assuming that she resisted because he shot her right through the head and just left her there. My beautiful mother found slumped on the sidewalk by some unlucky stranger, just a few neighborhoods from where we live now. There, that’s it. Now, do you understand? New York is filled with guys like that: gang members, murderers, rapists, thieves, and every other type of criminal imaginable. The worst part is, everyone just walks the streets with these people like it’s no problem. A bank robber could literally be standing behind you in line for coffee and you wouldn’t blink an eye. 

So there, you have it, the reason I hate this city. Obviously, I didn’t tell Cam this was why, because there’s no way she would have pushed so hard if she knew. I frankly only agreed to do this because I couldn’t stand to see that disappointed look on her face, though it does make her look cute.

Dang, speak of the devil, here she comes right now. 

•••

I seriously don’t understand what his problem is. It’s literally New York. New York. I can name a hundred people who would kill to be in his place right now. See, that’s Levi’s issue, he chooses to sit around and mope for a week! Yes, an entire week. He refused to go sightseeing, he refused to take the subway, and he even refused to walk to the Duane Reade across the street to get some toilet paper. God, I didn’t know I would be marrying a homebody! From the second we stepped off that plane, he’s been nothing but huffy. I mean, I know this wasn’t exactly his first choice of location but is it really that bad? 

“Would you please stop sulking and help me unpack these dishes?” I plead. 

An incoherent grunt comes from the couch.

“Come on. Get up.” I demand.

Another grunt, this one even more pained.

“I’m serious. You can’t live like this.”

“Yes, yes I can,” He chimes. “I’ve been living like this for the past 26 years and I’m doing great.”

“Come on. Look at how exciting our life is. We’re newlyweds, we just moved into our first house in a big city. We have new jobs, we have enough money in the bank, what is there to be upset about?” 

“Everything.” He groans. 

“That’s it.” I walk over to the couch and grab the pillow he’s cuddling from between his arms, lightly hitting him with it. “You and I are going out tonight. Into the city. To explore. And before you say no, I am your wife, and as your wife, you are practically legally obliged to do what I say. So we’re going, no buts.” 

“I would have never pictured myself with a nagging wife,” He jokes, smiling up at me. 

“Oh shut up,” I giggle, smacking his head with the pillow. “Now get up, and go get ready - we’re leaving in an hour.”

By some miracle of God, he actually gets up and goes, leaving me alone in our living room. Not to toot my own horn, but in the past few days, we’ve really made the place our own. It wasn’t like much work needed to be done though. A couple of art prints here, some plants there, and bam, the perfect balance of homey and vintage. After all, I feel like this place was practically made for me. It sounds far fetched, but from the second I first contacted the realtor, I knew this was where I was meant to be. I’m so glad we took the leap of faith with this place. The just-right shade of daffodil yellow coating the walls, the expensive Victorian architecture, and those adorable little french door windows, what’s not to love? This is quite literally the place of my dreams. Maybe there might be a touch of mold in the bathroom, but I truly think that just adds to the character of the place. 

It’s not just the apartment, it’s the city too. I remember after my first time visiting NYC I was ready to pack up my bags and move on the spot. I was only 13 at the time, and we had spent our trip hopping through all the touristy locations: museums, Central Park, Broadway, Times Square, The Empire State Building, and my personal favorite, Fifth Avenue. There’s just a certain charm about this place that never dies - it’s bustling with life, excitement, and opportunity. There are people from every background, every country, and every religion possible. There’s history, curiosity, and entertainment present at every corner. There are more opportunities to learn, grow, and thrive than I’ve ever seen before. I just wish I could get Levi to see it the way I do. 

You see, I’m not from around here. I’ve never been to a big city for more than a week, let alone lived in one. I grew up in eastern Idaho, on a farm. Yes, a farm. I was a farm girl. Fields of hay and tractors may be the dream of some, but once I realized there was so much beyond it, I was ready to get out. Once I turned 15, my parents realized that I didn’t have much waiting for me in Idaho. My older brothers could easily take over the farm if they wanted to, which they did, which left me with, well - nothing. After months of pleading, I finally convinced them to send me to California for the last three years of high school, where I would live with my aunt and uncle. It’s not that I wouldn’t miss them, I did very much, but I knew if I stayed in Idaho for those last years I would probably never leave. Surprisingly, they agreed. I think it was mainly my mom, she realized that I was miserable, and wanted to let me live my life the way I wanted to. They visited every 3 months, and I came home for the holidays, but other than that, my high school life was spent in Del Mar. And I absolutely loved it. I don’t think I had ever even seen the ocean before I came. 

The thing is, small towns are the exact opposite of big cities. Everybody knows everybody, and by that I mean the grocery store clerk is the principal’s brother, and the pastor is your teacher’s husband. That’s the reason I love New York so much, everyone is a complete stranger and it’s just so easy to blend into a crowd. Nobody even cares enough to hold the door for you (which can actually be a bit annoying at times), and God forbid they dare ask you your name.

I wonder where I’m going to take him tonight. As a matter of fact, I think I might know a place. Let’s hope I don’t have to drag him by the legs. 

•••

I can’t believe she’s forcing me to go out. I feel like I’m 6 all over again, being dragged to church by my mom (who was an atheist by the way - why did we have to go?). Where are we even going to go, the M&M museum? Actually, that sounds much better than whatever expedition she probably has in mind. Not to sound lame, but I’m not exactly the adventurous type. My idea of a good time is usually surrounded by 4 walls, a roof, and a space heater. Cam’s pretty much the exact opposite. I'm really hoping I won't have to spend too much time outside. Well, she’s calling me now. We’ll see how this goes. 

•••

I’m excited. 

•••

A parking garage? Not exactly what I had in mind. I mean it’s nice - you can practically see the entire skyline from up here. The view better have been good though, we walked up like 80 flights of stairs to get up here, and almost got chased by a homeless person. Cam says we’re “people watching”, and she’s going to show me the “beauty” of the city. Don’t really know how she’s planning on doing that, but I’ll let her try. 

She set up a whole dinner picnic just for us, fairy lights, and all while I was busy getting ready. I’m not even sure if I can call it a picnic since we’re sitting on hard, wet, concrete instead of fuzzy grass, but it's pretty enjoyable nonetheless. It’s actually pretty calming up here, and it’s sweet that she would put in all this effort to just make me have a good night. Thinking about it, I’ve been a pretty crappy husband this past week. She’s clearly been excited, and I have been pretty sulky about everything.

The look on her face right now makes me want to suck it all up and fake being happy with our new place. Perhaps I won’t even have to fake it. Perhaps the mold does give the shabby apartment 3B some charm. You know, maybe New York isn’t half awful. After all, how can it be bad if Cam is here?