I'm doing this because I will go crazy waiting otherwise.
I loved this apartment at first sight, but consider that a lot of the love I felt had to do with what I was getting for $500 a month. Two bedrooms, 1.5 bath, washer/dryer included. It was clean and big. I signed a lease immediately after my appointment. I moved in the next day. That was three days ago.
Nobody has ever accused me of being a slacker. I had most my stuff in boxes already and I had a U-Haul rented that same afternoon. All I could get for help on short notice was my brother Rich and my girlfriend Cairie. It was hard work, but I had beer, pizza and three grams of kush for payment. Cairie stayed the night, and we slept together in a place that was already mostly home. All the serious stuff had been done. I had the weekend to unpack silverware and arrange my books and stuff.
The master bedroom opened into a short hallway that led to the other bedroom that was to serve as my office, as well as the main bathroom. Early morning sunlight glowed through a window on the far end, painting the walls, carpet and stairs in molten gold. There was no curtain, and I decided then that there wouldn't be. A moment later, I realized that I could see open windows from the buildings behind us, and when the sun wasn't at this angle, anyone standing there could see anyone standing here, as I did, without clothes. Besides, the only other accoutrement in the hallway was a lovely series of framed photos Cairie shot at Lake Cumberland. I decided to buy some curtains while I was out, later.
I took a shower. When I got out, I saw Cairie looking at these photos. Not just looking, but gazing, as if she didn't recognize the fruits of her own talent.
She asked if it had been myself or Rich who had hung the photos, when she noticed me standing there. When I said that I did, she asked if I had done so after we passed around the bong. And when I saw what she saw, I had to wonder for myself.
There were four photos. I had nailed them up last night, and it was, in fact, one of the last things I did before we celebrated our labors. They had been spaced exactly an inch. I'd measured. Yet, when I retrieved my tape measure, I discovered that I had somehow not measured very well. The third and fourth photos had exactly two inches separating them.
I wasn't perfect, but I was exacting. I got my hammer and moved the rightmost nail exactly one inch to the left. I measured. I let Cairie measure. I went out and got a set of curtains for the window. I spared another glance at the photos, right before bed.
When I opened the bedroom door into the hall seven hours later, the same kind of comfortable morning sun greeted me, pouring through the window and down the stairs to the first floor. And yet, it was somewhat lesser. Somewhat dimmer. Everything seemed the same, and yet something I couldn't quite get was out of place. But, I thought I could get it, if I looked in the right spot.
The first three Lake Cumberland photos remained separated by gaps of precisely one inch. I had to get my tape measure again for the last gap. I had to run downstairs to get it, and then back upstairs with it, and I don't know if I took five whole breaths while doing so. Between photo three and photo four was not a gap of one inch, but of a whole foot.
Cairie and Rich were back that night, and I had both of them check out the photos. I had not moved them again. We all took turns looking. Rich was the one who pointed out the hole left where I'd pounded in the first nail. The tape measure confirmed that it was one inch to the right of the nail upon which the lake photo was now suspended. We examined. We hypothesized. There was no other visible sign of abnormality, upstairs or downstairs, inside or out. There was no basis for even a remotely educated guess.
Upon Cairie's suggestion, I went out that evening and bought a roll of twine. I hammered a nail above the window and above my bedroom door, with a length of the twine tied to both nails. I took a long, soaking bath. I think I was in there for an hour, and I didn't get out until the water got too cold to stay. I told myself that I wasn't avoiding going back into the hall, that I wasn't afraid of seeing further migration having taken place.
I wasn't. But, after I dried off, I went directly back into the bedroom, without even turning on the hallway light. I went to sleep, eventually.
The next morning, I was on the phone with my boss. I told him that I must have over-exerted myself after working on the apartment all weekend, and asked if I could have the day off. He agreed, probably because I sounded really convincing.
When I opened the bedroom door, I was greeted by what I thought was another beautiful, sun-drenched morning. I couldn't tell for sure, though. The twine now dangled behind the door, attached only to the portion of wall I now stood under.
The other wall was gone.
Not entirely, because I could see the tiniest pinprick of sunlight far in the distance, like a match struck on a distant hilltop. When I tried to turn on the hall light, I illuminated only my own spot of hall. I use tape measures and rules and stuff because I don't have an eye for gauging spatial distance. I didn't measure my twine last night. If you asked me how many feet lie between the bedroom door and the window, I'd have guessed fourteen. That's about as far as the light got before total darkness swallowed it.
I called Cairie. I called Rich. I told them to come.
I started walking toward the light at 8:19 AM. I would have stayed right where I was without that light. It was all I had to convince myself that there was another end to reach.
I reached the top of the stairs at 9:27 AM. I saw the door to my office. Nothing inside seemed unusual in the slightest. I saw the other three photos in the Lake Cumberland set. Nothing, except the hallway.
I reached the bottom of the stairs ninety seconds later.
Cairie and Rich had been there for an hour by that point. They both immediately saw what was wrong, but I had instructed them not to follow, and they had listened. We went through the hall together, and back. They all saw what I saw, but were no better equipped to explain it than I was. We took measurements outside. I wrote them down on a notepad. There was nothing to compare it to, but it didn't matter. We didn't have anything to measure the hallway, but after three times traversing it, we came up with guesses. We came up with miles.
We debated calling the landlord, but that ultimately didn't matter, because I only got a voicemail when I did. It was going on 6 PM. I felt exhausted. Cairie volunteered to make dinner. Rich volunteered to poke around the hall a little. I volunteered to take a nap. I had no energy to do anything else.
It was after 10 when I woke.
I was alone. I couldn't have known it immediately, but I did. And I was. I opened the front door hoping like I'd never hoped for anything that I would only see my car. I saw my car. I saw Cairie's car. I saw Rich's car.
It happened while I was asleep. It happens while I'm asleep.
I ran. How many people sustain a running pace in their own home for more than two or three seconds? I ran until I wasn't able to run anymore. Then I walked. Then I ran. Then I walk. Then I run.
Now, I sit. I call. I get nothing. My phone still works. It seems to still work. There is no answer. There is no light, so I am using my phone.
I sit. My legs are on fire. My chest is on fire. I have to catch my breath.
I type. My fingers are sore.
I don't know how far I've come.
I don't know where they are. I love him. He's my brother. I love her. She's my other half.
I love you, Richie.
I love you, Cairie.
Please, let them not be here. Let me be wrong.
Please come.
817 Capfeather Court
Apartment 3
Stanford
Kentucky
silver Nissan out front also theirs. Dodge stratus, bit old, also silver. Ford focus, not old, blue
Please
I loved this apartment at first sight, but consider that a lot of the love I felt had to do with what I was getting for $500 a month. Two bedrooms, 1.5 bath, washer/dryer included. It was clean and big. I signed a lease immediately after my appointment. I moved in the next day. That was three days ago.
Nobody has ever accused me of being a slacker. I had most my stuff in boxes already and I had a U-Haul rented that same afternoon. All I could get for help on short notice was my brother Rich and my girlfriend Cairie. It was hard work, but I had beer, pizza and three grams of kush for payment. Cairie stayed the night, and we slept together in a place that was already mostly home. All the serious stuff had been done. I had the weekend to unpack silverware and arrange my books and stuff.
The master bedroom opened into a short hallway that led to the other bedroom that was to serve as my office, as well as the main bathroom. Early morning sunlight glowed through a window on the far end, painting the walls, carpet and stairs in molten gold. There was no curtain, and I decided then that there wouldn't be. A moment later, I realized that I could see open windows from the buildings behind us, and when the sun wasn't at this angle, anyone standing there could see anyone standing here, as I did, without clothes. Besides, the only other accoutrement in the hallway was a lovely series of framed photos Cairie shot at Lake Cumberland. I decided to buy some curtains while I was out, later.
I took a shower. When I got out, I saw Cairie looking at these photos. Not just looking, but gazing, as if she didn't recognize the fruits of her own talent.
She asked if it had been myself or Rich who had hung the photos, when she noticed me standing there. When I said that I did, she asked if I had done so after we passed around the bong. And when I saw what she saw, I had to wonder for myself.
There were four photos. I had nailed them up last night, and it was, in fact, one of the last things I did before we celebrated our labors. They had been spaced exactly an inch. I'd measured. Yet, when I retrieved my tape measure, I discovered that I had somehow not measured very well. The third and fourth photos had exactly two inches separating them.
I wasn't perfect, but I was exacting. I got my hammer and moved the rightmost nail exactly one inch to the left. I measured. I let Cairie measure. I went out and got a set of curtains for the window. I spared another glance at the photos, right before bed.
When I opened the bedroom door into the hall seven hours later, the same kind of comfortable morning sun greeted me, pouring through the window and down the stairs to the first floor. And yet, it was somewhat lesser. Somewhat dimmer. Everything seemed the same, and yet something I couldn't quite get was out of place. But, I thought I could get it, if I looked in the right spot.
The first three Lake Cumberland photos remained separated by gaps of precisely one inch. I had to get my tape measure again for the last gap. I had to run downstairs to get it, and then back upstairs with it, and I don't know if I took five whole breaths while doing so. Between photo three and photo four was not a gap of one inch, but of a whole foot.
Cairie and Rich were back that night, and I had both of them check out the photos. I had not moved them again. We all took turns looking. Rich was the one who pointed out the hole left where I'd pounded in the first nail. The tape measure confirmed that it was one inch to the right of the nail upon which the lake photo was now suspended. We examined. We hypothesized. There was no other visible sign of abnormality, upstairs or downstairs, inside or out. There was no basis for even a remotely educated guess.
Upon Cairie's suggestion, I went out that evening and bought a roll of twine. I hammered a nail above the window and above my bedroom door, with a length of the twine tied to both nails. I took a long, soaking bath. I think I was in there for an hour, and I didn't get out until the water got too cold to stay. I told myself that I wasn't avoiding going back into the hall, that I wasn't afraid of seeing further migration having taken place.
I wasn't. But, after I dried off, I went directly back into the bedroom, without even turning on the hallway light. I went to sleep, eventually.
The next morning, I was on the phone with my boss. I told him that I must have over-exerted myself after working on the apartment all weekend, and asked if I could have the day off. He agreed, probably because I sounded really convincing.
When I opened the bedroom door, I was greeted by what I thought was another beautiful, sun-drenched morning. I couldn't tell for sure, though. The twine now dangled behind the door, attached only to the portion of wall I now stood under.
The other wall was gone.
Not entirely, because I could see the tiniest pinprick of sunlight far in the distance, like a match struck on a distant hilltop. When I tried to turn on the hall light, I illuminated only my own spot of hall. I use tape measures and rules and stuff because I don't have an eye for gauging spatial distance. I didn't measure my twine last night. If you asked me how many feet lie between the bedroom door and the window, I'd have guessed fourteen. That's about as far as the light got before total darkness swallowed it.
I called Cairie. I called Rich. I told them to come.
I started walking toward the light at 8:19 AM. I would have stayed right where I was without that light. It was all I had to convince myself that there was another end to reach.
I reached the top of the stairs at 9:27 AM. I saw the door to my office. Nothing inside seemed unusual in the slightest. I saw the other three photos in the Lake Cumberland set. Nothing, except the hallway.
I reached the bottom of the stairs ninety seconds later.
Cairie and Rich had been there for an hour by that point. They both immediately saw what was wrong, but I had instructed them not to follow, and they had listened. We went through the hall together, and back. They all saw what I saw, but were no better equipped to explain it than I was. We took measurements outside. I wrote them down on a notepad. There was nothing to compare it to, but it didn't matter. We didn't have anything to measure the hallway, but after three times traversing it, we came up with guesses. We came up with miles.
We debated calling the landlord, but that ultimately didn't matter, because I only got a voicemail when I did. It was going on 6 PM. I felt exhausted. Cairie volunteered to make dinner. Rich volunteered to poke around the hall a little. I volunteered to take a nap. I had no energy to do anything else.
It was after 10 when I woke.
I was alone. I couldn't have known it immediately, but I did. And I was. I opened the front door hoping like I'd never hoped for anything that I would only see my car. I saw my car. I saw Cairie's car. I saw Rich's car.
It happened while I was asleep. It happens while I'm asleep.
I ran. How many people sustain a running pace in their own home for more than two or three seconds? I ran until I wasn't able to run anymore. Then I walked. Then I ran. Then I walk. Then I run.
Now, I sit. I call. I get nothing. My phone still works. It seems to still work. There is no answer. There is no light, so I am using my phone.
I sit. My legs are on fire. My chest is on fire. I have to catch my breath.
I type. My fingers are sore.
I don't know how far I've come.
I don't know where they are. I love him. He's my brother. I love her. She's my other half.
I love you, Richie.
I love you, Cairie.
Please, let them not be here. Let me be wrong.
Please come.
817 Capfeather Court
Apartment 3
Stanford
Kentucky
silver Nissan out front also theirs. Dodge stratus, bit old, also silver. Ford focus, not old, blue
Please
