Thursday, October 1, 2009
I succumbed to a bout of curiosity and learned that our old apartment is still available.
I read the landlord's advertisement with the practiced eye of a skeptic: he, after all, was seeking a new tenant for financial purposes. Until two months ago, we actually lived there, and no amount of wool could blinker our eyes.
Spouse and I read the piece together.
Sunny, it said.
"Funny," I said. "I don't remember it being a particularly sunny apartment."
Spouse, who had been reading faster than I, interrupted.
"Patio. Did we have a patio?"
"We did," I said, trying to recall.
"Really? A patio? Where was it?"
"Well," I said, slowly, "remember that slab of stone outside the kitchen window? The bit we shared with the next-door neighbour? I put a dead chive plant out there once. There wasn't enough sunlight in the apartment to keep it alive. It's still there, as far as I know."
"I do," said Spouse. "I remember the chives. Poor things."
"That was the patio. I think," I added, "that that's the one he meant."
Posted by Phyllis Hunt McGowan at 4:46 PM