The Road to Santa Clara (Ch. 4): The Apartment
Ξ September 5th, 2007 | → | ∇ Stories |
It was Saturday morning, and the sun was bright, the sky a rich, bright blue the color of a clean, sparkling swimming pool. As we approached San Jose toward Santa Clara, I took a long sip of my hot coffee, sweet and rich from hazelnut creamer, and decided that this was going to be a grand adventure, that as soon as we arrived, it would be ok. I even began to daydream and imagine that perhaps they’d have someone, maybe Steve and Lacey, there to meet us. Maybe they’d even have some cookies in our apartment or something, maybe a couple flowers. Nothing special, really, just some cookies or a smiling face. I counseled myself, if they could at least have some show of welcome, some way to let us know that at least we were wanted there, I could be ok. I didn’t care what—even just a note. Yes, I decided, anything would do, I’d be happy with anything like that.So, when we pulled into the church parking lot I scanned the front to see if I could find a familiar face—maybe Chase and Kelly or something. But there was no one there at all—not a single person. We parked the U-haul and our little car and all got out, stretching our legs, turning our faces up to soak up the warm morning sun.
“Wow, this place is nice,” my dad remarked, scanning the impressive campus.
“Yeah, see – it’s going to be great, I’m sure,” I said to Dad but more to myself. I looked around again and turned to Jeff. “Where are we supposed to go? Isn’t Steve here?”
“I don’t know, let me call his cell.” Jeff proceeded to dial his number, but it went straight to his voice mail, so he left him a message, saying we’d arrived and were ready to move in. After he hung up, he looked at us.
“What now?” Our arrival was certainly anticlimactic. We stood around for a moment. The dynamic was a challenge, my dad the natural take-charge guy staying visibly restrained, purposely hanging back so Jeff could take the lead. I looked at him anxiously, realizing that tears were welling up in my eyes. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. I’m sure we’ll find somebody and it’ll be fine, I reassured myself, looking down at the pavement, kicking around a rock.
“Steve!” Jeff caught sight of Pastor Steve coming around the corner of the church and flagged him down. Steve looked up and appeared confused for a moment. For an instant I thought that he wouldn’t remember us. “It’s Jeff and Kari Patterson,” Jeff filled in as he approached.
“Oh yeah. You guys are here.” He stated the obvious, glancing over at our U-haul.
“Yeah, I had told you we’d be here this morning. Is that still ok?” Jeff put his arm around me.
“Uh, yeah, I’m sure. You know, though, I don’t know if the guys have moved out of the apartment. I must not have realized you were coming today; I don’t think I told them to move out.” I swallowed and closed my eyes hard to keep back my tears. Jeff squeezed my shoulders and remained calm.
“Ok, well, who lives there now? Can we talk to them and see about moving in?”
“Sure, I think Jim must be around here somewhere. Let’s go find him.” Looked at me and I nodded, letting him know I’d be ok. He kissed my forehead and followed Steve. I didn’t look over at my parents, I couldn’t, so I just looked down and walked to the car. I sat down in the passenger seat and once again, the flood I’d been holding back broke through and I buried my face in my hands and cried. How could they not even know that we were coming today? The other people still live there?! Who still lives there? Where are we going to go? Once again, I panicked with all the questions. Not only was there no welcome, no chocolate chip cookies, they didn’t even know we were coming. Mom and Dad tactfully went for a walk around the building.
After I finished my cry, I got out of the car and stood next to it to wait for Jeff, turning my face up to the sun to try to erase the evidence of my cry. From around the corner of the building a girl appeared, and I recognized her as Cassidy, a girl my age who was the Director of Children’s Ministries, who I’d met before when we visited. The sun was in her eyes, but she squinted at me, and after a moment of searching, recognition came.
“Hi there.” She approached the car. “Are you the girl from Oregon?” I managed a smile and said we were and reminded her of my name. She looked up at the U-Haul and I watched her face come to a conclusion. “Did you move here?” Again I said yes and explained that we’d only arrived minutes earlier. “I didn’t even know you were coming! Wow, that’s great. I’m glad you’re here. But, where are you living?” I told her about the apartment. She looked surprised. “But the guys live in that apartment.” I explained that we’d been told that was to be our new home. She shrugged her shoulders, “Well, I’m sure they could get moved out in a few days. There are plenty of hotels around here, maybe you could stay there. Or if you want, ya’ll are welcome to sleep on the floor in my apartment.” I tried to appear grateful for this offer, but the fact that she, a church staff member, didn’t even know we were coming, that it appeared no one even knew we were coming, was like a slap in the face.
I tried to find my voice and managed to say weakly, “Thanks for the offer. We’ll figure something out.” She wished us luck and headed on her way, and I crawled back into the car and laid back my seat, curling up sideways and crying into Jeff’s sweatshirt.
A few minutes later I heard voices and saw Jeff and Steve returned with Jim, the long-faced man with the large belly we’d met before. Steve glanced over at the car where I now sat upright, patting my face with the sweatshirt, giving up on trying to pretend I hadn’t been weeping. After some conversation, Jeff left them and headed back to the car. As he got inside, he pulled me close to him and held me, letting me bury my face in his chest, smoothing my hair away from my face.
“I’m so sorry, Sauce. It’s going to be ok.” I sniffed and looked up at him.
“What did they say?”
“Jim didn’t know we were coming. He’s been living there with three other guys. They said they could have their stuff out by two o’clock.” I just stared at him. “So that’s good, right? We’ll have a place to sleep tonight. As soon as we get our stuff inside we can get it all decorated and we can paint the walls and make it beautiful. It’ll be just like home.” I didn’t respond because there was nothing to say.
Jeff went in search of my parents, and brought them back to our car, suggesting that we go explore San Jose and find a grocery store, a Home Depot so we could buy paint (I’d had my heart set on painting the walls since I didn’t have windows to look at), and some lunch. At 2:05 we pulled back into the church parking lot. Grocery shopping had been depressing. I was used to spending $25 a week on groceries because I shopped at Winco. My only choice here had been Albertson’s, and in order to get food just for the coming week I’d spent $73.28. But again, I figured that our salary, which at this point was a total unknown, would reflect this obscenely high cost of living.
We decided to head up and have a look at our new home first, then figure out the best way to unpack. We climbed the concrete stairs, as our apartment was on the 2nd floor, then headed through double doors in to a dark hallway. The hallway was filthy, just as the dorm hallway had been, but this was stacked, floor to ceiling, with boxes and clothes, and random furniture, trash and old food. An old church pew lined one side as well, and a few pairs of crunchy-looking sneakers were thrown on top of the heap. To the left a heavy, wooden door stood open, and fluorescent light streamed out into the darkness. As we approached, Jim came out, beads of sweat on his forehead.
“Should be good for ya now! There’s a few things still in there that you can use. Our third roommate moved out a few months ago but a bunch of his stuff is still in there so I’ll try to call him and have him come get it. Anything you don’t want just put out here in the hall.” I stared at him.
“Thanks, Jim. We really appreciate you moving out so quickly.” Jeff shook his hands and Jim left us. Now we stood, hesitant to make the first move, to peak in the door at our new home. The hallway was such an atrocious mess, the carpet filthy, littered with popcorn and broken chips. Jeff took my hand and led the way. The fluorescent light was so bright I squinted at first, the walls a dirty, institutional beige color, dented and cracked and scuffed by the floor. The carpet was institutional, like the kind in schools. I think originally it had been gray, but it was now brown and slick with dirt. The apartment was one L-shaped hallway, with rooms off on either side. Every room had a safety-glass window, the kind with metal grids in it that you see in the coach’s office in the locker room, between each room and the hallway, so you could see into every room as you walked past. This was probably very helpful when it had served as offices. All the rooms also had built-in wall-to-wall counters on one wall and built in cabinets. These were covered in the wood-like laminate that glues on with particle board underneath. The laminate was peeling off though, so large spaces of cabinet and counter were just particle board. I noticed, of course, that each room was roughly the same—none could be distinguished as the living room or a bedroom. All were just rooms. I also noticed that none of the rooms were square. The entire apartment was more of an octagon, with the hallway in the middle and the rooms surrounding strange trapezoids.
I also noticed that the apartment was far from empty. More popcorn and chips were strewn all over the carpet. The “living room” still had an enormous sectional sofa circa 1985, in worn, filthy denim upholstery, which filled the entire room. The next room was apparently the one abandoned by the third roommate. In this room was an old make-shift twin bed, complete with sour bedding, bookshelves, books, papers, file folders, dozens of CD cases , clothes, old sneakers, and a pair of roller blades. The next room, we decided instantly, would need to be our bedroom, because it was the only room without a safety glass window into the hallway. Instead, however, it had a safety glass window into the exterior hallway, but someone had taken masking tape and taped bright yellow butcher paper over the window to ensure privacy. An old dresser and chest of drawers sat in this room. The room we called the “dining room” had two entrances, and was located near the kitchen. The kitchen, we then realized, was really only a break-room (of course) with an ancient, discolored goldenrod range and a rusty refrigerator-freezer. A small sink and two-feet of counter space sat below one small cupboard. The kitchen had obviously not been cleaned in, I guessed, years. Food was ground into the carpet, the stove was black with filth, the sink was slimy, and at first I didn’t even dare peak in the fridge. When I finally mustered up the courage, I was so aghast. Mold covered the shelves, old Tupperware containers filled with moldy food filled the shelves, and an entire box of Country Crock butter samples sat on the top shelf. The freezer had half-eaten pizza pockets and Eggo waffles. The cupboard above the sink had dozens of cans of Ensure liquid supplement, all of which expired in 2001. Salt packets and smashed crackers filled the shelves.
Finally, we got to the bathroom. A dim lightbulb hung from the ceiling, revealing a triangle-shaped room with a shower stall in one corner. A scratched, dim mirror stood over a sink stained the color of copper. The shower door were covered with a thick film and mold oozed from the corners. I turned around to walk out, and heard a crash. Jeff had stepped near the shower, because it looked to him that the floor was rotten. His foot had gone through the floor, completely through the rotten linoleum and floorboards, soft and powdery with rot.
The tour was complete. Until now I had said nothing, unable to even comprehend how any human could leave such a filthy mess, and unable to process the reality that this was to be our new home. Jeff came out of the bathroom and stood behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing his face to the top of my head. My parents left. For a moment I was certain I was dreaming. Everything was slow motion, and I felt like half of me went completely numb. But the other half, the part that realized that this was what I had left everything for, turned to Jeff and buried my face in his chest. A knot in my stomach tightened and my head felt like it was spinning. I thought of how just hours earlier I’d hoped for some sort of welcome, cookies or flowers, and I felt humiliated by how stupid I’d been. They didn’t even know we were coming. I gave up all that I love and cherish and live for, and they didn’t even know we were coming. I felt so stupid for even hoping for a warm reception.
I didn’t even hear her steps, but a moment later, I heard Jeff say hello. I lifted my head and saw Lacey, stepping over a old shoe, her pregnant belly now bulging through her blouse.
“Hi there!” Her voice was high-pitched and squeaky still. “I brought you something.” She held out a little package, wrapped in white.
“Thank you.” I tried to smile and took the gift from her hands. She eyed the apartment. I watched her, waiting for her response. Her nose instinctively wrinkled a little, despite her plastered-on smile. She put a hand on my shoulder.
“Those dirty boys. It’ll be ok. I remember I cried when Steve and I moved in to our first place, too.” She patted my shoulder. I didn’t know how to respond. What? She thinks this is just me being an emotional wife? Has she seen this place? I forced a smile. “Go ahead. Open it.” She motioned toward the gift in my hands. I slowly unwrapped the paper and pulled out a white plaque, with “God Bless This Home” etched in gold. I stared down at it, unsure how even to force a positive response. God bless this HOME? HOME? Is this a joke? This is not a home? This is a pit! I can’t hang this here—it’s a joke. I cleared my throat.
“Thank you, Lacey. That is very kind of you.” She beamed back at me.
“Well, I’ll be on my way, then. We’ll see you tomorrow in church, right?” We nodded and she left. I held the plaque out away from me, as if it were a smelly piece of laundry.
Mom and Dad reappeared. In an instant, I knew I had a choice. I could A) dissolve into a heap of tears on the floor and refuse to stay, or I could B) then and there determine to make this pit into a home and rejoice no matter what. Miraculously and by the grace of God, I chose B.
“Well, we’ve got some work to do! Where do we start?!”
Since we couldn’t paint until the place was cleaned out, we didn’t have much choice. Dad and Jeff began taking a part the mammoth sectional sofa, mom found a vacuum and began chasing down cracker crumbs and popcorn kernels, and I started toting out boxes of random articles into the hall. In about an hour, we’d gotten the place emptied, the hall outside now being stacked, floor to ceiling, with the abandoned items. Jeff found a dumpster and began lugging bulging garbage bags of trash and old food. I wet a rag and was about to start wiping down the filthy walls to prepare for painting, when Jeff’s cell phone rang.
“Aaron! Hey bro! . . . Yup, we’ere here. . . . well, it’s a bit of a mess, but not too bad. Where are you? . . . Oh ok. . . . 6 tonight? Of course! We’d love pizza! Thank you so much. . . . yeah, we’ll see you then. Thanks, man.” He closed his phone and smiled at me. “Candi gets off work at 5:30, so they’ll be here at 6 with hot pizza for us.” Relief washed over me. I hadn’t realized how hungry I’d gotten, and now, the idea of a hot meal and the company of our new friends, sounded heavenly. Though I didn’t know them that well, the very idea of having someone from Oregon there was comforting. Plus, I knew they’d had a rough go of it as well, and together, it didn’t seem quite so bad.
Aaron and Candi arrived, in jeans and t-shirts and pizza in hand, announcing they were ready to work! We all hugged, even Candi and I, and they looked around the apartment wide-eyed. “Wow,” was all they said. Candi jumped in with both feet and since she had brought paper plates, she dished out slices and delivered them to each of us. When we were happily munching, Aaron pulled Candi under his arm and pulled an envelope out of his pocket.
“We have a little something for you guys. We just want you to know that we love you and are so glad you’re here.” He handed Jeff the envelope. Inside was a card, with a verse, and a short note saying they were committed to being our friends and supporting us in any way that they could. And, tucked inside, a folded check, for $200.
“What?” Jeff looked up, shocked. Aaron held up his hand, silencing him.
“We just wanted to help you get started out down here,” he looked around the kitchen. “Maybe you can buy some cleaning supplies.” Candi punched him in the side. By now I was, for the first time that day, actually crying tears of joy. Though everything seemed hopeless, God had brought these two, these beacons of light and hope, and had provided for us through them. I couldn’t speak to thank them, but they understood that I was grateful beyond words. We stood in silence, recognizing the enormity of the moment, that this was the beginning of something, of something larger and more difficult than any of us had ever realized, and that if we were going to make it, we would need each other.
Then Candi stood to attention and pushed up her sleeves. “Where can I start?!”
–
After spending $50 on cleaning and painting supplies, Jeff, Dad and I dove into the painting project. I masked and Dad and Jeff rolled, and mom went around behind us and pulled the masking tape. Aaron was carting things here and there, and Candi was busy in the kitchen. By 10:00 that night, we had finished, and were delirious with exhaustion. I went into the kitchen, and was shocked to realize that Candi had scrubbed every single surface in the kitchen. The oven, the stovetop, every moldy, disgusting surface in the refrigerator, the slimy sink, the cupboards, the counters, everything. Here she was, tiny, beautiful Candi, manager of the Accessories department at Nordstrom Rack, who’d spend her entire day in pumps and a black suit, and now she was covered in sweat with black smudges on her forehead and a t-shirt tied around her face to keep from inhaling the toxic oven cleaner. She rinsed out her rags, and announced that she was through. Once again, I was speechless. This girl, who I barely even knew, had cleaned the very grossest part of the entire apartment. Before I could fuss, she kissed Aaron on the cheek and said they’d better be getting home, as we needed sleep before church the next morning. We thanked them, feeling grossly inadequate with our futile words. Dad and Jeff unloaded mattresses, and we all collapsed into bed, covered with random blankets we’d used to wrap the furniture, and slept like the dead.
…
Read The Road to Santa Clara (Ch. 5): The Meeting »
on September 15th, 2007 at 9:28 am
As the “Mom” in this chapter, it was really hard to read this without feeling I was reliving it.
As heart-breaking as it was to witness, I was overwhelmed at the courage and faith demonstrated by everyone involved. They splashed cheerful color on the walls in defiance of the drab, disgusting, disappointing mess. Mom
on October 6th, 2007 at 8:23 pm
My goodness! I can’t believe they didn’t even know you were coming or offer to help!
I am dying to know what color of paint you chose for the walls!!
I have been so busy with school and work that I hadn’t been able to catch up with your story. I am so excited to get to read it again!