leave the blinds open, rearrange the furniture, move towards the light

Last night I went to a party where I knew a few people but not that many. And before that, I went to my old roommates’ new apartment. They have the same glasses and plates and forks but a new backyard and a new code to the door. I feel such a funny melancholy about growing older. Like coming home from a nice vacation. Sometimes I feel like I change so much in a day and sometimes I feel like I’ve been the same since forever. We drank out of tall cans and danced to new music but laughed the same way and wondered about the same things. I used to ask my parents if everything felt so different than it did when they were growing up. They said that change is gradual, you can’t really feel it when you’re living in it. Only when you look back.

My old room in our old apartment had three big windows that opened up right to the street. I almost always kept the blinds shut. I convinced myself they kept the sound out. Sounds of newspapers hitting pavement, soda cans being crushed under feet, and couples fighting and making up. I remember thinking that San Francisco is so much louder than where I lived in Kansas City.

I moved out of that room a year ago, but this morning on my way to get groceries, I took a wrong turn and drove by that apartment. Wondering who has the key and if they keep the blinds shut. It’s empty now. The mantel is bare, and the windows are locked. But the blinds are pushed to the very top, tied tight to let the sun in. Nothing to see here. The bed could go there, and the lamp could go there. Seeing it like that, I wish I hadn’t let those sounds bother me. Wish I had let the blinds stay open. And rearranged the furniture.

In the Charles Schultz museum they recreated the office he used to write every issue of the peanuts cartoons. They even wore the wood down where it would’ve been worn down from him drawing in the same spot, in the same way, every day. They filled the bookshelves with the same titles and filled the desk with the same pens. I wonder if he ever thought about moving the desk to a different wall. I wonder if we all read the same books from the beginning of time to now would we end up the same way. Or would we still all be different and build condos and try to sell things online.

In my new apartment, our bedroom is tucked away inside the building. I don’t hear the sound of newspapers hitting porches in the middle of the night. I don’t hear girls waiting for their ubers or neighbors putting out their trash on Monday nights. But I do hear the teenagers running down the stairs in the morning, hoping to make it to school on time. I hear the neighbor’s dog wondering when his parents are coming home. But for the most part, it is quiet. There’s one window. And I keep the blinds shut.

After the party I come home to my new apartment, and Aaron is out of town. So I walk quickly from the garage to the porch. I dig my hands into my coat pockets, looking for my keys. And as I turn the corner, I hear a thud. A newspaper sits on the steps of the house with the red door. It’s midnight, and tomorrow is Sunday again.