Connection Like No Other {START UP}

Connection Like No Other

"Caitlyne, I must say, this is a very elementary idea . . . even for you" my mom heaved between breaths, as she watched me carry the box labeled "pans kitchen heavy" to flight five. My dad, carrying a small box labeled "pillows" hadn't said a word ever since we arrived in the Big Apple, but his disapproving eyes said enough.

Back at home, I planned to drive mom to NY, but when dad decided to come my mouth dropped. Dad hated the traffic; a majority of it just one way conversations courtesy of my mother. She said things that were, as usual, slightly insulting statements coming from a good place in her heart with a hint of agitation. I was not sure if she knew what she was doing with her word choice. . . But she talked like that for the 18 years I lived with her. Then again, maybe mom was an insulting genius.

I was taking a break from Rutgers for one year. I knew that in-order to properly take a break and reinvent myself, I could not be near mom or dad. I also couldn't still be locked up in the Prison they label Camryville on the maps.  So I spent all freshman summer when I got the idea and sophomore year saving money. I moved out of my childhood home three years ago, and finally moved out of my dorm two days ago. I had everything from the University, but that day I had to go get stuff that I left in Camryville. When I told my parents of the idea freshman year They were overjoyed. Then, three months ago I told them about how I was coming over to pack. They were flabbergasted and surprised. Suddenly it was an idiotic and irrational idea to them because they thought I was going to live with them.

They had no clue I was getting an apartment until when I called. For some reason they thought I was going to try to reinvent myself in the same room I invented myself in the first place. It made no sense, but they could not understand.

I set the box down and counted my distance to go: only two more flights.... But twenty more boxes to go. I didn't have the building ID needed to use the elevator.

Once we got to room 505, my new humble abode, I slipped the key in the lock. I gave it a jiggle to the left like I was told to by the landlord and the door creaked open to my small apartment that was more like a dorm. I knew how awful it was at the time, but I needed to prove myself to my parents. So I tried to convince them that the apartment was a steal, for only half of what I saved up . . .  I sounded like an idiot. Even I did not believe myself.  My mother said, "wait... Aren't you renting?" I shook my head: yes, I was renting, and half of my funds were already  gone. She managed to sum up how piteous me and my finances were in one question.

My mom waddled in first, and then my dad. He, scrunching his 6 foot 4 body under the small door, gave out a grumbling noise and crinkled his nose.

My apartment was a square with a block of counter top, a too-small-small-to-use oven,and a door that opened out, missing the stove by a centimeter, into the minuscule bathroom.

My bed from Rutgers was tucked into the corner nicely, with room for my small desk at the feet. But, there was actually a good thing about my apartment that I LIVED for. When you opened the door you saw nothing but windows. A huge wall full of  beautiful windows. In the morning the sun would wrap you in a blanket and sprawl across the wood floor. It lured you in to see the people below, in a much gloomier world; shadowed by the buildings. You were in a private cocoon of light that made you separate from the busy world.b

At night, florescent light danced into the building and made my bare room come alive, dancing in blues, greens and reds. I just laid under my covers and watched the colors waltz into a transformation of my room from skeletal to simply beautiful. The sight slowly and gently rocked me to sleep.b

"I know,” I sighed dropping the box with a thud In the middle of the bare and scratched floor, " it is not like your house, but-" mom stopped me.