On the way to the apartment, one word sticks out in my mind: what. What are we going to say to each other? After all these years, what are we going to have in common? What are they like now?
The anxiety I've been putting off sets in. I'm about to move in with three people who are as good as strangers to me.
My mom is staring at me through the rear-view mirror, less than impressed. Wordlessly, she's telling me I should say something. After all, it's the first day of the rest of my life living away from my parents. Shouldn't I say how much I'm going to miss them?
My dad's not fazed by the lack of sentiment. He's more focused on making sure the brakes of the car do their job, which they often don't, but we can't afford to do anything about that except channel all our willpower, and hope it's enough to make them work.
"Sorry" I say to my mom. "I'm just so nervous. You know that."
"I don't know why you're agreeing to do this," she replies.
"Well it's not like it was my idea. But I was gonna move out anyway, and it's way more economical to share an apartment with other people."
"So why not get one with Erin?"
This is a good question. Erin is my best friend, like a sister to me. We would've made great roommates.
"I don't know," I reply, "... It's just, when Simon sent us that message to remind us about that agreement we made years ago that we'd share an apartment throughout university, it made me realize how much I miss them. And everybody else was keen to pursue the idea, so I thought why not? I'm hoping this will bring us back together again. Obviously, things will never be the same as they were, but maybe-"
I realize the car has come to a stop. We've arrived at the block of flats. I sit still, looking at it, not wanting to move. But then my parents get out of the car and we hug for a long time, but not long enough, and all of a sudden I'm standing outside the door to apartment 23 on the third floor of Cityscape Flats, which was previously an abandoned factory in the middle of the Johannesburg inner city, converted by someone with an acute sense of the lack of housing we experience in this country. It was a clever idea, really.
My eyes trail up and down the wooden door and its copper numbers, recalling what the apartment looks like inside. I've only seen it once, but I fell in love with it the moment I stepped inside. It's tiny, but functional, and it's got everything a living space needs. As you walk in, you're in the "TV room." Ahead of you, to the left is a bathroom with a toilet, sink and shower. To the right is the kitchen. There are two small flights of stairs next to the bathroom, each leading to a bedroom that can fit two single beds. The bedrooms are separated off by some railing, not walls, so they're fully visible from the bottom floor of the apartment. I smile as I remember every detail of my dream apartment, but it fades quickly when I realize how cramped its going to be to live there with three other people.
The three other people, that's right! It strikes me that it's highly probable that someone is already behind that door, waiting for me and the rest. Maybe they're all there, just waiting for me. I try to think about who I'd like to see most. I haven't seen Simon since he left for the States when we were 14, or Minus since he moved to Amsterdam just a year after that. Although we probably don't have anything in common anymore, I still wouldn't mind seeing either of them, because it's a guarantee that a good catch-up would fill the conversation.
Ben is a different story, though. We haven't spoken in years, either, but there's nothing to catch up on. We've watched each other grow up, but from a distance. Or at least, I've paid attention to him. Our friendship wasn't abruptly broken up because one of us was moving halfway across the world. We were the two left in South Africa, but our friendship just slowly dissipated after Minus and Simon left. That hurt the most. He's the one I least want to see. We have nothing to talk about.
I take a deep breath, open the door slowly, and step inside.
There's no one there. I can't tell if I'm relieved or disappointed. Shrugging it off, I start making my way up one of the flights of stairs and claim the bed I want- nearest to the window that overlooks the city. Then I start unpacking my clothes into the closet. I freeze still when I hear the sound of a key turning in the door. Somebody steps in, but I don't turn around to see who it is. I assume they don't notice me from the top floor, because they don't say anything,
"Hello?" I call out hesitantly.
"Jenna?" He replies.
I could recognize that voice anywhere. It's a lot deeper, huskier and more American than I remember, but still distinctively Simon's.
