Finding Athena

New Place, New Face

It's not what I had envisioned. 

Vinyl flooring that desperately held the memories of the tenant before and was peeling at the edges covered the floor. The dingy, tan colored walls that were covered in an impressive smattering of nicks and holes made the main room feel like a cave, and the combined smell of something rotting and cigarette smoke was a nauseating combination.

But despite the disgusting state of the place, including the ball of hair that peeked out of the drain in the bathtub, and the condom I'm pretty sure I saw laying in the corner of the bedroom closet, it had a lock on the door, heating, water, and electricity.

It felt like the correct metaphor for my recently acquired state in life.

Awfully wonderfully. Disgustingly perfect. Horribly amazing. Dangerously safe.

It was perfect.

It was a small space, but then again, its not like I was going to fill it with all of my non-existent possessions. It was just a place for me to recoup and then be on my way.

It wasn't permanent.

Nothing was. Nothing could be. 

At least not now. I reminded myself.

I sighed and turned to the squat, grey man standing beside me.

"When can I move in?" I asked politely, my breath fanned in front of me as I spoke. The chill in the air apparent.

Mr. Bartley, as he introduced himself, was a mean-looking Scottish man who smoked like a train and, when asked if he could give me a tour of his advertised free unit, begrudgingly looked me up and down and said. 'I guess so.' Or at least, I'm fairly sure that's what he said. His words were thick with unnecessary noises and consonants that shouldn't be there.

The man in question eyed me through the haze of smoke he had just exhaled before replying.

"You want to move in?" He exclaimed incredulously, then wheezed a few times from the exertion. His chubby face flushed with color as his thick, dark eyebrows rose is surprise.

I nodded. "It looks good to me." It definitely did not look good. But after a few gallons of bleach and a reliable respirator, it would be livable.

His eyebrows dropped as he squinted at me, his shockingly bright blue eyes appraising me.

"It looks like a drug den." He grunted. He raised his death stick back to his mouth and inhaled. The glowing end pulsed brighter as he did. "And it has mice." He added, visibly shuddering at the mention of it.

I had figured as much. Judging from the incredible amount of rodent crap I had to step over to get inside the door.

"What can I say, I like a good project." I shrugged, shoving my balled hands deeper into the pockets of the ratty old coat I had been given at the women's shelter yesterday. The freezing ends of my fingers were aching with the cold.

Mr. Bartley kept his narrowed eyes on me. Those glacier orbs drilling into me. It felt like he was lasering into my soul and extracting every ounce of information he could glean.

"The water heater is unreliable at best." He stated.

"Ok." I'm no stranger to going without the simple luxuries in life.

"And the windows have an awful draft."

"That's alright." Not as drafty as it is outside of four walls.

"There is an ant problem as well."

"Nothing some sugar water can't fix." If bugs are going to bug me, then they are going to die. Simple.