At 6:28 p.m., standing outside Liesel’s address, I know I’ve hit the jackpot. The building is beautiful and in a really nice neighborhood and close to anything a body could want. How she can afford to live here – even if she had ten roommates – on our bookstore salary eludes me. I go up one flight of stairs and knock softly. Liesel opens the door and she looks somehow the same but different. She seems more open and less guarded. Still direct and unafraid to speak her mind, but also softer. She’s also wearing fluffy giraffe print slippers, which immediately makes her twice as adorable.
“Woo,” she says, taking my hand as if we’re meeting for the first time. “You look even more awesome tall here than at the bookstore. I guess it’s the context,” she says, gesturing to the space around us. I smile.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Sorry,” she says, pulling back a bit. “Is that rude? I hate when strangers comment on how small I am, maybe you hate it too. I guess I just always wanted to be tall, I forget that maybe it’s not awesome all the time.” She gestures me inside and I walk into the light filled living room.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Probably advantages and disadvantages just like being short.” Liesel smiles effortlessly, showing off a mouthful of gleaming white, slightly imperfect teeth.
“You’re right,” she says nodding, strangely serious, really thinking it out. “You can reach all the high shelves, but you could never fit in the cupboard under the kitchen sink.” I look at her, one eyebrow raised, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth.
“Why would-”
“You never know!” she says throwing her hands up enthusiastically. My smile grows full and I laugh. There’s something wonderful about this girl. She’s all open and honest, like the crap that most people seem to cover themselves with has all been stripped away. She’s laid bare in a way I find totally appealing. She’s like looking at a song. A true one. I have this feeling deep inside myself that I’m going to know her my whole life, that she’s going to be vitally important to me, that I can trust her. She looks back at me from a hallway to the right of the living room and gestures at me emphatically. “Come see the room!” I follow her dutifully, knowing I would take it even if it was gray and sad and shaped like a coffin. Anything to be in this girl’s soothing, warm presence. But the room, like her, is bright and open. It’s full of pretty modern furniture mixed with some old pieces that look like genuine antiques. The combination creates a strange blend of old and new that’s oddly comforting. There’s a painting on the wall that looks like ‘real’ art, not that I would know the difference anyway. The room itself is surprisingly large for a New York City bedroom. There’s a double bed against one wall, a dresser and a desk with a chair on another. In the corner, near two matching windows is an upholstered reading chair. As charming as it all is, I’m mostly interested in the windows. There are two, of reasonable size, and in a stroke of luck, one of them opens onto a fire escape. Even better, they face the quiet alley side of the apartment, not the more exposed street side. I turn to Liesel.
“It’s lovely,” I say. She looks around, pleased.
“Yeah, I’ve always liked this room. Quiet, good light.”
“Have you lived here long?” I ask.
Her face clouds slightly, just for a moment before she recovers her brightness. “Me? No. It used to belong to my grandmother once upon a time. Ben has been living here since our folks died a few years ago. I uh…I’ve just been here a few weeks.” It seems like there’s an ocean of story in her pauses, but I don’t want to be nosy, so I let it go. We step back into the hallway and she points toward the end. “My room’s there and Ben’s is at the end. We share the big bathroom at the end of the hallway.” She gestures to a door across from us. “This smaller bathroom here would be yours.” She props it open and small is indeed the word for it. I could probably touch each wall with a fingertip if I fully extended my arms, but it has a shower, a toilet, and a pedestal sink and mirror, all meticulously clean, it’s perfect. We walk back out into the living room. “And of course you would share the rest of the space with us – kitchen, living room, and a small dining room,” she says, gesturing to the rest of the apartment, which, in traditional Manhattan style, you can see all of from our single vantage point. Still, it’s a massive upgrade from where I’ve been living, in every way possible. Liesel and I stand there together quietly, looking at the rooms and then she turns and looks up at me, “So…you want it?” she asks gamely.