One of the strange things about living in an apartment building is that (if you’re me, at any rate) you only get rare glimpses of the spaces behind the many closed doors. Which is not to say I don’t wonder what the apartments look like; it’s an old and once-elegant building, and many of the apartments are relatively endless, a labyrinth of rooms and hallways. Some have been ‘cut up’ over the years, but some originals still remain.
On sunny mornings when I’m walking down the stairs, the apartment doors facing east are surrounded by a golden penumbra (I think that’s the right word?) where the light seeps through the gaps between the door and the frame (and the floor). Yesterday as I passed by the sixth floor, someone was leaving at the same moment, and I couldn’t help but pause, or at least slow down, with a thought to see the illuminated rooms beyond. She quickly closed the door, however, and I continued on my way. I felt sort of like the way I do when I see a plane heading somewhere, and I wonder who’s on board and what it would be like to be living a completely different life from this one on the ground. (This is a statement about curiousity, not unhappiness.)
After reaching the lobby, I pushed through the front door, where the frigid air cleared my head of all thoughts but getting to the subway and starting the rest of my day.
