His Other Place

He wanted to have an apartment someplace in the world other than where he was living. A place to get mail, when he wasn’t there. A place to hang at least one hat. A place where his other self could go paint or make art at night in his dreams.
He wanted to rent a place in a place he had never been, a place only he could find, if he really needed it.
A place he could imagine himself living in, even if he didn’t. He didn’t care whether he did or did not ever actually live there. But there would be that sudden possibility. If everyone around him all died at once, for instance, he could go there and be ok.
Well, he could go there, and his hat would be waiting for him. He really just wanted a place to hang his hat, that would wait for him if and when needed.
It was not a form of escape. He liked where he lived and the daily life there, and the circle of odd friends he had made over the many years. But, there was that need inside of him to have that space in waiting.
And it needed to be a place that no one knew anything about. No-one. Barely even him, but by faith. Yes, a faith space in his life. One where you know if anything bad happens i have a place to go and be. Just someplace else which would wait for him just in case.
Only he would have one key and make no copies. One master key was it.
Now, he wondered about that desire. Was it a matter of control then. That one needs an inviolable room in one’s life—one no one can rearrange ever.
He knew he didn’t have that room where he was living. He lived with many cats, and cats are violable-that is, notorious for making every space their on when needed. That is, they can get into any room anywhere. Cat’s have master keys.
So yes, in that sense to have a door one can truly lock. That might be it. Why he wanted this space someplace else.

So one morning he found himself rifling through on line adds for apartments in odd places. He could choose anywhere, and didn’t even really care the cost. Most of these adds were geared towards Americans, so looked luxurious and had lots of tv screens and swimming pools. That did not interest him.

He was looking for a place near a roof top, that no one would ever notice. One might assume that an elderly person lived there, who only read books—a place like that. But up. Up was important to him.

Since childhood and seeing Mary Poppins, he had always liked rooftops. The chimney sweeper. And then later, in Chagall’s paintings, the floating rooftop fiddle player. That is always where he saw himself living—on or near the rooftops of the world. It’s a perspective that made sence to him—just above the daily drama, so everything blurs out a bit into what it really is.
Anyway, as he was riffling through or surfing as it is called now, he saw an add which read only: small great magical rooftop space immediately available for as long as you live.
That’s the one, he thought. That landlord gets me, and is thinking long term.
There were no photos of the place, just those words and a number with a country code which led him to Belgium. Somewhere in the north he suspected, as they tend to be a bit kinder there, and this landlord, felt kind to him.

So right then and there, he picked up his mobile phone his friend had given him, and pressed + country (32) code and number. After that usual submarine like delay in ringing tones, it began to ring in that European way which feels more weighty than America. Like the ambulances in Paris, versus Chicago. They just sound like they’ve been wailing longer and remember wars.
Anyway, finally after about eight rings, the voice of an old lady picked up.
“Hallo”.
Yes, I wanted to inquire about your listed apartment.
Do you want it?
Yes, I do.
Then, it’s yours.
The key will always be under the mat starting now.
And then she hung up. That was that.
For some reason, he knew it was true. That the key was under that mat waiting for him starting now, and he could just show up to his place in Belgium. That was enough.
He never visited, but he could have on any given day. He knew that for the rest of his life.