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FIRST FLAT

"One-Bedroom Townhouse," read the listing in the classified advertisements. Looking at the affordable price, I seemed sure it was a misprint.

Still, I phoned the real estate management office and asked for a site visit. The rental agent met me at the apartment complex that afternoon. Within about five minutes, we had inspected every inch of the tiny dwelling.

With a bedroom just large enough for a single twin-sized bed, a narrow galley bathroom and a standing-room-only kitchen, the place could hardly be called a townhouse. Perhaps a town-closet, but the apartment was no townhouse.

Still, it was private, and it came with a numbered parking spot right out front. The miniature semi-attached apartment boasted a large picture window out front and a four-foot by six-foot patio to one side. I imagined myself planting marigolds and geraniums in the spring.

I signed a one-year lease immediately and moved in.

CLAUSTROPHOBIC CLOSETS

Loading my limited personal belongings into the back of my high-mileage used car, I headed for my new abode. As a recent college graduate, entering a master's program, I was more than ready to strike off on my own.

Now, with my own apartment, I felt sure I had launched myself into full-fledged adulthood.

Pulling into my primo parking spot, I began unpacking my paltry parcels. I stored my mismatched dishes in the two tiny kitchen cupboards.

My single bag of groceries overflowed the kitchen counter. Actually, it was more like a ledge. By stepping out of the kitchen, I was able to open the compact refrigerator to stow the few perishables inside.

One armload of hanging garments filled the cramped closet to capacity. I stashed my shoes underneath.

My faded flowered sofa hide-a-bed, a garage-sale castoff, occupied one wall. A card table filled a corner with two folding chairs.

At last, I was home in my solitary domain.

NOISY NEIGHBORS

That first evening, as I contemplated by newfound independence, it began. The two fraternity boys next door cranked up their sound system. A steady stream of young toughs roared into the parking lot in souped-up, big-tired mudder trucks. The party lasted till morning.

I pulled the curtains tightly shut and cowered in my tiny apartment.

Fortunately, within a few weeks, the apartment complex manager booted my rowdy neighbors. A scholarly young teacher and his wife moved in shortly afterwards.

That was my first taste of freedom. Surely, sometimes, small packages do contain pleasant surprises.

Learn more about this author, Linda Ann Nickerson.
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