All things make sense; you just have to fathom how they make sense. – Piers Anthony
Why does a single woman moving from Brooklyn to Providence take a two-story apartment with double the amount of space she and her little beagle need? Two full bathrooms are certainly not necessary, especially for someone who would rather not have to clean even one bathroom per week. Not necessary either are the three colossal closets, one of which could easily be considered a studio apartment by New York City standards. What will she even put in these closets, anyway, this woman who has grown accustomed after a lifetime of apartment living to keeping only what is essential?
As for the office space big enough to be a bedroom, she’ll put her cherished West Elm Mid-Century desk in there because it will be logical to do so, but she knows very well that she’ll rarely ever work in there. For starters, she has always preferred working at the kitchen table. It will be no different here in this Providence apartment. Particularly here. A desk against the wall of a windowless office space tucked behind the kitchen is no competition for the table sitting at the foot of the stairs in the living space with its twenty-foot ceilings and twelve-foot-high windows.
So, why do I take a two-story apartment with double the amount of space Sophie and I need?
The pragmatic response to this question is two-fold and revolves around Sophie. First, Providence is not Brooklyn; it’s the rare rental property that allows for dogs. Second, of those rare rental properties, only the beautiful old, converted mill building on the west side of the city offers me the two non-negotiables I am looking for as a dog owner: central air, and a washer/dryer in the unit.
The poetic response can be found in the shadow the water sprinkler piping makes on the ceiling above the staircase leading to the bedroom whose surface area is perhaps only a bit smaller than the entire living space of the apartment I left behind me on Adelphi Street in Brooklyn.
See the guy with the long hair pulled into a bun at his nape and stretching his arms behind his back in front of the espresso machine I’ll give him for his 38th birthday? That’s Antoine. He lives a stone’s throw from my apartment building, on the other side of Donigian Park. But not for long. In ten months, it will all make sense. In ten months, what is now way too much space for one will be a perfect amount of room for two.