House of Disquiet

I loved my first apartment but hated my first roommate, so I decided to transfer to another unit in the same building. My new roomie was pleasant, clean and deaf. I was thrilled because I was sure we would never fight over loud music or visitors on my end. For nearly a year, we lived together fine. We kept to ourselves and she was gone most weekends so I was able to have people over without worrying about making her uncomfortable, which was a priority of mine.

Near the end of our lease, though, she took a sharp turn towards crazy. She started bringing over her new boyfriend, who I am sure was a big meth head, and other people seemed to stream in with him. Random people drinking, all-night poker, and the smell of weed overtook my apartment. One night, I found a 12-year-old boy playing my guitar in my living room with no explanation. She ignored all my (very polite) pleas to have a quiet house again.

The last straw was when she moved her friend’s infant in and babysat her for at least three weeks. I packed up the last of my things and moved back to my parents’ without saying a word. A week later she texted me to ask if she could have some liquor I had left in the freezer.