It seemed like a long ride to Andjela’s place. She lived in a small log home on the outskirts of the city. It was situated in the middle of woods. She told me the home was built back in the early 1900s and had been updated and modified many times since. When she came to Rochester to look for a home, she had no idea what she wanted but knew she would recognize it by the feel of it. I listened to her, often forcing myself not to become cynical because as hard as all of this was to believe, I was living it.
“How do you know by the feel of it?” I asked her. In the darkness of the car, I could still see the edges of her lips upturn into a smile. I had to admit she was very tolerant of my onslaught of questions, though I suspected she got them often.
“It’s like how I felt at your apartment the other day. I just know. I realize that’s not a good answer for you, but it’s the best I can do. It’s not something that is easy to explain.”
“Well, we’ve got time. Try me.”
“Okay. I looked at a lot of houses, first in the city, but the only feeling I got about those was to stay out of the city. So I turned my search to the suburbs. I didn’t find anything there either, other than an overwhelming sense that if I wanted peace and quiet at home, I had to move farther out. I spoke to my realtor, and she started showing me small homes on the east side within thirty miles of the city. One day on the way to a showing, I passed by the place where I live now. My car stopped in the middle of the road—literally.”
“You mean you stopped your car.”
“No, my car stopped.”
“Were you out of gas?”
“I’m sure you’d like to think that, but no, I wasn’t out of gas. The car just stopped, so I knew there was something I was supposed to see. I looked around and noticed a dirt driveway. There was nothing else around but a lot of woods, so I tried my car again and it turned over. I drove down the driveway and saw the log home. I got out and noticed a sign on the door. It was a foreclosure. I moved in a month later.”
“So what was it you felt about this place?”
“A calmness and solitude that I didn’t feel anywhere else. Basically, no spirits.”
“Oohh,” I said, finally getting it.
“I’m not sure why, because this house has quite a history.” She finally turned down a dirt driveway. "I’ll tell you about it someday, but for tonight, I’m ready to turn in.”
I smiled, still feeling apprehensive about going home with a woman I barely knew, as helpful as she was. I slapped myself in my mind. Just because her parents were lesbians didn’t make her one. And why would that matter? I wasn’t one either. Then I felt egotistical. What made me think she would even be the slightest bit interested in me, and why am I even thinking about all this with what is going on in my life? I shouted in my mind. I smiled at myself. I knew why. I needed another outlet for my brain. I couldn’t focus on the voices, or spirits—good or bad—anymore. But this train of thought was really irrational. I stopped myself and focused on the house that was appearing in front of me.
You couldn’t see Andjela’s home from the road. The dirt driveway wove through the woods and opened up to a small clearing upon which sat the cutest, little log home. It was an A-frame with an addition off each side. Two Adirondack chairs were strategically placed on either side of a front window on a porch that stretched the width of the main house. The yard was small, and in the moonlight I could make out gardens dispersed throughout it.
She pulled up along the side of the house and led me in through the front door. I was instantly warmed from the cool night air. There was a pellet stove in the corner of the main room giving off a gentle amber glow and a subtle heat. Andjela led me off, pointing out the bathroom on the way to a guest bedroom that was one of the additions. She took a new toothbrush and a T-shirt out of a chest of drawers and gave them to me.
“Try to get a good night’s sleep. I’ll take you home in the morning as soon as you’re ready. Good night.”
“Thank you so much for showing up tonight. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t.”
“You’re welcome, but I had to come. I had no choice.” She turned and left the room. I stared after her. She had to come. She had no choice. Part of me understood that, the part that was knocked down by the slamming doors and the part of me that felt the cold and saw the fog in my bedroom. The other part of me didn’t understand a thing. I felt so disjointed. I’d been through so much in the last year and now, here I was in a strange place with a stranger because my apartment was full of strange happenings.
Even though Andjela’s story blew my mind, the way she told it with such assurance and conviction made me feel a little safer and slightly at ease in regard to what was happening in my apartment. I truly believed she could help. At least I truly hoped she could.
Suddenly a wave of exhaustion took over my body, and I fell to the bed. I was physically tired and mentally spent. I knew I needed sleep, and it wasn’t long after that I fell into the second best night of sleep I’d had in a long time.