The young maple out front was beginning to bud, the grass was starting to turn green, and spring had officially sprung. Exams were finished, and it was time to clear out of the house I had been living in for the last three years.
It was the end of my fourth year of university, and lacking four credits, I still had one semester left. There seemed to be two options; stay in school for the summer and graduate by September, or go home, find a summer job and come back in the fall. I always hated summer jobs - manual labour in the sweltering heat, pushing an industrial lawn mower all while trying to avoid dog shit. To be honest the job wasn’t too bad, the problem must have been in my head.
Sitting in my room, the basement of our three bedroom townhouse, I contemplated the situation surrounded by boxes of belongings and bags of garbage.
In a townhouse complex all the houses look the same; there is no difference between any two, except for the people that live in them. Asphalt, concrete and patches of grass surround the houses. There are two parking spots out back but no cars; someone has had the ingenious idea of renting them out. Renting for fifty dollars a month - a lot of money for students - we use the money to pay off some bills.
The complex is filled with students; music blasts in all directions, and there are parties every night. The location is convenient, with a grocery store, LCBO and Blockbuster within walking distance. Just out the back door is a bus stop. Public transit is free and convenient if you want to go to school, but who wants to go to school?
Living in a basement with a massive room and your own bathroom isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. The basement is a large open space with three doors, one at the top of the stairs, another for the bathroom and the third leading to the laundry room. The latter was an inconvenience, as my house mates walked through my room to get to the washing machine. For the most part it wasn’t a problem, but there are always exceptions.
One steamy September night, my girlfriend and I were making out on the bed; the snapping of a bra strap had rendered her topless. Suddenly the door to the basement opened and feet stomped loudly down the stairs. The intruder continued down with no regard for the closed door. With our naked bodies exposed to the world we needed to hide, and jumping under the covers, we pretended to sleep. When all was said and done, I laughed about what had happened - however she was not impressed.
The next day, Phillips screwdriver in hand, I swiftly removed the doorknob from the top of the stairs, replacing it with the locking doorknob from the bathroom. Locked doors keep people out. Often the door rattled as a house mate struggled trying to open it. It’s funny - I figured a locked door leading to a bedroom meant ‘Do Not Enter’. Did I need a sock on the doorknob?
There was one small window to the outside world that looked out into a ditch, and the blinds were often closed. The basement was always dark and there was hardly any natural light; my life was the same. Spending hours in bed motionless, I lacked the motivation or desire to get out. Moping aimlessly like an invalid, filled with depression and tears. Excuses swirled around, responsibility was avoided. Living in a basement was like living under a log.
Without natural light it is difficult to know what time it is, the body does not function properly, and your circadian rhythm is thrown off. During the winter, snow covered the window, and even less light entered the room. Like a prisoner in a dungeon, I was hopeless. Laziness left the snow in its place - a chosen destiny of a dark abyss persisted until the snow melted away in the spring.
Darkness was a choice; in residence during first year my blinds were always closed…. David knocked on the door as he entered the room, he pull the deteriorating blinds open, filling the room with light. A few moments later he turned around, and noticing they were closed, he asked “Didn’t I just open the blinds?” I thought… “Maybe I am a vampire.”
Living in the basement separated me from my house mates; they were always two floors above me having fun. To talk I had to go upstairs, and this could be a problem, as I didn’t know if they were busy or sleeping. I often ended up distracting them. They all worked hard upstairs, while in the basement I was too far away to benefit from any contact motivation.
The carpet was a shade of gray, and there were stains that had been there since we moved in. The walls were a slightly lighter shade of gray; there are black marks from the times I used the wall to start handstands. In the front of the room laid the desk, it was underneath the only window, covered with junk, piles of paper, pens, pencils, erasers, notebooks, toys, glasses and dishes. It always needed a good cleaning.
Next to the desk was a book shelf filled with objects unrelated to books. The bottom two shelves were stuffed with diet Dr. Pepper cans. Before they reached the shelf they were in a pile on the floor. The other shelves were used to store CD’s, most of which had not been used in years. Digitization and the Internet have eliminated the need for CD’s.
One shelf was stuffed with old notes, just in case the topics ever came up again. But even if they did I wouldn’t have used them; they were saved out of fear and I was too lazy to search. Soon after moving in, David came down and asked, “Can I hide a key somewhere in your room?” We decided that the top of the bookshelf was the best location. In time there was a mound of dust so thick the key could no longer be seen. The basement was always dusty; the basement was a crematory.
Only one shelf had books, most of which hadn’t been read; they just sat there for decoration, gathering dust. One of the books ‘Brave New World’ by Aldous Huxley, was found at some cottage I visited one quiet summer weekend. After reading the first page I was hooked and flew through it in two days.
The Brave New World was a great place to escape to. Everyone knew their place and society was obsessed with violence…funny, that brave new world was just outside my window. You can’t turn on the TV without seeing bad news and violence; ever since the ‘war on terrorism’ started, it’s been war, war, war. Segregation is rampant too; of course being white, male and middle class, I am shielded from that harsh reality.
Across the room lies the bed, as far away from the window as possible; natural light never graces the sheets. In some situations this could be a benefit, but when the alarm rings and you have nothing to do, a dark room hinders all motivations to get out of bed. Sometimes hearing the bouncing of my house mates would awaken me and encourage me to get up; they were as loud as elephants.
The basement was dark, a dungeon, a prison. This darkness was my companion, filling my room, heart and mind.
