Notes for the Subletter

I found this taped to the inside of the cabinet over the sink in 4R, the summer sublet I took in June. It’s typed, single-spaced, on two sheets of printer paper. I’m posting it because I’d like to know whether anyone else has lived here. I’ve added a few notes of my own at the bottom.

Hi! Welcome to 4R. You’re going to love it. Here are some things I wish someone had told me.

The front door key sticks. Lift the knob up and toward you while you turn. Don’t force it or you’ll snap it and Mr. Darrow charges $40 to cut a new one.
The super is Mr. Darrow, 1F. He’s nice but he does not do repairs after 6 p.m., so if something breaks at night, it’s broken until morning. Plan accordingly.
Trash goes down to the cans by the side gate. Recycling is Tuesday. Don’t leave bags in the stairwell; the people in 3L will report you.
The radiator in the bedroom knocks in the winter. That’s fine. That’s just the pipes. You won’t need it, since you’re here for the summer.
The bedroom radiator might knock anyway. That’s fine. Old buildings.
If the bedroom radiator knocks three times, pauses, then knocks three times again, that is also fine, but don’t knock back. I know it sounds like a stupid thing to say. You’ll be surprised how much you want to.
The bathroom fan is loud. Run the shower hot for a minute before you get in. The window in there doesn’t close all the way; I’ve stuffed a towel in the gap. Leave the towel.
There’s a great dumpling place on the corner, Lucky Garden. Get the pan-fried pork. Cash only.
The closet in the hallway is just storage. There’s a vacuum in there and some of my winter stuff in bins. Help yourself to the vacuum. Please don’t open the bins.
You’ll sometimes hear knocking from the hall closet. That is not the radiator. There’s no radiator in the hall closet. It’s fine, though. It will stop if you go into the bedroom and shut the door.
If it doesn’t stop when you shut the bedroom door, go back out and make sure you didn’t open any of the bins.
The neighbor across the hall, in 4F, is a sweet old lady named Mrs. Ocampo. She sometimes leaves food outside the door. It’s always good. You can eat it. Return the containers.
Mrs. Ocampo moved out in March. If you get food, still return the containers. Leave them outside 4F. Don’t knock.
The building is very old and things settle at night. You’ll get used to the sounds. The ones that sound like someone walking around the living room in socks are the floorboards cooling.
They don’t cool in summer. Okay. I don’t have a great explanation for that one. But nothing has ever come into the bedroom while the door was shut. The bedroom door is solid wood. It’s the best door in the apartment. I’d sleep with it shut.
Mail comes around 2. You’ll get a lot of mine. Just stack it on the table by the door, I’ll have it forwarded.
You’ll also get mail addressed to “Current Resident, 4R” that’s handwritten. You can throw that out. Don’t read it. I mean it, I read the first few, and I don’t think it’s good for you.
The wifi password is on the router. It’s slow in the evenings.
If the wifi goes out, it’s the router, unplug it and count to thirty. Don’t unplug it after midnight. Something about the apartment is quieter when the router’s on. I can’t tell you why I know that. I just do.
I think that’s everything! I’m only a couple hours away, so if anything comes up, text me. I’ll get back to you.

Have a great summer. Water the plant on the windowsill (Wednesdays) and it’ll be fine.

—Lena

P.S. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this stuff in person. I meant to. The agency said it would be better in writing. They said you’d be more likely to follow it.

P.P.S. If you’re reading this and it’s after August 31st, I’m sorry. Please don’t renew.

My notes, for whoever reads this:

The radiator knocked three and three on my second night. I didn’t knock back. I want that on the record. I lay in bed with my fists closed and I didn’t do it.

The plant on the windowsill is plastic. I watered it anyway. Wednesdays.

There have been four handwritten envelopes. I didn’t read them. I’ll admit I held one up to the lamp, and there’s only one line inside, and it’s short, and I think it’s my name.

Lena’s number is on the sublet agreement. I’ve texted it eleven times. The messages all say “Delivered.” On Sunday I got a reply. It said “It’s fine. Old buildings.”

I called the building’s management company to ask when Lena’s coming back. They said there’s no Lena on the lease. They said the tenant of record in 4R is in residence and has been since 2009, and that subletting is not permitted under the building’s terms, and could I please tell them who let me in.

I didn’t open the bins. But last night the knocking in the hall closet didn’t stop when I shut the bedroom door, and this morning I went out to check, and all of the bins were open. Every one. They’re empty. They’re the long, flat kind you’d keep under a bed. There are five of them.

It’s July 24th. I have five weeks left on the sublet. The bedroom door is solid wood. It’s the best door in the apartment.

I’ve started a list of my own, to tape up next to Lena’s for whoever comes after me. I’ve only written the first line so far. I keep looking at it.

1. Lena was a subletter, too.