It’s been seven months without you.
We still aren’t sure what happened to you. We keep hearing stories but it doesn’t make sense. Maybe we just can’t believe you’re gone.
You don’t look bad, but I know on the inside you are broken. I don’t know how to help you.
They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. I don’t think that’s true in this case. There are many things I do not miss about you.
For example, it always seemed like the entire fleet of washing machines and dryers would collectively mutiny. If I somehow grabbed a washer, I would feel lucky until I came back to find my wet, not-so-clean clothes on the ground.
And at least one of the elevators was broken at any given time. But I wouldn’t know until I stood around for long enough to realize you had played me once again.
I had to do the high jump every time I wanted to get into bed. As bad as those beds could have been, mattress pads can only do so much.
And I could hear about my hallmates’ sex lives without ever speaking to them.
But not all things were bad about you.
The Downunder Cafe was just right downstairs so I could get food without trudging through whatever Nevada’s independent weather system had thrown at Reno that day.
The rooms were big enough that I could be in the dorm with my two other roommates and not feel entirely claustrophobic. And the best thing? No communal bathrooms. No worrying that you were going to run into your ex’s best friend at 2 in the morning on your way to pee.
Leaving you was not difficult, but you were my first home in Reno. And Reno, in all its splendor, has been a good thing for me.
A former Argenta resident
Taylor Avery can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org or on Twitter @travery98.