By Kate Stockrahm
There are certain things that can only happen in shared spaces of apartment complexes — some good, some less good.
The less good things include a mess left behind when someone’s trash bag breaks in the stairwell, the smells of uncertain origin as you walk down the hallway to your unit, or when the elevator is out (again).
But the good things have always outweighed the bad for me.
In shared spaces, like the yard near my complex’s parking structure, neighbors coordinate impromptu potlucks on Saturday afternoons. When 50 folks live in the same place, there’s always someone to text when you realize (only after you’ve already made your meatloaf mixture) that you actually threw out that baking tin two years ago. And, at least here in my building, we have an area that I’ve lovingly dubbed our “Table of Requirement.”
The Table of Requirement sits, unassuming, in the corner of our basement laundry room, and I’ve never seen it host the same items twice.
It’s not a dumping ground of tenants’ unwanted stuff so much as a space curated with deeply-loved but no longer needed treasures from the lives lived in the apartments above.
At various times over my three years in this building, the table has played host to crockpots, spare furniture, artwork, and quilts. There have also been whole cutlery sets, jewelry pieces, board games, cleaning supplies, and books stacked high atop it or spilling onto the floor.
I’m sure our property manager hates the Table of Requirement, which can certainly look like a big mess to outsiders. But to me, like the Harry Potter series for which I’ve named it, it’s magical.
One time, for example, I just couldn’t find a vase that was the right height for my birthday flowers, but the table downstairs had three options ready.
Another time, a friend visiting from London told me we’d been invited to a jungle-themed surprise party the evening he arrived, and we needed to find something to wear ASAP. Wouldn’t you know it, a neighbor had left a dozen animal-print scarves on the table that very morning, and we got to the party that night with cheetah, snake, and zebra-striped items for 10 other attendees to wear, too.
While these moments brought me unexpected delight, I know the table may not always provide for me like its namesake “Room of Requirement” from a fictional wizarding world — a room which always changes into whatever the entrant needs it to be at the time.
Here in reality, our table is sometimes nearly empty, whether cleared by our frustrated landlord or a new tenant who needed that blender and dishware from the day before.
Such was the case this afternoon when I went downstairs in the hope of inspiration for this very column.
To my dismay the table held only a smattering of items: two gray cushions, a mop with no mop pad, a chair, a sweater, and a framed picture. Perhaps my luck at the Table of Requirement had run out.
But then, I saw a booklet of daily prayers tucked beneath one of the cushions.
I opened it, curious what God might have for me if the table was lacking, and landed on an entry from July 23. The quoted passage was Luke 15:23 – “Let’s have a feast and celebrate.”
Whether that message was from God or the strange, shared table in the basement of my apartment building, it reminded me to celebrate what was right in front of me: a feast of inspiration.
I walked outside to the yard by the parking structure and said hi to my neighbors sitting with their dogs in the sun. Our elevator was working, but I took the stairs back up to my apartment and didn’t encounter any trash or odd smells along the way.
And now, sitting here and reflecting on the magic of shared spaces, I know I got just what I required from my trip downstairs.
This article also appears in East Village Magazine’s August 2024 issue.
