June 17th- Won’t You Be My Neighbor? by Matsir

I’d looked at a dozen houses in two days. Moving 2,000 miles from home and family was one scary leap for me. But my new position at the nearby college meant more opportunities for me as an artist and possibly tenure. So I climbed the shaky ladder steps to check out the finished attic and found windows on both sides, plus a door leading to a tiny deck at one end. I couldn’t have designed a better artist’s loft. Of course, I hadn’t checked to see if the stove worked or if the backyard had gopher holes, but, with my first priority met, I started feeling better about this leap. And a little over heated. Back home, the first of May meant 60 degrees, not 78. I tried the door to the deck; it opened easily and I stepped out into the cool shade of the trees.

Someone was laughing. A rich, happy laugh that made you want to join in, even if you didn’t know the joke. I peered through the branches, down into the neighboring yard and saw…

“Wowza!” I breathed. He was beautiful. White blond hair, longer than most men his age wore it back home, a face that Michelangelo could have sculpted, and, as he threw back his head to laugh again, I caught a glimpse of strong white teeth. I needed to draw him. I had to draw him. I could feel the pencil in my hand, shaping the way his hair almost curled against his shoulders and defining those tawny back muscles.

A second man came into view. Shit, I was never this lucky. He was damn near as attractive as the blond with a mop of dark, curly hair and olive-toned skin set off by the blue t-shirt stretched across a well-muscled frame. Together they made a perfect composition of light and dark. Angel and Devil. Seelie and Unseelie. Thor and Loki. The paintings I could do with these two danced through my sight, taunting me.

I moved back into the house, only to detour to the windows on that side. I almost expected them to have vanished, just a fevered daydream. They were working in a small garden, transferring starter plants to the dark spring earth.

Blondie finished bedding a sprout and stood back to admire his work. As he turned to say something, he got soaked from the garden hose held by his laughing friend. Even inside I heard him yell, “Arsk!” or maybe “Arugh” and lunge at the perpetrator. I laughed as they wrestled over the hose, both of them getting drenched. Even after they dropped the hose, they kept wrestling.

Wait… that… wasn’t wrestling. At least not the kind I was used to seeing in my high school gym.

Brownie was on his knees, astride Blondie’s legs and had a hand down the front of his – opponent’s? — shorts. Blondie started nibbling along Brownie’s neck. This must have been what the agent had meant by ‘Bohemian neighborhood’.

I should have turned away, but if they were an artist’s inspiration just standing, lying together they were Eros’ muse. Beautiful and erotic.

Then Blondie pulled his lover’s shirt off and, ohgod, scars like a fiendish road map were visible under the dark chest hair. How could anyone have survived that? Then I watched as each scar was gently kissed by the blond. After each kiss, the blond would stop and look into the other man’s eyes.

Every time, the brunette would smile a crooked little smile, touch their foreheads together, and whisper something to his love. And I knew how he’d survived whatever ordeal he, no, they had been through. He’d lived so that the other one would, too.

And just like that, the scars were as beautiful to me as they were to the blond. I caught my hand tracing lines in the air, trying to recreate what I was witnessing.

The lovers finally set me free by helping each other to their feet and disappearing into their house.

I sat on the dusty floor and panted. I needed to call the real estate agent. Could I live next to them? What if I asked them to pose and they said no? Or would them saying yes be even worse? Just how liberal was my Liberal Arts college? I needed a drink. That’s what I needed, a glass of wine and a hot bath before making a decision. Or maybe a shot of whiskey and a cold shower.

I rose, brushed off my backside, and headed for my rental car. “Well, one thing is certain,” I said aloud. “You are no longer in Duluth, girl!”