Margo’s Neighbor Part 2

There’s nothing quite like the exhaustion that comes with moving furniture. But if you have the right equipment and some good friends, you won’t be so gassed after moving a refrigerator up two steps. That was the situation I was in Wednesday afternoon, as my friends helped me move into my new place, my own house in a quiet neighborhood not too far from where I worked. We were done in a couple hours. There was a sense of accomplishment as we hung out afterwards hydrating and intoxicating ourselves. It was really nice to have their support, and nice to already feel at home with all of them around. But even with great friends, I always reach a point where it catches up to me and I’m exhausted from the interaction and I need to recharge my battery. Alone. That’s just the way that works best for me. 

After they left I sat on my backyard porch swing and cracked a beer. The blue sky dimmed as the sun set. The crickets serenaded the impending night. I stared at the brown pickett directly ahead. Hopes and possibilities jumbled around in my head, thoughts of meeting neighbors and enjoying more independence and turning my house into a leveled-up sanctuary for comfort. But another feeling, in my gut, was one of nervousness, of anxiety over what’s to come, challenges with insurmountable odds and ambiguities and a player to be named later. It was time to shut it all off. Time to fully drain. I left the beer to the mosquitoes and shut the screen door behind me. There was a labyrinth of boxes that I worked through to the makeshift bedroom. I stumbled onto the bed and worked my boxers onto the floor.

Lucky guy, I was, to be able to access the memories and mementos of my sexual experiences. I reached into an unpacked bin and pulled out the pair of Julia’s soiled panties. My inhale was deep. Her scent was robust, pussy and ass and pheromones and a lingering scent that was both dirty and sweet. The smells triggered the memories instantaneously, where my cock twitched to the phantom feelings of Julia’s throat jerking it warm and wet.

Glug glug glug glug, glug, glug, glug, gluglugluglugluglugluglugluglug.

I came quickly and easily but felt frustrated afterwards. I hadn’t heard from her in 3 weeks. At the time of our hookup I told myself to expect nothing and be cool with it. I was truly fortunate, then, to play with her the way we did. Time is a revealer of deeper truths, however, and the truth was that I missed her. But what could I do? We had agreed a few weeks before that we couldn’t text or call each other, just to be safe. A part of me wanted to break this rule, but the fact she hadn’t, made me think texting would only make things worse. Another part of me was severely concerned that I had done something wrong. It was really difficult to shake that feeling.

The next day I encountered two other truths of life. The first is that life’s worries and concerns are very rarely as bad as we imagine them to be. Don’t get me wrong, life can be very difficult, and certainly easier for some than others. But our worries are often amplified by our imaginations when we have too much time and no one around. I realized this, yet again, when I opened my mail box and found a letter from Julia. It felt nice to know this was the first mail my new home received. But the other truth that I encountered is that you rarely get exactly what you want. I recognized this, as the personal letter I was expecting from Julia (…which in retrospect made no sense because who her age writes letters…) turned out to be an invitation from her family for her graduation ceremony. The fonts were swirly and there was gold glitter everywhere.

Some communication was better than none, I figured. But then I also thought, what if this had no input from Julia herself? She wrote her name on the card, but the fact hers was in dark red ink while theirs was in black told me she just signed it after the fact. Her family was just being nice, as they usually were with these types of things. Same reason I’d get an Amazon gift card from them come holidays. 

The more I thought about it, the more I reasoned her distance was a best-case scenario. Because, I mean, what if she ended up talking to them? What if she gained some new perspective and felt like I had taken advantage of her? What if, therefore, this was all a really elaborate setup? Was there a van outside my house listening in on me? Is there a graduation ceremony? Do kids graduate? What does that word even mean? And is her name even Julia?

Too much time. No one around. Too much time. No one around.

With too much time, at least, your mind can send you in the other direction. So as that moment passed, and the following days unfolded, I settled on the more stable viewpoint that I was worrying too much and things would be fine. There were no suspicious vehicles outside. Graduations were a thing. And Julia, who actually went by that name, was aware of the fact I was moving. Maybe she figured I’d be busy. She was busy too, of course. 

And so truthfully, when graduation Saturday came around everything felt ok. I ate some breakfast and took a shower and dressed up nicely. I even felt pride as I got ready, thinking about what I did to help her get to this point. It felt exciting to gather myself, dressed to the nines, and participate in the celebration. It was a welcoming feeling to slo-roll into the parking lot and saunter towards the gym. The school was really clean and there were balloons tied to everything. There was the sound of high heels echoing down hallways. Fresh baked cookies on trays, carried by a caravan of staff, to an undisclosed location.

Curiosity got the best of me and I followed the last in the cookie caravan down a hallway and around a corner when I bumped into a paunchy man in his 50s with curly black and gray hair. He wore 10 year old Merrell sneakers and had a vinyl record under his arm.

“Well how about that,” the man said. “Small world.”

“Jim!” I said. “So what’s the deal, I move away and now I can’t have a cookie?”

“Wait like the rest of ‘em you little shit,” he said. He reached out and gave me a half hug, careful with the vinyl record. I asked him what he was packing.

“I shit you not, this was a gift from some of the kids,” he said. “These kids, they can’t tell you a thing about music, but they can google, find discogs, find the exact version of a record down to the matrix. It’s impressive and it isn’t at the same time, you know?”

“It’s impressive Jim. You’re just old. You need a cookie or something. Get me one while you’re at it.”

“You’ll be too someday and I’ll haunt your ass,” he said. He handed me the record.

“Songs For My Father? I’m surprised you don’t have this one already.”

“Not this. It’s an original blue note. Rudy Van Gelder etching. It’s impressive, I must admit.”

He showed me its lack of imperfections with the enthusiasm of Christmas morning. “You know what I’ll be doing tonight,” he said.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Amaretto on the rocks?”

He laughed in an ostentatious sort of way. “A Van Gelder original deserves scotch. Neat.”

“Neat,” I said.

Cookie-less, I found my way to the gym and took one of the few remaining seats. The family I sat next to were warm. Their daughter played tennis with Julia and the father knew a lot about the French Open. The ceremonies were pleasant and everyone was safe. It all seemed so easy up to that point. At the end, the principal talked into the microphone and there was feedback noise that got the students too hyped. She eventually told us to head outside.

The gigantic field beyond the gym was known as the quad. The green felt neverending. There were folding tables with gold and white striped sheets, and the drink bowls had ladles. The rumor was that the cookies were soon to arrive. Families were scattered in all directions. It was a very pleasant sight but I had a lot of trouble feeling comfortable as the inevitable dragged me down. But I reasoned that if there was an issue it would have happened already. Another student’s little brother found me and asked me to show him my tattoo and I did and he was funny. 

With less reluctance and more relaxation, I searched the sea of tall, long-haired girls with caps until I sighted my siren, posing for her dad who tried his best Scorcese impression with a Galaxy S series. When I arrived we all exchanged hugs and Julia felt warm and it felt ok. I scrutinized her face for anything, while keeping my cool, and she was very hard to read. We kept it light and Julia played with her hair in the maroon bow.

There was no sign of the worst-case scenario. It seemed like most of my concerns were self-inflicted, so as I realized this I was able to loosen up and enjoy their company. The conversation was light and flowing. I suppose one could say I was betraying their trust, but I was sincere and earnest with my job, and my experience with Julia was coming from a place of similar sincerity and mutual communication. At least that’s what I had convinced myself of.

And in that moment the thought was out-of-reach, floating far beyond the expanse of the grass. The day was bright and there were napkins loose in the light breeze. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted another one of my students. I was beginning to feel that I should go, or that I was close to staying past my welcome, and I told them I should go say hi to some others. Julia’s mom offered tea if I were to come by in the summer and I was amicable. Julia took a break from playing with her hair bow and handed me a present.

“I, I mean we,” she said, “wanted to give this to you.”

“It’s nothing,” said Julia’s mom. “Really, could we perhaps give you something more? Do you like Apple or Samsung?”

“Mama I took care of it,” said Julia. “Remember?”

“Oh yes, yes,” said her mom. “Open it!”

It was a shadow box, it seemed, like the type you’d find in a Michael’s. The box was black and about the size of a football and heavier than you’d expect. And floating in the center, behind a pane of glass, was a miniature decoration, a sort of education-themed mashup of notebooks and binder paper, pens and pencils, a ruler, all with a swirling red ribbon throughout.

“This is so nice,” I said. “What a sweet gift. Thank you.”

Julia said, “You can take out the back and there’s a gift card there too. But it’s kinda annoying to, like, pop it back in. Hope you like puzzles.”

“Why’d you put it there?” asked her dad.

“So it’s all in one thing. I told you!” said Julia.

Her dad put his hand on my shoulder. “I used to feed lions, back when I was a young man like yourself. How blessed I am that I did!” He tapped his nose and laughed and Julia stared him down.

“She’s having a sleepover with friends,” said her mom. “We think it’s just an excuse. Anything to get away from us!” Both her parents laughed and I played along.

The gift was a kind gesture. But at the same time there was something about it that fell a bit flat, and it reminded me of the feeling I was having that very moment with Julia. She was being friendly, but in the way that she always did in the presence of her parents. I just could not read those heavy green eyes.

But I did say my goodbyes and lingered for a moment that felt like forever. I guess in the most cliched sense, I expected her to come running after me. Maybe more reasonably, accost me while I’m walking around. At the very least, I expected some sort of sign or indication or hint or subtle moment of inertia that told me something, some feeling, some acknowledgment that we could and would see each other again.

I walked to the parking lot feeling much different than before.