As I brushed my teeth the memory of the gorgeous stranger hit me and I had to go look out the window. It didn’t look any different over there at the neighboring house. I watched intently to see if I noticed any curtains moving as he walked past, or perhaps I would get lucky enough to see him come outside again. I tried to peer around to the garage out back to see if there was a vehicle there, but I couldn’t see from my bedroom.
I moved my snooping self down to the kitchen as I made a cup of coffee. The sweet and bitter taste hit my pallet with a bang and I could feel the caffeine start rushing through my body. I needed that desperately.
The memory of the stranger’s body still burned in my brain, I could still feel his warm olive skin on my hands. I licked my lips with desire as I thought about his lips: their perfect color and roundness; I wanted to feel them against mine. It was like sweetness on my mouth as I thought about the neighbor and how he could please me with those lip.
My eyes stayed focused on his house, just waiting for him to come out shirtless like he had done the night before. My body ached to see him again. I didn’t even know his name, but I was filled with thoughts of desire. What would his lips feel like on my body? Oh, how I would love to feel them softly moving over every inch of me. Slowly moving from my neck, down to my nipple and further down to bring me to a tremendous explosion.
With my coffee in hand, I went out my back door to see if he was anywhere to be seen. I looked around his garage, but there wasn’t a car there. It looked just as empty has it always had. A sinking feeling came over me. He was real, right? The idea that he might not have really been there the night before haunted me. I know I had been drunk, but was it possible to be so drunk you imagined a person that didn’t exist?
As I stood in my backyard looking at his house, I was compelled to get closer and closer to the building. I could feel my heart start quickening with each step. One foot in front of the other and I made my way into the neighbor’s backyard. I placed my hand on the side door to the garage and slowly twisted the doorknob. It opened.
When I looked into the garage, it was totally empty. This seemed extremely odd to me. If someone had really just moved in, surely they would have some boxes or other personal belongings that they would be storing in the garage.
Confusion filled me as I walked up to the house. I placed my face against one of the windows and looked inside. The same old furniture that had sat in there for the last five years was still there.
The Anderson’s had been killed in a car accident and they had no children. Five years had gone by, but I still remembered it like it was yesterday. They had been arguing for days before the accident. Most of the town believed that Mr. Anderson had purposely driven them off the road. But no one would ever know for sure, the event was officially listed as an accident. Their home was given to a cousin who lived out of town. We all thought the cousin would list the house for sale, but year after year it stayed empty.
I walked around to the front of the home and without thinking, I knocked.
A flash of regret quickly shot through me. What if he was there? I would look crazy to him: peering in his windows, looking in his garage, knocking on his door; all for no good reason at all. Well in my head I had a good reason. I wanted to see him again. I wanted to see if that electricity I had felt the night before was something real or just something I had imagined.
I stood timidly waiting in anticipation. I wanted to see him again, but then I was nervous at the possibility as well. There was no reason for anyone to come to this small town in the countryside of Missouri, well no good reason at least. He said he had come for a break, but still; no one came to our small town for a break either. Everyone who lived in Bain was born there or had the unfortunate luck to have fallen in love with someone who lived there. People just didn’t move to small towns like Bain nowadays.
After standing for a few minutes in front of the neighbor’s house, I came to the conclusion that I either totally imagined this guy or he wasn’t home. I slowly made my way back over to my house and called Rebecca back.
“Hey, have you heard of anyone moving into the Anderson’s old house?”
“No. Why?
I hesitated to tell her about the gorgeous guy from the previous night. What if my brain really had made the whole thing up?
“Oh, no reason, I just thought I saw a light on over there.”
“Well, I know the cousin was going to try and rent the house out or sell it or something. But I haven’t heard of anyone being interested. Plus, I think we would have noticed a moving truck if someone had decided to move in.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Okay, thanks.”
I hung up and was even more confused than before. Rebecca was right. I would have noticed a moving truck over there. I’m almost always home.
This was getting more and more baffling by the moment.
Chapter 4
The days went by and I didn’t see the mysterious neighbor at all. I looked out in the morning, snuck a peak around dinner and even woke up in the middle of the night to see if I saw any movement over there.
Surely, his appearance could have been some sort of alcohol-induced psychosis, but my body could not accept that. If I closed my eyes, I could still remember what his skin felt like under my fingertips. I still felt the hard muscle of his chest and the warm flush of embarrassment that filled my body. I had to get my mind off of him. Only a couple more weeks left before my big photography exhibit and I still needed at least three more pieces to show.
Since Michael’s death, I had resigned myself to the recluse life of a photographer. My days, and sometimes my nights, were filled staring through the lens of my Canon EOS professional camera. It had been a gift from Michael and was by far one of my most treasured belongings.
When not wrapped up in the world through my camera lens, I was painfully restoring every aspect of my grandparents’ old Victorian home. I hand-stripped the wood trim and was about to start the process of staining all the pieces before putting them back up.
The night was clear and the moon full on this particular night, so I grabbed my camera and went for a walk. A lot of what people didn’t understand about photography was the amount of time an artist took to find just the right picture. It was a delicate balance between the light, objects and my own skills.
As I walked down an old dirt road just outside of town, I finally found just the right angle for the picture I wanted. The woods nearby skimmed the bottom of the brilliant moon and the sky was so clear that it seemed as though every star in the galaxy was shining brightly in the sky.
I lay down and peered through my lens to find just the right balance of light for the shot I wanted. I was so e
nveloped in my own little world and the photographic process that I didn’t hear the pounding of footsteps until they were right over me.