The studio across mine has been empty since I moved here. For a while, I took it over. I had as much of my stuff in one studio as I did the other. Because the studios are at the end of the hall, I was able to block off the hall with a tall cabinet and have a long studio all to me. Two became one. I made paintings and enjoyed the luxury, to the quiet chagrin of my peers. Something about the size of my apartment prevented me from apologizing.
Last week, someone moved into that studio. I wasn’t sure how I would take it. I had to move my mitre saw, and it seems a bit cramped and unhappy back in my studio. To be honest, I wasn’t feeling good about having a neighbor. I’ve designed my studio in such a way that I’m pretty enclosed, but still. You may never use the arm rest at the theater, but you enjoy knowing the next seat is empty as can be.
Round yesterday, everything changed. My new neighbor talks on the phone quite a bit. Her phone is equipped with a microphone attachment that looks very tele-markety, allowing her to “make art” while talking to her invisible people. I expected that to annoy me, but it doesn’t. Her voice is muffled and I can rarely make out the words. But every few phone calls, her tone changes completely. Her voice is quieter, softer, sweeter. More girly. Not emphatic, but not submissive. Her guard down, her voice quivers with trust. Just because whoever he is, he’s the one she honestly loves. And I like that. I like the way it sounds. Each time I hear it, it makes me tender and slow. I hear the mumbling of affection and need, and for a short fleeting moment I’m glad the world has people. If I were someone else, I’d call it fuzzy sunshine, red in the cheeks tacky and trite, make you feel all Jesusy inside.
But I’m not someone else. I just think it’s real nice, that contagious sound. And if that weren’t enough to get me sold, her pizza-baking machine and her furry little dog that’s just smitten with me would be.