Every Saturday, we’ll be posting a new illustration by David Lester. The Mecca Normal guitarist is visually documenting people, places and events from his band’s 25-year run, with text by vocalist Jean Smith.
War Between The Neighbors
I suspect I’m part of a war between the neighbors, and soon enough, the doorbell rings. I am a guest, pressed up against the wall, closest to the screen door. A man outside, plaid shirt. The sun is behind him. Light bouncing off him, as if he’s in a film. Very smooth. His eyes are adjusting to the light inside. He looks without seeing me. I’m right here in the hall, holding a cup of bad coffee. If I had a split second more time, I could have disappeared around the corner of the living room. I stand still. In this lapse, I observe a man preparing for confrontation. My host is crouched and giggling, in his dressing gown, behind the sofa. The man at the door moves, he shimmers. He’s sweating now. Dark eyes flicker, pixelated by the screen. I’m noticing objects relative to other things—I enjoy this example, it’s riveting. I watch as his eyes connect to me. Focusing. He’s waiting for me to acknowledge him before he speaks. Small courtesy. As if we’re acting in a play. God only knows what would happen if we stopped behaving predictably. I’m in a war between the neighbors. I’m a guest, pressed against the wall. Coffee going cold in the silence before we speak. I take a sip, forgetting how bad, how cold, it is. Hey, maybe he knows where I can get a good coffee. “Down below,” he says, and points straight down. “I’m Leroy. He hasn’t told you about Leroy? Oh boy.” He turns, shaking his head, and makes his way back down the concrete steps, soft hand gripping the rail. My host is up off the floor, still giggling, holding his root-beer float. A dry residue of ice cream on the inside of his glass. I’m part of a war with the downstairs neighbor. I’m a guest, pressed up against the wall.
