To Dustin and Erica (and Heiko and Mark).
You should get to know your neighbors only well enough
To feel comfortable borrowing brown sugar,
I've always said.
Because neighbors are sneaky bastards.
And patient!
First, you have an "association meeting" with beer, and some laughs.
Then one Saturday night, months later, somebody's door is open one evening and somebody wanders in.
And somebody's parents are there, and before you know it
Your neighbors start looking like Whole People from some angles,
And you start confusing the motherfuckers for your friends.
And they're smart.
They're careful never to barge in, never to expect anything, no pressure.
They go to great lengths not to remind you that they have the power
To ruin your life.
Instead, they invite you over for steaks in the summer and you bring them chili in the winter.
On innocent Wednesdays when the weather is good, they send you a text message: "porch beers?"
Sirens!
You make beer with them, you celebrate their new job, they welcome you home from a business trip abroad.
One by one, you buy motorcycles, and together you ride them around the goddamn town, the state, the whole Midwest!
Family members die, friends die, and the neighbors say they're sorry. Family members get sick, and the neighbors ask questions with furrowed brows. And when they have a bad time at work, a fight with their sister, a motorcycle crash, you tell them they didn't have it coming.
And you think about all this, a lot.
You think about what's so good about this.
You wonder how it is that you've lucked into living
In the same building with such decent, good-humored, honest, warm human beings.
And then one day six years later, they move away—they move to California—and you feel like one wall of your house is ripped off, and some of your family members are missing.
You should know your neighbors only well enough
To feel comfortable borrowing brown sugar,
I've always said.
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