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MidReal 故事
Muse Next Door
设定:how terry doda meant lisa ricker
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Terry Doda
reclusive artist, no direct relationships, tall with unkempt hair, introverted and creative.
Mark Jensen
mutual friend of Terry and Lisa who introduces them, friend to both Terry and Lisa, athletic build with a friendly demeanor, sociable and supportive.
Lisa Ricker
vibrant and social neighbor of Terry, becomes romantically involved with Terry, short with bright eyes and a warm smile, outgoing and empathetic.
I was a recluse.
A hermit.
A shut-in.
And I was perfectly happy that way.
I had everything I needed in my little house on the outskirts of town.
I had my art supplies, my books, and a few good friends who didn’t mind coming to me when they wanted to hang out.
I had no need for the outside world, and it had no need for me.
At least that’s what I thought until she moved in next door.
She was like a breath of fresh air blowing through my dusty old life, and I couldn’t help but be drawn to her light.
Even though I knew it would only end in heartache.
But sometimes, you have to risk getting burned if you want to feel the heat…
I stood at my window, watching as the moving truck pulled up next door.
A woman stepped out, her bright eyes scanning the neighborhood with a mix of curiosity and excitement.
She had a warm smile that seemed to light up the entire street.
I felt a strange pull in my chest, something I hadn’t felt in years.
Just then, there was a knock on my door.
I sighed, knowing exactly who it was.
Mark never could take a hint.
I opened the door to find him grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“Hey, Terry! Did you see the new neighbor?” he asked, practically bouncing on his feet.
“Yeah, I saw,” I replied, trying to keep my voice neutral.
“Well, come on then! Let’s go say hi!” Mark grabbed my arm and started pulling me towards the door.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I protested, trying to dig my heels into the carpet.
“Nonsense! You need to get out more. Besides, she seems nice,” Mark insisted, dragging me outside despite my resistance.
We walked over to where Lisa was directing the movers.
She turned and saw us approaching, her smile widening even further.
“Hi there! I’m Lisa,” she said cheerfully, extending her hand.
Mark shook her hand enthusiastically. “Hi, Lisa! I’m Mark, and this is Terry. We live next door.”
I gave a small wave, feeling awkward and out of place.
“Nice to meet you,” I mumbled.
Lisa’s eyes sparkled as she looked at me. “Nice to meet you too, Terry. It’s great to finally meet some neighbors!”
Mark nudged me with his elbow. “Terry’s an artist. He spends most of his time in his studio.”
“Oh really? That’s amazing! What kind of art do you do?” Lisa asked, her interest genuine.
“Mostly painting,” I replied, feeling a little more at ease under her warm gaze.
“That’s wonderful! I’d love to see your work sometime,” she said with enthusiasm.
I felt a spark of excitement at her words, something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
“Maybe… maybe sometime,” I stammered.
Lisa smiled again. “I’ll hold you to that.”
As we chatted briefly about mundane things like the weather and the neighborhood, I couldn’t help but feel drawn to her warmth.
It was such a stark contrast to my own isolation.
But as we said our goodbyes and headed back to our respective homes, I felt a mix of fear and excitement swirling inside me.
Back in my studio, I tried to focus on my latest painting.
But my mind kept drifting back to Lisa.
Her bright eyes.
Her warm smile.
The way she made me feel alive again.
I picked up my brush and stared at the blank canvas in front of me.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the thoughts of her from my mind.
With a frustrated sigh, I put down the brush and ran my fingers through my hair.
Suddenly, there was another knock on my door.
My heart skipped a beat as I wondered if it could be Lisa.
Her bright eyes met mine, and she smiled warmly.
"I thought you might like these," she said, extending the plate.
My heart pounded as I took the cookies, our fingers briefly touching.
"Thank you," I mumbled, feeling awkward but grateful.
Lisa glanced around my studio, her curiosity evident.
"Mind if I come in?" she asked.
I hesitated but then stepped aside.
She entered, looking at my paintings with genuine admiration.
"These are amazing," she said softly.
For the first time in years, I felt seen and understood.
Lisa walked slowly around the room, her eyes taking in every detail of my work.
The walls were covered with canvases of various sizes, each depicting a different scene or emotion.
The smell of paint and turpentine filled the air, mixing with the faint scent of cookies from the plate in my hands.
"You have a real talent," Lisa said, stopping in front of a landscape painting I had been working on for weeks.
"How long have you been painting?"
"Since I was a kid," I replied, setting the plate down on a cluttered table. "It's always been my escape."
She turned to face me, her expression thoughtful. "Escape from what?"
I shrugged, feeling a little exposed. "Life, I guess. It's easier to lose myself in my art than deal with... everything else."
Lisa nodded as if she understood completely. "I get that. Everyone needs something to hold onto."
We stood there in silence for a moment, the only sound being the ticking of an old clock on the wall.
"Would you like some coffee?" I blurted out, desperate to fill the quiet.
"Sure," she said with a smile. "I'd love some."
I moved to the small kitchenette in the corner of the studio and started brewing a pot of coffee.
Lisa continued to explore my space, occasionally stopping to examine a painting more closely.
"You really capture emotions well," she commented as she studied a portrait of an elderly man with sorrowful eyes.
"Thanks," I said over my shoulder. "I try to paint what I feel."
She looked at me then, her gaze intense. "And what do you feel right now?"
I swallowed hard, unsure how to answer. "A lot of things," I admitted finally.
Lisa walked over to me and placed a hand on my arm. "You don't have to be alone all the time, you know."
Her touch was warm and comforting, and for a moment, I allowed myself to believe that maybe she was right.
The coffee finished brewing, and I poured us each a cup. We sat down at a small table by the window, sipping our drinks in companionable silence.
"So," Lisa said after a while, "do you ever show your work anywhere? Galleries or exhibitions?"
I shook my head. "No, I've never had the courage."
"You should," she said firmly. "Your art deserves to be seen."
Her words filled me with a strange mix of hope and fear. The idea of putting myself out there was terrifying, but Lisa's belief in me made it seem almost possible.
"I'll think about it," I said quietly.
Lisa smiled and reached for one of the cookies on the plate. "Good. And if you ever need someone to help you set it up or just be there for support, I'm here."
We spent the next hour talking about art and life, sharing stories and laughter. It was easy to forget about my usual anxieties with Lisa around. She had a way of making everything seem brighter and more manageable.
As we finished our coffee and stood up to say goodbye, Lisa gave me one last encouraging smile.
"Don't be a stranger," she said as she headed towards the door.
"I won't," I promised.
My heart pounded in my chest.
The thought of returning to my old life of solitude was unbearable.
Determined, I grabbed my coat and followed her outside.
"Lisa, wait," I called out.
She turned around, surprised but smiling.
"I want to show you something," I said, catching up to her.
Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. "What is it?"
"Come with me," I replied, leading her back to my studio.
We walked through the narrow hallway, the walls adorned with unfinished sketches and color palettes.
I opened the door to a small room at the back of the studio.
Inside, dim light filtered through dusty windows, illuminating a hidden collection of my most personal works.
Lisa stepped inside, her eyes widening with admiration as she took in the sight.
"These are incredible," she whispered, moving closer to one of the paintings.
The room was filled with canvases depicting raw emotions and intimate moments from my life.
Each piece told a story that I had kept hidden from the world for so long.
Terry felt a surge of confidence as he watched Lisa's reaction. "I want to share them with the world," he said, his voice steady. "And I need your help."
Lisa turned to face him, her eyes shining with encouragement. "I'd be honored to help you," she said softly.
I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. "Thank you," I said, feeling a sense of relief wash over me.
Lisa walked over to a painting of a young girl standing by a lake. "This one is beautiful," she said, her voice filled with awe. "What's the story behind it?"
I hesitated for a moment before answering. "It's based on a memory from my childhood. My sister and I used to visit that lake every summer."
Lisa nodded, her gaze never leaving the painting. "You can feel the emotion in every brushstroke," she said quietly.
We spent the next hour going through each piece, sharing stories and memories that had inspired them.
It was the first time I had ever opened up about my art in such a personal way.
As we finished looking at the last painting, Lisa turned to me with a determined expression. "We need to get these out there," she said firmly. "People need to see your work."
I nodded, feeling more confident than ever before. "Let's do it."
Lisa smiled and reached for her phone. "I'll start making some calls," she said, dialing a number.
While she spoke on the phone, I looked around the room at my paintings.
For so long, they had been my escape from the world.
But now, with Lisa's help, they could become something more.
Lisa hung up and turned back to me. "I've got a friend who runs an art gallery downtown," she said excitedly. "She's interested in seeing your work."
My heart raced with anticipation. "When can we meet her?"
"Tomorrow afternoon," Lisa replied. "I'll come by and pick you up."
I nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. "Thank you, Lisa," I said sincerely.
She smiled warmly. "You're welcome, Terry. This is just the beginning."
As Lisa left the studio that evening, I felt a renewed sense of purpose.
For the first time in years, I was ready to step out of my comfort zone and share my art with the world.
The next day arrived quickly.
I spent the morning preparing my best pieces for the gallery visit.
When Lisa arrived to pick me up, I felt a surge of confidence knowing she was by my side.
We loaded the paintings into her car and drove downtown.
The city buzzed with energy as we navigated through busy streets and towering buildings.
Finally, we arrived at the gallery.
The exterior was sleek and modern, with large glass windows showcasing various artworks inside.
Lisa led me through the entrance where we were greeted by her friend Sarah.
"Terry, this is Sarah," Lisa introduced us.
Sarah extended her hand with a warm smile. "It's nice to meet you, Terry."
"Nice to meet you too," I replied nervously shaking her hand.
Sarah glanced at the paintings we brought in. "Let's take a look at your work."
We carefully unpacked each piece and set them up for display.
Sarah examined them closely; her expression thoughtful as she took in every detail.
The gallery was a spacious room with high ceilings and white walls that made the artwork pop.
Large windows let in natural light, casting a warm glow over the space.
Sarah greeted us at the door, her eyes lighting up as she saw the paintings we had brought.
"Welcome back, Terry," she said warmly. "I'm eager to see more of your work."
"Thank you," I replied, feeling a mix of anticipation and anxiety.
We began unpacking the paintings, carefully placing them around the room.
Sarah walked around, examining each piece with genuine interest.
"These are incredible," she said, turning to me. "You have a real gift."
Just then, the door opened, and a man in a suit entered the gallery.
He had an air of authority about him, and his eyes immediately locked onto my work.
He approached us with an intense gaze.
"Good afternoon," he said, extending his hand. "I'm Jonathan Reed, an art critic."
I shook his hand, feeling a surge of nerves. "Nice to meet you."
Jonathan's eyes scanned the paintings again. "Your work is remarkable," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "The depth and emotion in each piece are truly captivating."
I felt a wave of elation mixed with anxiety. "Thank you," I managed to say.
Lisa squeezed my hand reassuringly, her presence grounding me.
Jonathan continued to study the paintings, his expression thoughtful. "Have you ever considered a solo exhibition?" he asked.
I was speechless for a moment, unable to process what he was suggesting.
"A solo exhibition?" I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.
Jonathan nodded. "Yes. Your work deserves to be seen by a wider audience."
I glanced at Lisa, who smiled encouragingly. "This could be an amazing opportunity for you," she whispered.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. "I'd be honored," I finally said.
Jonathan's face broke into a smile. "Excellent. I'll make the arrangements and be in touch soon."
As we left the gallery, Lisa hugged me tightly. "This is just the beginning," she whispered in my ear.
I felt a surge of hope and excitement as we walked back to her car.
For the first time in years, I felt like my art had a purpose beyond my own escape.
We drove back home in silence, both lost in our thoughts.
When we arrived at my house, Lisa turned to me with a determined look in her eyes.
"We need to start preparing for your exhibition," she said firmly.
I nodded, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. "Let's do it."
We spent the next few hours planning and organizing my paintings for the exhibition.
Lisa's enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself getting more excited with each passing moment.
As we worked together, I couldn't help but feel grateful for her presence in my life.
She had brought light into my world of darkness and helped me find my way back to something I loved.
The sun began to set as we finished our preparations.
Lisa stood up and stretched, looking satisfied with our progress. "We'll make this exhibition unforgettable," she said confidently.
I smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment wash over me. "Thank you for everything," I said sincerely.
Lisa shook her head. "You don't need to thank me. I'm just glad I could help."
We stood there for a moment, basking in the glow of our shared achievement.
Then suddenly, there was another knock on the door.
When I opened it, a young woman stood there, clutching a letter in her hand.
Her eyes were wide with urgency.
"Are you Terry Doda?" she asked, slightly out of breath.
"Yes, that's me," I replied, puzzled.
She thrust the letter towards me. "I'm Sarah's assistant. This just arrived for you."
I took the letter and quickly tore it open.
The handwriting was familiar—it was from Jonathan Reed.
I read it aloud, my voice trembling. "Due to unforeseen circumstances, the exhibition date has been moved up to next week."
Panic surged through me as I realized how little time I had left to prepare.
Lisa noticed my distress and immediately took my hand. "We'll manage this, Terry. We can do it together."
I nodded, trying to steady my breathing. "Okay, let's get started."
We turned back into the studio, our minds racing with tasks that needed to be done.
Lisa grabbed a notepad and pen. "First things first, let's prioritize what needs to be done."
I looked around at the cluttered space. "We need to finish framing the paintings and decide on the layout for the exhibition."
Lisa scribbled down notes quickly. "Got it. What else?"
"We need to create labels for each piece and write up descriptions," I added.
"Alright," Lisa said, her voice calm and reassuring. "I'll handle the labels and descriptions while you focus on framing and layout."
We split up, diving into our respective tasks with a sense of urgency.
I pulled out the frames from a dusty corner and began fitting each painting carefully.
The smell of wood and varnish filled the air as I worked.
Lisa sat at a small desk, typing furiously on her laptop.
Hours passed in a blur of activity.
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room.
Despite the pressure, Lisa's calm presence helped me stay focused.
"How are you holding up?" she asked during a brief pause.
"I'm okay," I replied, wiping sweat from my forehead. "Just trying to keep everything straight in my head."
"We're making great progress," she said encouragingly. "We'll get this done."
As night fell, we continued working under the soft glow of desk lamps.
The studio was filled with the sounds of our efforts—typing keys, rustling papers, and the occasional clink of tools.
Lisa looked up from her laptop. "I've finished the labels and descriptions. Want to take a look?"
I walked over and scanned through her work. "These are perfect," I said, feeling a surge of gratitude.
She smiled warmly. "Glad you think so."
We resumed our tasks with renewed energy.
The bond between us deepened as we worked side by side late into the night.
Finally, as dawn approached, we stood back to admire our progress.
The paintings were framed and ready; labels and descriptions neatly prepared.
"We did it," Lisa said softly, her eyes shining with pride.
"Yeah," I agreed, feeling a mix of exhaustion and accomplishment.
I handed Lisa a cup of coffee, and we sipped in silence, the dim light casting long shadows across the room.
The studio felt like a sanctuary, filled with the scent of paint and wood.
Suddenly, the lights flickered and went out, plunging us into darkness.
"Great," I muttered, fumbling for my phone to use as a flashlight.
Lisa remained calm. "Do you have any candles?" she asked.
"Yeah, I think so," I replied, feeling my way to a drawer near the workbench.
I found a few candles and some matches.
"Here we go," I said, striking a match and lighting the first candle.
The small flame flickered to life, casting a warm glow that danced on the walls.
We lit several more candles, placing them around the room.
The soft light created an intimate atmosphere, making the studio feel cozy and inviting.
Lisa looked around, her face illuminated by the gentle glow. "This is nice," she said softly.
I nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude for her presence. "Yeah, it is."
We sat back down on the couch, closer this time.
The flickering candlelight made everything seem more personal, more connected.
I glanced at Lisa and felt an overwhelming sense of affection. "Thank you for being here," I said quietly.
She smiled warmly. "I'm glad I could help."
We shared a moment of silence, just enjoying each other's company.
The stress of preparing for the exhibition seemed to melt away in that peaceful moment.
After a while, Lisa stretched and yawned. "It's getting late. We should probably call it a night."
I nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, you're right."
We stood up and started blowing out the candles one by one.
As we walked towards the door, I felt a mix of emotions—gratitude, affection, and something else I couldn't quite identify.
When we reached the door, Lisa turned to me with a tired but content smile. "Goodnight, Terry."
Without thinking, I leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still.
Then she kissed me back, and I felt a rush of exhilaration mixed with fear.
We pulled away slowly, both slightly breathless.
"Goodnight," she whispered softly before turning to leave.
I watched her walk down the hallway until she disappeared from sight.
Closing the door behind me, I leaned against it for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.
My heart was still racing as I made my way back to the couch and sat down heavily.
The studio was quiet now, filled only with the faint smell of extinguished candles and lingering warmth from our shared moment.
A sketch of my late mother stared back at me, her eyes filled with a warmth that I hadn't seen in years.
A pang of sorrow hit me, and I felt a lump form in my throat.
Just then, a soft knock echoed through the quiet studio.
I stood up and walked to the door, opening it to find Lisa standing there, her eyes filled with concern.
"Hey," she said softly, stepping inside. "Are you okay?"
I nodded, though my voice betrayed me. "Yeah, just... memories."
Her gaze fell on the sketchbook, and she walked over to it.
"Is this your mom?" she asked gently.
I hesitated for a moment but then nodded. "Yeah, that's her."
Lisa sat down on the couch and looked up at me, her eyes inviting me to join her.
I took a deep breath and sat beside her.
"She was beautiful," Lisa said, tracing the lines of the sketch with her finger.
"Tell me about her."
I swallowed hard, feeling a mix of vulnerability and relief wash over me.
"She was an artist too," I began. "She taught me everything I know about painting."
Lisa listened intently, her empathy evident in her eyes.
"She used to take me to galleries and museums," I continued. "We'd spend hours just looking at art, talking about techniques and colors."
A small smile tugged at my lips as I remembered those moments. "She had this way of making everything seem magical."
Lisa placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, and I felt a warmth spread through me.
"She sounds amazing," she said softly.
"She was," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. "She passed away when I was nineteen. Cancer."
The word hung heavy in the air between us.
"I'm so sorry," Lisa said, squeezing my shoulder gently.
We sat in silence for a moment before I continued. "These sketches... they're all memories of her."
I flipped through the pages, showing Lisa each drawing. "This one is from our trip to Paris. And this one... it's from our last Christmas together."
Lisa's eyes never left mine as she listened, her presence grounding me in a way I hadn't felt in years.
We shared more memories until dawn began to break, the first light filtering into the studio.
As the room slowly filled with the soft glow of morning, I realized something profound.
Lisa wasn't just helping me prepare for an exhibition; she was helping me reconnect with parts of myself that I'd buried long ago.
"I've found more than just inspiration," I said quietly, looking at her with gratitude. "I've found a true confidant in you."
Lisa smiled warmly, her eyes reflecting the same sentiment. "And I've found a friend in you too, Terry."
We sat there together as the sun rose higher, casting new light on old memories and forging new ones in its wake.
Suddenly, there was another knock on the door.
