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Turk Albany

Waiting for author content: links, bio, acknowledgments, etc.

Excerpt from “The Lawn Fags”:

Professor Southern looked up from his desk at his lover. “I’ll only be gone a month,” he said. “I can’t impose on Dr. Vromsky’s goodwill for longer than that, but the fact he’s letting me look at his work and his study groups is a minor miracle.”

“But, Lee, why can’t I go with you?” Ed asked for the nth time.

“Because you’re not a linguist, Edward, and someone has to look after the lawn while I’m gone.”

Lawns and the palatalization of the phoneme /t/ were Lee Southern’s twin obsessions. Somewhere in between he made room in his life for Edward Aurillac, who was getting a PhD in history.

Their lawn—because Ed could either hate Lee’s lawn or love their lawn in the happy yard of their happy home—was magnificent. Verdant, lush, manicured: it was the envy of the block, with the exception of another gay couple three doors down across the street who were even more obsessed than Lee. It was a pleasant competition for best lawn between them, but this was West Los Angeles: gay couples with domestic partnerships and high-maintenance lawns were de rigueur.

Of course Ed took an interest in the lawn, but the lack of domestic partnership commitment held him back from giving himself entirely to Lee and the lawn. He didn’t doubt Lee loved him, and were gay marriage legal in California, they’d be married. Ed blamed the Byzantine legalities of acquiring a domestic partnership and Lee’s lawyer-phobia for his unnotarized ménage.

So it was more difficult for Ed to care deeply about the yard, which was lovely. Spice bush and plumbago banked the walls and fences on all sides; there were islands of jasmine, sages, lilies and roses, and anything else colorful and fragrant that Lee could find scattered in the lush lawn, but it was just another distraction from Ed’s dissertation whenever he happened to notice how lovely it was. He’d even moved his desk so his back was to the window, thus limiting his view to his computer monitor and whatever the solitude-seeking Irish monks were doing in his head.

End of Excerpt

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  1. Pingback: The Wapshott Press » Chase and Other Stories TOC and mini synopses

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