The Neighbors

     (ANYA and ANDY sit on a porch drinking.  They're both fairly drunk.  They talk while they drink.)

ANYA:  At least it's nice out.

ANDY:  It's beautiful.

ANYA:  Never had a conversation with my neighbor until tonight.  Imagine if this were the 1950's.

ANDY:  We'd be best friends.

ANYA:  I'd borrow sugar from you.

ANDY:  I'd mow your lawn.  I mean, if you had one.

ANYA:  I like listening to you.  When your windows are open and you're playing.  I like it.

ANDY:  I suck at guitar.

ANYA:  I wouldn't know.  It all sounds good to me.

ANDY:  Sometimes I listen to you make love.

ANYA:  (Laughs.)  Is that a joke?

ANDY:  No.  Am I weird?

ANYA:  Yes, and no.  No, because, unless I’ve been having some very interesting dreams, I haven’t, uh, entertained any gentlemen in quite some time.

ANDY:  Really?

ANYA:  Really.

ANDY:  Huh.  Maybe it’s the woman above you.

ANYA:  Probably.  She is a hooker.

ANDY:  No!

ANYA:  Yes.  I mean, she’s a student, but she puts herself through school by—you know.

ANDY:  I can’t believe this.  This whole time I’ve been walking around being one of those people who go—Oh my God, this state is so boring!—meanwhile I’m living next to an escort.

ANYA:  Hooker.  Escorts wear jewelry.  She’s a total hippie.  I wouldn’t even know she’s a hooker if she hadn’t tried recruiting me.

ANDY:  Hookers recruit?

ANYA:  She just told me I could make some money if I wanted to.  I told her I’m a trust fund baby but I was flattered that she thought I could do well at it, you know, hooking.

ANDY:  So, wait, this whole time I’ve been listening to paid-for sex?  Instead of just normal sex?  That’s awful.

ANYA:  What difference does it make?

ANDY:  I guess it makes me less creepier but also less romantic.  Less of a yearner.  I don’t know.  I yearned for you when I thought it was you making all that…fuss.

ANYA:  Well, I’m sorry, but you’ve been yearning for the wrong woman.

ANDY:  I don’t know.  Maybe I haven’t.  I like you.

ANYA:  I like you too.

ANDY:  And this whole time—

ANYA:  Right next door.  What a world.

ANDY:  Who says ‘What a world?’

ANYA:  People from Jane Austen novels and me.

ANDY:  I could have made love to you every night and then walked home in two seconds and practiced guitar while you listened from your bed still basking in post-sex glow.

ANYA:  Yup.  That would have been perfect.

ANDY:  I mean, right?  For people like us—I mean, our age—living on the East Side.  That’s—

ANYA:  Ideal.

ANDY:  Right!  Right?

ANYA:  You never realize how close you are to happiness.  Granted, in this case, happiness is casual sex, but—

ANDY:  That’s pretty decent as far as happiness goes.  I mean, for people like us, at our age.

ANYA:  I’m forty-seven.

ANDY:  No, you’re not.

ANYA:  No, I’m not.  But you don’t know me.  Not really at all.  This is so much fun.  You don’t know me, and what’s even better is, because the world is about to end, you never CAN know me.  Get it?  You and I are destined to remain what we are forever.  Ships passing in the night.  It’s amazing.

ANDY:  And sad.

ANYA:  But mostly amazing, because—because there’s no pressure.  I don’t have to bother to ask you anything, you don’t have to bother to ask me anything.  Why bother right?  We can just sort of sit and banter and joke and flirt and have a great time.  Because what else can we do, right?

ANDY:  Right.

ANYA:  Right?

ANDY:  Right.

ANYA:  I mean, if I got to know you and you turned out to be—it would just be unfortunate.  Because what good does it do us?

ANDY:  But let me ask you this—If I hadn’t come over and knocked on the door and said, ‘Hey, want to get drunk?’ What would you be--

ANYA:  Yeah, why did you do that?

ANDY:  That’s why I’m asking, because—I don’t really have friends.  I mean, not really.  I have—people, but—nobody I wanted to—and I just didn’t feel like, you know, going very far.

ANYA:  Yeah…same.

ANDY:  So I just…knocked, and…I mean, you could have been anybody, but…you’re you.  We’re here.  And I’m just sort of into destiny enough to wonder if there’s a reason.

ANYA:  I’m not even sort of into destiny, but—I guess in this case, we’d have to trust it, because—we’re here.

ANDY:  We’re here.

ANYA:  Just neighbors.

ANDY:  Right.

ANYA:  But I feel almost—haha—wow.

ANDY:  Grateful?

ANYA:  Yeah.  For this.

ANDY:  Me too.  Definitely me.  I mean, aside from you—I’d just be playing guitar.

ANYA:  Poorly.

ANDY:  Incredibly unbelievably poorly.

ANYA:  So this is better?

ANDY:  Oh yeah.  This is much better.

ANYA:  (Mocking but hopeful.)  We should do it again sometime.

ANDY:  Yeah.  We should.

         (He smiles.  She smiles.  They clink beer bottles.)