We Have To Think About It

I'm not good at looking for apartments. You found the apartment in Greenwich Village, but since you weren't helping me find a new one I was on Craigslist. That seemed like the place where you should go for cheap apartments. I had been looking for a while before I saw the ad.

"1BR in a 2BR. $500/month plus security deposit to move in. Kensington. Backyard and basement access. Near the Q train."

That sounded pretty good to me, so I called the number and the woman who answered said that I could come by later that day, around five.

I got off the Q around 4:30 and figured I could use the extra time to look around the neighborhood. There wasn't much to see, really. The area is pretty residential. The houses lining the streets were pretty nice. The apartment itself was on the main drag, Church Avenue, so there was a McDonald's and a couple of car washes right nearby. I found the apartment building, which was red brick and only a little run down, and smoked a cigarette outside to kill the last five minutes before five. I put the cigarette out and called to say I was outside.

The woman answered the door, Anya. She was probably in her late twenties. Long auburn hair, big green eyes. Thin, tall. Really good looking. She smiled at me.

"You must be Nick, yeah?" Anya said. She had a thick Russian accent, but I didn't have any trouble understanding her.

"Yeah, I'm Nick. You're Anya?"

"Yes, come in."

The apartment was right there on the ground floor. The green door led to a narrow hallway with light brown walls and dark brown floors. She brought me into the first room on the right.

"This is the room."

It had high ceilings and a handmade wooden loft bed. Not that big of a room, but big enough. About the same size as our old dorm. Nice, though. Plus, I was running out of time to find a place, and this room seemed as good as any. 

Anya said, "Do you like it?"

"I like it," I said.

"Good. Let me show you the rest of the house."

She showed me the bathroom, next on the right. It was pretty clean, and pretty ordinary. The tiles were green. 

"This is the bathroom," Anya said.

"Okay," I said.

Then she showed me the kitchen, which was further up the hallway, on the left. It was cramped, with the signs of being used regularly. I figured it must be alright, especially seeing as how I'd be eating alone most of the time. 

"This is the kitchen," Anya said, "Everything works normally."

"That's good," I said.

We crossed the hallway. 

"This is my bedroom," she said. "This is Ivan."

I looked at Ivan, who was sitting in a chair next to the bed. Her room looked just like the first room, including the loft bed, but was covered in posters. There was a desk with a jar of pencils, and a cheap acoustic guitar leaning against the wall. Ivan looked remarkably geometric -- square head, rectangular eyebrows, diamond shaped eyes, trapezoid nose. His lips were like two fat sausages resting on top of each other. His hair was short and wiry and his hand, when he extended it, was large and meaty. He had a firm grip.

"I am Ivan."

Ivan didn't speak very much English, but I gathered that he was Anya's boyfriend and that he lived in the room with her. That didn't bother me too much, seeing as how I was hoping you might visit me sometimes.

Anya smiled at me and took a white folding chair from the closet and set it down. She sat down on a bean bag chair, positioned so that the three of us were sitting in the shape of a small equilateral triangle.

"So," Anya said, "Do you smoke pot?"

"Sure," I said.

Ivan's big hands were already at work rolling a joint. His fingers were huge, mottled slabs. His hands didn't look like they were carved from stone, but like an ocean had slowly eroded them. Anya was talking the whole time that Ivan was working. I picked up the end of what she was saying.

She was asking, "So, Nick, what do you do?" 

I said, "Well, I'm a writer and a musician. I make money as a waiter, so I won't be around too much, and when I am I'll probably just be working quietly in my room."

She grinned happily. "Oh! A musician! What do you play?"

I said, "I play guitar and bass, mostly. A little bit of piano."

Ivan nodded slowly. "A writer. You ever read Russian books?"

I really liked Ivan. I felt a little uncomfortable around Anya, but I liked Ivan.

"Yeah, definitely. I really like Chekhov a lot."

Ivan finished rolling the joint and nodded while lighting it. "I like Chekhov too."

We passed it around for a while and Anya sat up, looking excited. She pointed at the guitar and grinned. 

"You have to play us something on the guitar!"

I was pretty stoned, so I said okay. Playing in front of two people like that can be pretty awkward when you don't know them. I played a song I had been working on. Ivan sat in silence while I played and Anya danced wildly in her beanbag chair, waving her arms and stomping her feet. I played the first two verses and two choruses. That seemed like plenty.

Anya smiled when I stopped. "Wow. Amazing. Do you want to see the roof?"

Yes, of course I wanted to see the roof. The roof sounded perfect. We climbed out the kitchen window onto the fire escape and started climbing up. It was raining lightly, which I felt happy about. I like it when it rains a little, especially when I'm stoned, and it was the kind of late August rain that people right boring songs about.

We got onto the roof and stood in silence for a minute. I lit a cigarette. Ivan bummed one from me, and I was happy to give him one. We smoked in silence for a moment, and I looked out at the view. It was a pretty tall building, so I could see all the way to Manhattan. It was a really great view. It really was. I felt pretty happy.

Anya said, "Nice view, right?"

"It really is," I said. 

"So what do you think," she said, "Do you want the room?"

"I do," I said, feeling surprised by my own decisiveness. 

Anya laughed and said, "Good! Follow me."

She leapt from one roof to the next, a small jump, maybe two feet at most. She walked quickly across that roof and jumped to the next one. Ivan and I followed behind her, as closely as we could. We crossed six roofs in this manner. Finally, Anya put up her arms and spun around, laughing. Ivan and I smiled. 

"You know," Ivan said quietly, "There is something you should know about Anya. She is very, you know, 1960s." 

I laughed and said okay. I wasn't totally sure what he meant, but I sort of had an idea, with way she was dancing around. I thought to myself, "1960s" and laughed again.

Ivan and I smoked another cigarette and Anya talked for a little bit about the neighborhood ("Lots of good food around here,"), work ("I'm a dancer, but I also work in a jewelry shop,") and philosophy, ("I've been reading a lot of Plato. Ah! Plato!"). After a while I said I should probably get going soon. Anya nodded and we went downstairs.

I said, "I want to look at the room one more time if that's alright."

"Sure," Anya said.

We were standing in the middle of what would be my bedroom, Anya and I. Ivan was in the bathroom. I was smiling.

Anya said, "Okay. Here's the thing."

I said, "Yeah?"

"The room isn't available."

I turned and looked at her. I didn't understand.

"What do you mean," I said.

"Well," she said, "Ivan will be taking this room. He does not want to sleep in the bed with me anymore."

"Oh," I said, confused, "Then, I don't understand, why did you tell me to come look at it?"

Anya grinned. "I was thinking that instead of you taking this room, you could sleep in the bed with me. That way, you wouldn't have to pay any rent."

"Oh," I said, flustered, "I don't think I can do that. I really do not think I can do that. That is not what I thought this was."

Anya looked angry. She said, "What, would you rather share this room with Ivan?"

I said quickly, "I don't want to share a room with anyone. I have a girlfriend, and I'd share a room with her, but that's about it. She's going back to college, that's why I'm looking for a place, I really don't think that I could do a situation like this, even though I really am flattered, thank you, it's very nice, I just don't think I could do it --"

I was interrupted when Ivan walked into the room, looking horrified. His square features had turned into huge questioning ovals. I was going to leave right then, but Ivan put his hand on Anya's shoulder and looked at me.

"Give us a second," he said to me, and pulled Anya into the hallway. 

I heard them screaming at each other in Russian. I looked at my phone for a while as I waited for them to come back. After a couple minutes the volume started to come down and they came back.

"You can have the room," Ivan said.

Anya turned, furious. They started screaming again, this time in front of me. I wasn't sure what to do, so I waited for a moment where I could excuse myself. After a while, there was a pause. Anya looked at me.

"We have to think about it."

So I left. But as I was leaving, this is the funny part, she looked at me and said, "Well, even if the room doesn't work out, you have my number. If you ever want to get a drink."

That's why I didn't take that apartment. But I was thinking, we've got to have a friend who'd be interested in something like that, right?