The Scene: Our 4-foot by 4-foot by 7-foot elevator, a Sunday afternoon in Barcelona.

Dramatis Personae: Us, and a neighbor. The neighbor’s name is Manuel, and he is a 55-year old architect who lives one floor below our sixth floor apartment with his girlfriend and their 18-month old daughter. We see him – as in, we lay eyes on him, not spend time with him – maybe for two minutes every month, if we pass in the entryway. This is not someone we would say we “know.”

Entryway
Manuel: Hi! How was your weekend?

Us: Great! We went to Lloret del Mar.

Manuel: Oh. Why?

Lloret del Mar a beach town in the Costa Brava, Spain’s northeastern coast. It is horribly tacky, known for attracting droves of young Spaniards, as well as German, Russian, and British tourists, looking to get very drunk and fry themselves on a crowded beach,. It’s sort of like if someone from Spain was visiting the US and said he had gone away for the weekend to that South of the Border hotel with all the billboards on I-95. You’d say, “Why?” But we wanted to go to the beach for the weekend. Is this wrong?

Us: Well, we found a cheap hotel. We also went to Tossa del Mar.

Which is known as a much, much nicer beach town.

Manuel: Hmm. Did you go to Platja d’Aro?

Nicer still. The elevator arrives with its characteristic slam. We all get in. We are standing very, very near each other.


First Floor
Us: No, just Tossa.

Manuel: Ok, then. I really like Platja d’Aro. It’s gorgeous.

Us: Well, we’ll have to go sometime, eh?

Second Floor
Manuel: Yeah, for sure. I was sailing all weekend.

Us: Oh, yeah? We love sailing. Where do you sail?

Third Floor
Manuel: Oh, I keep the boat in El Masnou

Which is more of an upper-middle class suburb, but which also has a nice marina.

Us: Oh, yeah? We used to live in El Masnou.

It’s true. We rented an apartment there for a month. It was weird, you know, to arrive in Barcelona and then immediately set up camp in the burbs, with all the rich housewives and nothing to do and no one speaking Spanish.

Fourth Floor
Manuel: Yeah, I went with my son. He really is the captain.

We think for a moment. Son? We know of the daughter – 18 months old. It isn’t safe to let an 18-month old captain a sailboat, we think, even in light wind. Even with a life preserver. Hmm.

Fifth Floor
Us: Right, right. Sounds nice.

Manuel: Yes, I have two families, really. A wife in El Masnou, and…my family here. We’ve been married a long time, but I’ve had this family here a long time, too. I spend the weekends with my wife and other kids.

What the f*ck?

Manuel: Would you like to go sailing sometime?

The elevator stops on his floor with a slam and a little hop as the aging cables jerk it to a stop. He opens the doors and gets out, turning to look at us as he leaves.

Us: …

Well, wait a second here. What are we supposed to say? “How nice, another family!” “So much love! So many…um…beds, and kids and stuff.” “So, who do you like better?”

Us: Um.

He’s waiting in the doorway, maybe for a goodbye, maybe to hear if we want to go sailing. With his other family.

Us: We...um…we like sailing. Yeah. We like sailing.

Manuel smiles.

Manuel: Great, then. We’ll have to go sometime! In El Masnou.

We think: “Right, we know: with your other family. Should be great. Not awkward at all.”

Us: Yeah, great.

He nods his head, closes the door, and sends us up to our apartment.

Exeunt.