Stories about love from life stories. Love through the years - a story from life

Have you heard the tale of the Crane and the Heron? We can say that this story was copied from us. When one wanted, the other refused, and vice versa...

Real life story

“Okay, see you tomorrow,” I said into the phone to end the conversation, which lasted more than two hours.

One would think that we are talking about a meeting. Moreover, in a place well known to both of us. But that was not the case. We were just agreeing on... the next call. And everything looked exactly the same for several months. Then I called Polina for the first time in the last four years. And I pretended that I was just calling to see how she was doing, but in reality I wanted to renew the relationship.

I met her shortly before graduating from school. We were both in relationships at the time, but there was a real spark between us. However, only a month after we met, we separated from our partners. However, we were in no hurry to get closer. Because on the one hand we were attracted to something in each other, but on the other hand, something constantly got in the way. It was as if we were afraid that our relationship would be dangerous. Eventually, after a year of mutual exploration of each other, we became a couple. And if before that time our relationship developed very slowly, then since we got together everything has started to spin at a very fast pace. A period of strong mutual attraction and dizzying emotions began. We felt like we couldn't exist without each other. And then... we broke up.

Without any clarification. Simply, one fine day we did not agree on the next meeting. And then neither of us called the other for a week, expecting this action from the other side. At some point I even wanted to do this... But then I was young and green, and did not think of doing this - I just took offense at Polina for the fact that she so easily abandoned our reverent relationship. So I decided that it was not worth imposing on her. I knew that I was thinking and acting stupidly. But then I could not calmly analyze what happened. Only after some time did I begin to really understand the situation. Gradually I realized the stupidity of my action.

I think we both felt like we were a good fit for each other and just started to fear what might happen next to our “great love.” We were very young, we wanted to gain a lot of experience in love affairs, and most importantly, we felt unprepared for a serious, stable relationship. Most likely, we both wanted to “freeze” our love for several years, and “unfreeze” it one day, at one fine moment, when we feel that we are ripe for it. But, unfortunately, it didn’t work out that way. After breaking up, we didn’t completely lose touch - we had many mutual friends, we went to the same places. So from time to time we bumped into each other, and these were not the best moments.

I don’t know why, but each of us considered it our duty to send the other a caustic, sarcastic remark, as if accusing us of what had happened. I even decided to do something about it and offered to meet to discuss “complaints and grievances.” Polina agreed, but... did not come to the appointed place. And when we met by chance, two months later, she began to stupidly explain why she then made me stand pointlessly in the wind, and then did not even call. Then she again asked me for a meeting, but again she did not show up.

The beginning of a new life...

From then on, I began to consciously avoid places where I could accidentally meet her. So we haven't seen each other for several years. I heard some rumors about Polina - I heard that she was dating someone, that she left the country for a year, but then returned and started living with her parents again. I tried to ignore this information and live my own life. I had two novels that seemed quite serious, but in the end nothing came of them. And then I thought: I’ll talk to Polina. I couldn’t imagine what went through my head then! Although no, I know. I missed her... I really, really missed her...

She was surprised by my phone call, but also delighted. We talked then for several hours. Exactly the same the next day. And the next one. It's hard to say what we discussed for so long. In general, everything is about a little and a little about everything. There was only one topic we tried to avoid. This topic was ourselves...

It looked as if, despite the years that had passed, we were afraid to be honest. However, one fine day Polina said:

– Listen, maybe we can finally decide on something?

“No, thank you,” I answered immediately. “I don’t want to disappoint you again.”

There was silence on the line.

“If you are afraid that I will not come, then you can come to me,” she finally said.

“Yeah, and you’ll tell your parents to kick me out,” I snorted.

- Rostik, stop it! — Polina began to get nervous. “Everything was so good, and you’re ruining everything again.”

- Again! – I was seriously indignant. - Or maybe you can tell me what I did?

– Most likely something you can’t do. You won't call me for several months.

“But you will call me every day,” I imitated her voice.

– Don’t turn things upside down! – Polina shouted, and I sighed heavily.

“I don’t want to be left with nothing again.” If you want to see me, then come to me yourself,” I told her. – I’ll wait for you in the evening at eight o’clock. I hope you come...

“Whatever,” Polina hung up.

New circumstances...

For the first time since we started calling each other, we had to say goodbye in anger. And most importantly, now I had no idea whether she would call me again or come to me? Polina’s words could be interpreted as either an agreement to come or a refusal. However, I was waiting for her. I cleaned my studio apartment, which I didn’t do very often. I cooked dinner, bought wine and flowers. And he finished reading the story: "". Every minute of waiting made me even more nervous. I even wanted to give up my rude behavior and intransigence regarding the meeting.

At fifteen minutes past eight I began to wonder whether I should go to Polina? I didn’t go only because she could have come to me at any moment and we would have missed each other. At nine o'clock I gave up hope. I angrily started dialing her number to tell her everything I thought about her. But he didn’t finish the job and pressed “End”. Then I wanted to call again, but I thought to myself that she might view this call as a sign of my weakness. I didn’t want Polina to know how worried I was about her not coming, and how painfully her indifference hurt me. I decided to spare her such pleasure.

I went to bed only at 12 o’clock at night, but I couldn’t sleep for a long time because I kept thinking about this situation. On average, I changed my point of view every five minutes. At first I thought that only I was to blame, because if I had not been stubborn like a donkey and came to her, then our relationship would have improved and we would have been happy. After a while, I began to reproach myself for such naive thoughts. After all, she would have kicked me out anyway! And the more I thought that way, the more I believed it. When I was almost asleep... the intercom rang.

At first I thought it was some kind of mistake or a joke. But the intercom kept ringing persistently. Then I had to stand up and answer:

- Two o'clock in the morning! – he barked angrily into the phone.

I don't even have to say how surprised I was. And how! With a trembling hand, I pressed the button to open the door to the entrance. What will be next?

After a long two minutes I heard the call. He opened the door... and saw Polina sitting in a wheelchair, accompanied by two orderlies. She had a cast on her right leg and right arm. Before I could ask what happened, one of the men said:

“The girl discharged herself of her own free will and insisted that we bring her here.” Her entire future life apparently depends on this.

I didn't ask anything else. The orderlies helped Polina sit on the large sofa in the living room and quickly left. I sat down opposite her and looked at her in surprise for a whole minute.

There was complete silence in the room.

“I’m glad you came,” I said, and Polina smiled.

“I always wanted to come,” she answered. – Do you remember the first time we agreed to meet, but I didn’t show up? Then my grandmother died. The second time my dad had a heart attack. It seems incredible, but it's still true. As if someone didn't want us...

“But now, I see, you didn’t pay attention to the obstacles,” I smiled.

“It happened a week ago,” Polina pointed to the plaster. – Slipped on the icy sidewalk. I thought we'd meet when I got better... but I thought I just needed to make a little effort. I was worried about you...
I didn't answer and just kissed her.

“April 1st - I don’t trust anyone!” - who doesn’t know this saying?! But for me this notorious date, which coincided with the day of my appearance in the law office, meant nothing; you couldn’t fool me anyway! Even on other days I don’t take anyone’s word for it! And not at all because I was once “burned by milk”, I’ve just been like this since childhood.
Even at school, the nickname Thomas the Unbeliever firmly stuck to me, not only because of the surname Fomin, but also because I always doubted everything. “You will have a very hard time in life! - Mom told me. - Trust the person who gave birth to you and wants only happiness! You risk being left not only without friends, but also without protection from your family!”
My mother and I were always very close, we talked a lot about life, about relationships between people. And as I got older, I began to ask her more serious questions, in particular concerning my father. And as a result, I came to the conclusion that this attitude towards life is not at all accidental! The fact is that I grew up in a single-parent family. Dad left us when I was two years old, and I don’t remember him at all. He has had another family for a long time and a fully grown child. And all that my mother and I have left of him is just his last name, which I sometimes deeply regret...

They say you can't escape fate. But how do you understand who is your destiny? The one you've known all your life, or the one you're ready to get to know every day?
Yura and I were “married” in kindergarten. The wedding was solemnly celebrated - the whole group and the teacher and nanny were invited. And for those around us, we became an inseparable couple: together we came up with pranks, together we received “what we deserved” from adults. When my grandmother sometimes picked me up from kindergarten during “quiet hour,” I, leaving the bedroom, invariably went up to my “beloved”’s crib for a farewell kiss on the cheek. The teachers laughed at such an open manifestation of children's love, but were secretly afraid - what would all this lead to?
And this led to the fact that Yurka and I went to the same school, to the same class and sat, of course, at the same desk. All ten years of study, I regularly copied mathematics from my “husband,” and he copied my English and Russian. At first they teased us with “the bride and groom,” but then they stopped; we didn’t pay any attention to it, simply because we had long been accustomed to the ridicule of others. Why worry? After all, they were simply jealous of us! Our parents were friends, we regularly visited each other and even occasionally spent vacations together. So the phrases of our relatives about our happy family future did not bother Yura and me at all. Accustomed to the nickname “newlyweds” since kindergarten, we felt quite comfortable in this role.

I was seventeen, and this handsome grown man with exquisite gray hair was over forty. And yet, for me there was no husband more desirable than him. I fell in love with my father's friend, the head of a large company. After school, I tried to enroll in several institutes at once, but did not get enough points. I didn’t want to go to study “anywhere” just to get a diploma. Mom was crying, grandmother was calling friends and acquaintances in search of connections, and dad... My “coming” dad, “Sunday” dad, who left the family ten years ago, found, as it seemed to everyone then, the best way out of the situation. He appeared at our house, as usual, on Sunday morning, and cheerfully ordered from the threshold: - Lyalka, stop crying! - this is for mom. - Natasha, get ready quickly! - that's for me. - To the ice cream parlor again? - Mom sobbed. “You still think she’s a little girl, and we have problems!” - I know. That’s why I say: let him gather quickly, they are waiting for us. Natasha, you will work! There was silence: three women, their mouths open, looked at my dad in shock. Pleased with the effect produced, he laughed cheerfully. - Don't be so scared, ladies! There's nothing wrong with that. Work for a year, gain some experience, then with experience it will be easier to do. My friend just now needs a smart secretary, and you, Natasha, are so smart! - Dad winked mischievously, and I immediately felt light and happy.

When mentioning a date, girls usually roll their eyes dreamily, anticipating romance. I shudder with disgust - a consequence of sad personal experience. The first boy who asked me out on a date was Maxim Erokhin. We studied together from the first grade, but only in the seventh grade did he pay attention to me. I was not myself from the unexpected happiness that fell upon me. The one for whom all the girls were pining, suddenly resigned from his next passion, the beautiful and smart Carolina, and invited me to hang out in the evening near the school. I set my mind on water. All of herself so disgusting, she hobbled to the school porch to defeat him on the spot. I put on my mother's high-heeled boots and put on her toilet perfume fifteen minutes late, as expected. Max was kicking a ball carefree with the boys. “Come with us,” he suggested to me. I capriciously showed my stiletto heels. “Then stick somewhere,” he commanded. I sat down on a bench near the sports ground. I sat like that for two hours. Max ran up from time to time: either he handed over gloves for safekeeping, or he trusted me to hold the mobile phone. When he managed to score a goal, he shouted to me victoriously from afar:- Did you see this?! I showed admiration. - How about tomorrow? - he asked when it was time for me to return home.

The stranger from the minibus at first seemed to me like an ordinary impudent person who wanted to achieve my favor at any cost. But very soon I realized that I myself needed his attention. That evening everything could not have turned out worse. Just before the end of the working day, the boss yelled at me for no reason, although he later apologized, but that didn’t make me feel any better—the mood was ruined. The necessary minibus has left right under my nose, which means that I will again have to pick Mishka up from kindergarten later than everyone else - the teacher is already looking askance at me, dissatisfied with the fact that she has to watch my five-year-old son until late. And to top off all the misfortunes, my makeup bag tore when I took it out of my bag to touch up my lips, and almost all the makeup spilled out into the dirt. Almost crying, I wandered to a small market next to the bus stop. While the next minibus is still arriving... During this time I will have enough time to buy Mishka a Kinder Surprise, he loves them very much. *** - Girl, be careful! - some guy literally pulled me out of the roadway at the last moment - in my upset feelings, I didn’t notice how the red light turned on, and almost stepped under the wheels of a gazelle.

Current page: 1 (book has 7 pages in total) [available reading passage: 2 pages]

Font:

100% +

Irina Lobusova
Kama Sutra. Short stories about love (collection)

It was like this

Almost every day we meet on the landing of the main staircase. She smokes in the company of her friends, and Natasha and I are looking for the women's restroom - or vice versa. She is similar to me - maybe because we both completely lose the ability to navigate the huge and endless (as it seems to us every day) space of the institute. The long, tangled bodies of which seem to be specially created to put pressure on the brain. Usually by the end of the day I start to go wild and demand to immediately hand over the monkey who built this building. Natasha laughs and asks why I am sure that this architectural monkey is still alive. However, endless wandering in search of the right audience or women's toilet is entertainment. There are so few of them in our lives - simple entertainment. We both appreciate them, I recognize everything in their eyes. When, at the most unexpected moment, we bump into each other on the stairs and lie to each other that our meeting is completely unexpected. We both know how to just lie classically. Me. And she.

We usually meet on the stairs. Then we look away and look important. She explains sedately how she just left the audience. I am walking along the corridor nearby. No one admits, even under the guise of a terrible death penalty, that in fact we are standing here and waiting for each other. No one except us is given (and will not be given) to know about this.

Both very amicably pretend that they are incredibly happy to see each other. From the outside, everything looks so easy to believe.

– It’s so nice to meet friends!

– Oh, I didn’t even know that you would be passing through here... But I’m so glad!

– What do you have to smoke?

She holds out cigarettes, my friend Natasha brazenly grabs two at once and in complete female solidarity the three of us smoke silently until the bell rings for the next pair.

– Would you give me your notes on economic theory for a couple of days? We have a test in a couple of days... And you already passed the test ahead of schedule... (she)

- No problem. Call, come in and take... (me).

Then we go to lectures. She is studying in the same course as me, just in a different stream.

The auditorium is damp from the morning light, and the desk is still damp from the wet rag of the cleaning lady. In the back people are discussing yesterday's television series. After a few minutes, everyone dives into the depths of higher mathematics. Everyone but me. During the break, without taking my eyes off my notes, I sit at the table, trying to at least see what is written on the paper sheet open in front of me. Someone slowly and quietly approaches my table. And without looking up, I know who I will see. Who is standing behind me... She.

She enters sideways, as if embarrassed by strangers. He sits down next to you and looks devotedly into his eyes. We are the closest and best friends, and have been for a long time. The deep essence of our relationship cannot be expressed in words. We're just waiting for one man. We both wait, without success, for another year. We are rivals, but not a single person in the world would think of calling us that. Our faces are the same because they are marked with the indelible stamp of love and anxiety. For one person. We probably both love him. Maybe he loves us too, but for the safety of our common souls, it’s easier to convince ourselves that he really doesn’t care about us.

How much time has passed since then? Six months, a year, two years? Since that time, when was there one, the most ordinary phone call?

Who called? I can’t even remember the name now... Someone from a neighboring course... or from a group...

"- Hello. Come right now. Everyone has gathered here... there's a surprise!

- What a surprise?! It's raining outside! Speak clearly!

– How about your English?

– Have you gone crazy?

– Listen, we have Americans sitting here. Two came on exchange to the Faculty of Romance-Germanic Philology.

- Why are they sitting with us?

– They are not interested there, besides, they met Vitalik and he brought them to our dorm. They are funny. They hardly speak Russian. She (named the name) fell for one. She sits next to him all the time. Come. You should look at this! “

The rain that hit my face... When I returned home, there were three of us. Three. This has been the case ever since.

I turn my head and look at her face - the face of a man who, faithfully laying his head on my shoulder, looks through the eyes of a pitiful beaten dog. She definitely loves him more than me. She loves so much that it is a holiday for her to hear at least one word. Even if this word of his is intended for me. From the point of view of damaged pride, I look at her very closely and competently note that today she has her hair done poorly, this lipstick does not suit her, and there is a loop on her tights. She probably sees the bruises under my eyes, unmanicured nails and tired appearance. I have known for a long time that my breasts are more beautiful and larger than hers, my height is taller and my eyes are brighter. But her legs and waist are more slender than mine. Our mutual inspection is almost unnoticeable - it is a habit ingrained in the subconscious. After this, we mutually look for oddities in behavior that indicate that one of us has recently seen him.

“Yesterday I watched international news until two o’clock in the morning...” her voice trails off and becomes hoarse. “They probably won’t be able to come this year... I heard there’s a crisis in the States...”

“And even if they come, despite their shaky economy,” I pick up, “they are unlikely to come to us.”

Her face falls, I see that I hurt her. But I can’t stop anymore.

- And in general, I have long forgotten about all this nonsense. Even if he comes again, you still won’t understand him. As last time.

– But you will help me with the translation...

- Hardly. I forgot English a long time ago. Exams are coming soon, the session is coming, we need to study Russian... the future belongs to the Russian language... and they also say that Germans will soon come to the Russian Geographical Fund for exchange. Would you like to sit down with a dictionary and go look at them?

After her, he turned to me - it was normal, I had long been accustomed to such a reaction, but I did not know that his ordinary masculine actions could cause her such pain. He still writes me letters - thin pieces of paper printed on a laser printer... I keep them in an old notebook so as not to show them to anyone. She does not know about the existence of these letters. All her ideas about life are the hope that he will forget me too. I guess that every morning she opens a map of the world and looks at the ocean with hope. She loves the ocean almost as much as he loves him. For her, the ocean is a bottomless abyss in which thoughts and feelings drown. I do not dissuade her from this illusion. Let him live as easily as possible. Our history is primitive to the point of stupidity. So ridiculous that it’s embarrassing to even talk about it. Those around us are firmly convinced that, having met at the institute, we simply became friends. Two closest friends. Who always have something to talk about... It's true. We are friends. We are interested together, there are always common topics and we also understand each other perfectly. I like her - as a person, as a person, as a friend. She likes me too. She has character traits that I don't have. We feel good together. It’s so good that no one is needed in this world. Even, probably, the ocean.

In our “personal” life, which is open to everyone, each of us has a separate man. She is a biology student from the university. Mine is a computer artist, a rather funny guy. With a valuable quality - the inability to ask questions. Our men help us survive the uncertainty and melancholy, and also the thought that he will not return. That our American romance will never truly connect us to him. But for this love, we secretly promise each other to always show concern - concern not about ourselves, but about him. She doesn’t realize, I understand how funny and absurd we are, clinging to cracked, torn straws in order to float to the surface and drown out some strange pain. Pain similar to a toothache, occurring at the most inopportune moment in the most inopportune place. Is the pain about yourself? Or about him?

Sometimes I read hatred in her eyes. As if by silent agreement, we hate everything that exists around us. An institute that you entered just for the sake of a diploma, friends who don’t care about you, society and our existence, and most importantly, the abyss that forever separates us from him. And when we are tired to the point of madness from eternal lies and poorly hidden indifference, from the whirlwind of meaningless but many events, from the stupidity of other people’s love stories - we meet her eyes and see sincerity, real, truthful sincerity, which is purer and better... We never talk about the topic of a love triangle because we both understand perfectly well that behind this there is always something more complex than the dilemma of ordinary unrequited love...

And one more thing: we think about him very often. We remember, experiencing different feelings - melancholy, love, hatred, something nasty and disgusting, or vice versa, light and fluffy... And after a stream of general phrases, someone suddenly stops mid-sentence and asks:

- Well?

And the other one shakes her head negatively:

- Nothing new…

And, having met his eyes, he will understand the silent sentence - there will be nothing new, nothing... Never.

At home, alone with myself, when no one sees me, I go crazy from the abyss into which I fall lower and lower. I desperately want to grab a pen and write in English: “leave me alone... don’t call... don’t write...” But I can’t, I’m not capable of doing this, and therefore I suffer from nightmares, from which my other half only becomes chronic insomnia. Our jealous sharing of love is a terrible nightmare in my dreams at night... Like a Swedish family or Muslim laws on polygamy... In my nightmares, I even imagine how we both marry him and run the same kitchen... Me and her. I shudder in my sleep. I wake up in a cold sweat and am tormented by the temptation to say that from mutual friends I learned about his death in a car accident... Or that another plane crashed somewhere... I invent hundreds of ways, I know that I cannot do it. I can't hate her. Just like she did me.

One day, on a difficult day, when my nerves were shaken to the limit, I pressed her against the stairs:

- What are you doing?! Why are you following me? Why are you continuing this nightmare?! Live your own life! Leave me alone! Don't seek my company, because in reality you hate me!

A strange expression appeared in her eyes:

- It is not true. I can't and don't want to hate you. I love you. And a little bit of it.

Every day for two years we meet on the landing of the stairs. And every meeting we don’t talk, but we think about him. I even catch myself thinking that I’m counting down the clock every day and looking forward to the moment when she quietly, as if shyly, enters the classroom, sits down with me and starts a stupid, endless conversation on general topics. And then, in the middle, he will interrupt the conversation and look at me questioningly... I guiltily look away to the side to shake my head negatively. And I’ll shiver all over, probably from the eternal cold dampness in the morning.

Two days until the new year

The telegram said “don’t come.” The snow scratched his cheeks with hard bristles, trampled under the broken lantern. The edge of the most brazen of all telegrams protruded from his pocket through the fur of his fur coat. The station looked like a huge pheonite ball, molded from dirty plasticine. A door leading into the sky fell brightly and clearly into the void.

Leaning against the cold wall, she studied the railway ticket window, where the crowd was choking, and thought only that she wanted to smoke, she just wanted to smoke like crazy, drawing in bitter frosty air into both nostrils. It was impossible to walk, you just had to stand, watching the crowd, leaning your shoulder against the cold wall, squinting your eyes from the familiar stench. All the stations are similar to one another, like fallen gray stars, floating in the clouds of other people's eyes, a collection of familiar, undeniable miasma. All stations are similar to one another.

Clouds - other people's eyes. This was essentially the most important thing.

The telegram said “don’t come.” This way he didn’t have to look for confirmation of what he was going to do. In a narrow passage, a trampled drunk homeless man fell out from under someone’s feet and fell right under her feet. She crawled extremely carefully along the wall so as not to touch the edge of her long fur coat. Someone pushed me in the back. Turned around. It seemed like she wanted to say something, but she couldn’t say anything, and so, unable to say anything, she froze, forgetting that she wanted to smoke because the thought was fresher. The idea that decisions can gnaw at the brain in the same way that half-smoked (in the snow) cigarettes gnaw. Where there was pain, red, inflamed dots remained, carefully hidden under the skin. She ran her hand, trying to cut off the most inflamed part, but nothing happened, and the red dots ached more and more painfully, more and more, leaving behind anger, similar to a hot broken lantern in the usual pheonite ball.

Sharply pushing part of the wall away from her, she crashed into the line, professionally throwing away all the bag-men with her confident elbows. The impudence caused a friendly opening of the mouths of seasoned ticket resellers. She pressed herself against the window, afraid that again she would not be able to say anything, but she said, and where the breath fell on the glass, the window became wet.

- One to... for today.

- And in general?

- I said no.

A sound wave of voices hit the legs, someone was vigorously tearing at the fur side, and very close by, the disgusting onion stench of someone’s hysterical mouth entered the nostrils - so the indignant masses of the people righteously tried to take her away from the railway ticket window.

– I may have a certified telegram.

- Go through the other window.

- Well, look - one ticket.

“Are you kidding me, damn you...,” said the cashier, “don’t hold up the line... you..., moved away from the cash register!”

The fur coat was no longer torn; the sound wave hitting the legs went to the floor. She pushed the heavy door that went into the sky and went out to where the frost immediately bit into her face with sharpened vampire teeth. Endless night stations floated past my eyes (other people's eyes). They shouted after us - along the taxi stands. Of course, she didn't understand a word. It seemed to her that she had forgotten all languages ​​a long time ago, and around her, through the aquarium walls, before reaching her, human sounds were disappearing, taking the colors existing in the world with them. The walls went all the way to the bottom, not letting in the bygone symphony of color. The telegram said “don’t come, circumstances have changed.” A perfect semblance of tears dried on her eyelashes, not reaching her cheeks in the vampire frost. These tears disappeared without appearing at all and immediately, only inside, under the skin, leaving a dull callous pain, similar to a drained swamp. She took a cigarette and a lighter (in the shape of a colored fish) from her purse and took a deep breath of the smoke, which suddenly stuck in her throat like a heavy and bitter lump. She pulled the smoke into herself until the hand holding the cigarette turned into a wooden stump, and when the transformation took place, the cigarette butt fell down of its own accord, looking like a huge falling star reflected in the velvet black sky. Someone pushed again, Christmas tree needles caught on the edge of her fur coat and fell onto the snow, and once the needles fell, she turned around. Ahead, in the hare's mark, loomed a wide man's back with a Christmas tree attached to his shoulder, which danced a fantastic funny dance on its back. The back walked quickly and went farther and farther with each step, and then only needles remained in the snow. Frozen (afraid to breathe), she looked at them for a very long time, the needles looked like small lights, and when her eyes dazzled from the artificial light, she suddenly saw that the light coming from them was green. It was very quickly, and then - nothing at all, only the pain, suppressed by the speed, returned to its original place. It stung in her eyes, spun in place, her brain shrank, and inside someone said clearly and clearly “two days until the New Year,” and immediately there was no air, there was bitter smoke, hidden deep in her chest as well as in her throat . A number, black as melted snow, floated out and knocked something off my feet, carried me away through the snow, but not in one place, somewhere - from people, to people.

“Wait, you...” from the side, someone’s heavy breathing reeked of a full range of fusel oils. Turning around, I saw fox eyes under a knitted hat.

- How long can I run after you?

Was someone running after her? Nonsense. It has never been like this - in this world. There was everything, except for two poles - life and death, in complete abundance.

– Did you ask for a ticket before...?

- Let's say.

- Yes, I have it.

- How many.

– I’ll pay you for 50 as if you were my own.

- Yes, let's go..

- Well, a measly 50 bucks, I’m giving it to you as if it were my own, so take it...

- Yeah, one for today, even the lowest place.

She held the ticket up to the lantern.

– Yes, that’s right, in kind, no doubt about it.

The guy crunched and held up a 50 dollar bill to the light.

- And the train is at 2 am.

- I know.

- OK.

He melted into space, like people who do not repeat themselves in daylight melt. “Don’t come, circumstances have changed.”

She grinned. The face was a white blur on the floor with a cigarette butt stuck to his eyebrow. It protruded from under sleepy drooping eyelids, and, fitting into the dirty circle, it called far, further and further. Where she was, the sharp corners of the chair pressed on her body. Voices merged in my ears somewhere in a forgotten world behind me. A sleepy web enveloped even the facial curves in a non-existent warmth. She bowed her head down, trying to leave, and her face only became a dirty white spot in the station tiles. That night she was no longer herself. Someone born and someone dead changed in ways that could not be imagined. Without falling anywhere, she turned her face away from the floor, where the station lived a nocturnal life that was not subject to consideration. At about one o'clock in the morning a telephone call rang in one of the apartments.

- Where are you?

- I'd like to check out.

– You decided.

- He sent a telegram. One.

- Will he at least wait for you? And then, the address...

– I have to go – it’s there, in the telegram.

- Will you come back?

- Come what may.

– What if you wait a couple of days?

- This makes absolutely no sense.

- What if you come to your senses?

- There is no right to another exit.

- There is no need to go to him. No need.

“I can’t hear well—the receiver is hissing, but you speak anyway.”

- What should I say?

- Anything. As you wish.

- Satisfied, right? There is no other such idiot on earth!

– There are two days left until the New Year.

- At least you stayed for the holiday.

- I have been chosen.

- Nobody chose you.

- Doesn't matter.

- Do not leave. There's no need to go there, do you hear?

Short beeps blessed her path and the stars turned black through the glass of the telephone booth inside the sky. She thought that she was gone, but she was scared to think about it for a long time.

The train crawled slowly. The carriage windows were dimly lit, the light bulb in the reserved seat aisle was dimly lit. Leaning the back of her head against the plastic of the train partition that reflected the ice, she waited for everything to go away and the darkness outside the window to be washed away by those tears that, without appearing in the eyes, do not dry. The glass, which had not been washed for a long time, began to tremble with a small, painful tremor. The back of my head hurt from the plastic ice. Somewhere inside, a small, chilly animal was whining. “I don’t want...” somewhere inside a small, tired, sick animal cried. “I don’t want to go anywhere, I don’t want to, Lord, do you hear...”

The glass shattered with small painful tremors in time with the train. “I don’t want to leave... the little animal cried, - nowhere at all... I don’t want to go anywhere... I want to go home... I want to go home to my mother...”

The telegram said “don’t come.” This meant that staying was not an option. It seemed to her that, together with the train, she was rolling down the slimy walls of the frozen ravine, with melted snowflakes on her cheeks and Christmas tree needles on the snow, down to the most hopeless bottom, where the frozen windows of the former rooms glow with electricity in such a homely way and where the false ones dissolve in the warmth. words that there are windows on earth, to which, having abandoned everything, you can still return... she was trembling, her teeth knocked out tremors where the fast train wheezed in agony. Cringing, she thought about the Christmas tree needles stuck in the snow, and that the telegram said “don’t come,” and that there were two days left until the New Year and that one day (it warmed with a painful artificial warmth) the day would come when she would no longer need to go anywhere drive. Like an old sick beast, the train howled along the rails that happiness is the simplest thing on earth. Happiness is when there is no road.

Red flower

She hugged herself by the shoulders, enjoying the perfect velvety skin. Then she slowly smoothed her hair with her hand. Cold water is a miracle. The eyelids became the same, without retaining a single trace of what... That she cried all night the night before. Everything was washed away by the water, and we could safely move forward. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror: “I am beautiful!” Then she waved her hand indifferently.

She walked through the corridor and found herself where she was supposed to be. She took a glass of champagne from the tray, not forgetting to give a sparkling smile to either the waiter or those around her. The champagne seemed disgusting to her, and a terrible bitterness immediately froze on her bitten lips. But none of those present who filled the large hall would have guessed this. She really liked herself from the outside: a lovely woman in an expensive evening dress drinks exquisite champagne, enjoying every sip.

Of course he was there all the time. He reigned, surrounded by his servile subjects, in the heart of the great banquet hall. A socialite, with an easy charm, he strictly follows his crowd. Has everyone come - those who should come? Are everyone enchanted - those who should be enchanted? Is everyone scared and depressed - those who should be scared and depressed? A proud look from under slightly knitted eyebrows said that was all. He sat half-sitting in the center of the table, surrounded by people, and, first of all, beautiful women. Most people who met him for the first time were fascinated by his simple-minded, attractive appearance, his simplicity and ostentatious good nature. He seemed to them an ideal - an oligarch who kept it so simple! Almost like an ordinary person, like one of our own. But only those who came into contact with him closer or those who dared to ask him for money knew how, from under the outer softness, a formidable lion’s paw protruded, capable of tearing apart the culprit with a slight movement of a formidable palm.

She knew all his gestures, his words, movements and habits. She kept every wrinkle in her heart like a treasure. The years brought him money and confidence in the future, he greeted them proudly, like an ocean flagship. There were too many other people in his life to notice. Occasionally he noticed her new wrinkles or folds on her body.

- Darling, you can’t do that! You need to take care of yourself! Look in the mirror! With my money... I heard a new beauty salon has opened...

-Who did you hear it from?

He was not embarrassed:

– Yes, a new one has opened and it’s very good! Go there. Otherwise, you will soon look like you are forty-five! And I won't even be able to go out with you.

He wasn't shy about showing off his knowledge of cosmetics or fashion. On the contrary, he emphasized: “You see how the youth loves me!” He was always surrounded by these same “enlightened” golden youth. On either side of him sat the two most recent title holders. One is Miss City, the other is Miss Charm, the third is the face of a modeling agency that dragged its charges to any presentation where there might be at least one earning more than 100 thousand dollars a year. The fourth was new - she had not seen her before, but she was just as evil, mean and impudent as everyone else. Perhaps this one had even more impudence, and she noted to herself that this one would go far. That girl sat half-sitting in front of him right on the banquet table, coquettishly placing her hand on his shoulder, and burst into loud laughter in response to his words, with her whole appearance expressing a greedy predatory grip under the mask of naive carelessness. Women always occupied first places in his circle. The men crowded behind.

Squeezing the glass in her hand, she seemed to be reading her thoughts on the surface of the golden drink. Flattering, ingratiating smiles accompanied her around her - after all, she was a wife. She had been his wife for a long time, so long that he always emphasized this, which meant that she also had the main role.

Cold water is a miracle. She no longer felt her swollen eyelids. Someone touched her with his elbow:

- Ah. Expensive! – it was an acquaintance, the minister’s wife, – you look great! You are a wonderful couple, I always envy you! It’s so great to live for more than 20 years and maintain such ease in relationships! Always look at each other. Ah, wonderful!

Looking up from her annoying chatter, she really caught his gaze. He looked at her and it was like bubbles in champagne. She smiled her most charming smile, thinking that he deserved a chance…. He did not get up when she approached, and the girls did not even think of leaving when she appeared.

-Are you having fun, dear?

- Yes darling. Everything is fine?

- Wonderful! And you?

– I’m very happy for you, dear.

Their dialogue did not go unnoticed. People around thought “what a lovely couple!” And the journalists present at the banquet noted to themselves that they should mention in the article that the oligarch has such a wonderful wife.

- Dear, will you allow me to say a few words?

Taking her by the arm, he led her away from the table.

-Have you finally calmed down?

- What do you think?

“I think it’s bad to worry at your age!”

- Let me remind you that I am the same age as you!

– It’s different for men!

- Is that so?

- Let's not start over! I'm already tired of your stupid invention that I had to give you flowers today! I have so much to do, I’m spinning like a squirrel in a wheel! You should have thought about that! There was no need to cling to me with all sorts of nonsense! If you want flowers, go buy it for yourself, order it, or even buy a whole store, just leave me alone – that’s all!

She smiled her most charming smile:

- I don’t even remember anymore, dear!

- Is it true? - he was delighted, - and I was so angry when you clung to me with these flowers! I have so much to do, and you come up with all sorts of nonsense!

“It was a little feminine whim.”

- Darling, remember: little feminine whims are allowed only to young beautiful girls, like the ones sitting next to me! But it only irritates you!

- I will remember, my love. Don't be angry, don't be nervous about such trifles!

- It’s very good that you are so smart! I'm lucky with my wife! Listen, darling, we won’t be going back together. The driver will pick you up when you're tired. And I’ll go by myself, in my car, I have some things to do…. And don’t wait for me today, I won’t come to spend the night. I'll only be there for lunch tomorrow. And even then, maybe I’ll have lunch at the office and not return home.

- Will I go alone? Today?!

- Lord, what is it today?! Why are you getting on my nerves all day?

- Yes, I take up so little space in your life...

- What does this have to do with it! You take up a lot of space, you are my wife! And I carry you with me everywhere! So don't start!

- Fine, I will not. I did not want.

- That's good! There is nothing left for you to want!

And, grinning, he returned back, where too many - much more important - were waiting impatiently. From his point of view, more special than his wife. She smiled. Her smile was beautiful. It was an expression of happiness - enormous happiness that could not be contained! Returning to the toilet room again and locking the doors tightly behind her, she took out a small mobile phone.

- I confirm. After half an hour.

In the hall, she again lavished smiles - demonstrating (and she did not need to demonstrate, that’s how she felt) a huge surge of happiness. These were the happiest moments - moments of anticipation... So, beaming, she slipped into the narrow corridor near the service entrance, from where the exit was clearly visible, and clung to the window. Half an hour later, familiar figures appeared in the narrow doors. It was her husband's two guards, and her husband. Her husband hugging the new girl. And the kisser is on the go. Everyone hurried to the shiny black Mercedes, the husband’s latest acquisition, which cost 797 thousand dollars. He loved expensive cars. Loved it very much.

The doors swung open and the dark interior of the car swallowed them completely. The guards remained outside. One was saying something on the radio - probably warning those at the entrance that the car was already coming.

The explosion sounded with deafening force, destroying the hotel's illumination, trees and glass. Everything was mixed up: screams, roar, ringing. Fiery tongues of flame that shot up to the very sky licked the mangled body of the Mercedes, turned into a huge funeral pyre.

She hugged herself by the shoulders and automatically smoothed her hair, enjoying the inner voice: “I gave you the most beautiful red flower! Happy wedding day, dear."

I am constantly mistaken for someone else. Four times passers-by on the street mistook me for Andrey from the village of Borovlyany, twice for Misha Galustyan from our Russia, once for Rob Schneider (and even asked for an autograph) once for a member of the Masonic lodge. I’ve at least seen Galustyan and Rob Schneider on TV, but I’ve never met Andrey Borovlyansky and, moreover, I can’t even imagine what a member of a Masonic lodge looks like...
read in full »

Sewer with DNA remains. New

It's October 2019 outside the window.
Time has passed, is passing and will continue to move...
...but the desire to leave us on pause is stronger than the desire to live.

But I said everything a long time ago, then.
And I have nothing to add.
If that's not enough for you,
This will never happen again... (c) Who's there?

That January soaked us so much that it was impossible to breathe without each other.
I remember our first meeting in a second - how you grabbed me and didn’t want to let go, and to me - who terribly wanted happiness and was desperate to find it in the days with a coma, it seemed so wild that I was ready to run anywhere, just not stand here and not know you.

That January, remember all my devils by name - I remember how I was drinking then with the commander of my heavenly ship and talking with you, you kept writing that you were afraid that they would steal me, and I just snorted, pouring myself another drink and trying to snatch the steering wheel from someone else’s hands.

That January ended in victory for both of us - I lost cancer, and you stole me from me.

I watch you sleep, I get goosebumps,
And outside the windows the rain is pouring, among hundreds of passers-by... (c) ellai - captivity.

It’s so strange to remember how you burst into my apartment, tore off my wallpaper of sadness and sculpted me anew. It's strange to remember, but it's impossible to forget.

Are you still trying to find lines on my behalf...
... Yaha, Yanochka, I'm sorry. He thinks that I am writing your story.
But I’m here, or rather now I want to go to our January.
Or wanted...
We have a common DNA sleeping next to each other, and it seems that we have a common fence of tombstones.

Canalization of DNA.

Deep night. Somewhere a quiet breeze runs through, dispersing the last dust on the damp asphalt. A little rain at night added freshness to this stuffy, tortured world. Added freshness to the hearts of lovers. They stood hugging each other in the light of a street lamp. She is so feminine and gentle, who said that at 16 years old a girl cannot be feminine enough?! Here age does not matter at all, only the one who is nearby, the closest, dearest and warmest person on earth is important. And he is most glad that she is finally in his arms. After all, it is true that they say that hugs, like nothing else, convey all the love of a person, no kisses, only the gentle touch of his hands. Each of them in this minute, the minute of hugs, experiences unearthly feelings. The girl feels safe knowing that she will always be protected. The guy shows care, feels responsible - an unforgettable feeling towards his beloved and only one.
Everything was like the finale of the most beautiful film about happy love. But let's start from the beginning.