Uninvented Stories of Invented People
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“I love you. We are going to call our first daughter Amelie!” “I love you too…”
They both kissed each other’s hands at parting for a long time…
A persistent call wakes me up early in the morning. Half-awake I hear Alevtina’s wild sobs:
“Marie, he died!”
“What do you mean by ‘died’?” I jumped out of the bed completely unaware of where to call or run and how to be of help.
“What has happened?”
Simon was none of my close acquaintance, yet was close enough to let the emotional numbing and burning into my body. While I was frantically going over our friends in common in my mind, I heard on the other end of the line:
“He doesn’t answer my messages and calls for 24 hours.”
“Alevtina, stop! How did you come to the idea of his death?” confused I began to analyze.
“What do you mean by ‘How’? How in your opinion can it be explained that he doesn’t text me in reply and would not pick up the phone?”
Two days later, a miracle happened. WhatsApp and Viber showed that the owner of the phone was alive and read her dismal messages of ache, sorrow, grief and impossibility of life without her “sweet Simie”.
However, after the first clarifications of the situation and life instructions Alevtina’s anxiety about Simon’s possible death did not vanish.
“These are the morgue attendants. They hacked his phone.” However,
when his animate flash appeared in Instagram, against the backgrounds of Egyptian provinces, yet, at evident absence of Alevtina’s new slippers, the arguments in favor of death were replaced by facts, in favor of the ‘douche bag’ attitude (I shall not quote the direct speech for moral and ethical reasons).
Through my persuasions and psychotherapeutic assistance, we, nevertheless, came to the conclusion “that he had just tragically passed away as a personality.” Yet, she could not take that blow. It took lots of tears, thoughts, hours of talking and scrolling through the plot:
“What if I were like that then … but I had to do the other way, it’s my fault, I frightened him away, I’m not good enough” and tears again.
“We were meant for each other…” tears, tears and tears.
“He could have just told me to fuck off, said at least something. It’s unbearable. What happened?”
Alevtina had a difficult period of “blocking Simon”, when in fact she was
banned everywhere by him. Nevertheless, the time heals.
Three months later
Alevtina got back to Kharkov and smile appeared on her face over and over again. The issue gradually lost its relevance.
Once we were sitting in a restaurant. My longtime acquaintance, a successful business woman, a young, beautiful and erudite person, who had just gone through a divorce process, arrived. It was a summer evening, full of laughter, hearty talks, memories of old happy times along with a delicious dinner.
“I don’t understand men,” says leggy beautiful Christina.
“What do they want? We are young, successful, without a “trailer”, interesting, capable to converse, sexy, well-groomed and good looking, while having a soul mate is still an issue to us. It’s time to have children and we are still unable to find suitable fathers.”
“True, I have recently had a story. I met a young man in the train from Kiev to Kharkov. We talked all night through about Tesla, pace and Dostoyevskiy. He captured me by his erudition and beautiful courtship, brought flowers, sent fruits and medicines when I got ill, showed concern. Then, all of a sudden, he disappeared, just was up and off. Did not answer either calls or messages. Despite the fact that he limped a bit and had one eye askew…”
That sepulchral sound, with admixture of coughing and choking, followed by a creaky lightning-fast question from somewhere in the depths:
“Simon?” I will remember for the rest of my life. “Yeah, Simon, why?” asked Christina with surprise.
That evening, neither I, nor Alevtina or Christina fell asleep. I think Simon stayed awake too, since his ears should have been blushing like hell.
Perhaps, hereon I shall bring down the curtain for this interesting and informative story about Alevtina in this context, in order not to deface her in front of the reader.
To draw the bottom line: the core of our problems dwell in our beHEAVYor patterns.
P.S. And yes! You Simon, burn in Hell too!
Chapter Eight
•Bun •
“Marie, where is my car?” I see Vova’s a frightened look. “What do you mean, ‘where’? It’s at the parking lot.”
“Holy fuck, how did we drive back? Did we sleep together? I don’t remember a shit.”
“Come on, dear. Too many questions, but you drank clearely too much. We didn’t sleep for sure, since I don’t take advantage of drunken men,” I cheerfully wink at him.
“To the point. We were drinking at Alya’s birthday party, then you realized it wasn’t enough, and after yours ‘We’re gonna sort it out,’ we went to your “chicks” at the Pole Dancer. On our way, we were stopped by the police and quickly changed our places so that they didn’t see you being drunk as skunk. When they approached, you showed them your ‘Soldier of Liberty’ ID and I was driving us from that point on. All the chicks at the bar counter in the club were drinking at your account and then you switched off right there at the counter. I laid your unconscious body over my tender shoulders, since hardly was there anyone willing to help, and dragged you home. Somewhere in the middle of the stair case you woke up and started shoving and resisting because of: ‘I haven’t sung my song yet.’ Therefore, I had to call for a sober driver and, after all, by way of tenderness and persuasions, I brought you home. You puked right in the bed, but everything was washed and you were bathed. We had had a lot of fun for sure, but the problem is that it is alcoholism that you suffer , Vova. You could choke and since you hold a certain social position, that kind of behavior is inadmissible.”
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