Читать книгу Maitreya. The Connection the Visible and the Invisible - Elah - Страница 4

I wandered through narrow streets of an unfamiliar city and wanted to find someone.

“Who are you looking for, not me?”

The girl appeared in front of me from nowhere. She looked just like me. I was very surprised.

“You …? Who are you?” I asked.

She smiled.

“I helped you find your keys; do you remember?” she’s gone from a direct answer.

“I remember. But who are you?”

“Nearby is a cafe. Let’s go there to talk and drink coffee, do you mind?” she pointed where to go.

Looking in the direction of her hand, I saw a sign “Near you.” I nodded in agreement, and we went to it. Once inside the cafe, we suddenly appeared in my kitchen.

“Make coffee for us, please. As you like – a teaspoon of ground coffee, a pinch of cocoa powder, a few grains of salt on one cup…”

“How do you know?” I asked without giving her finish.

She smiled again. The kitchen lighting was bright. I looked at my guest carefully. She and I looked alike. Her voice also sounded like mine, and to hear it was unusual.

It was so weird to look at me from the side. My guest like me was thin, of medium height. She wore my favorite light blue skinny jeans, gray-blue shirt, loose sweater, legs white sneakers. Her hair too was as I have thick long straight ash blonde. I usually comb it back, collecting high on the back of the head into a ponytail and curl the end of my hair with a curling iron or a hair dryer. She did the same.

In my childhood, I loved to look at myself in the mirror, imagining that I was a princess. At that time my mom dressed me in clothes “for girls” and taught me to keep good posture. Dresses in my wardrobe were in the first place only for as long as I didn’t go to school. Then I started wearing jeans and shirt; they became my favorite outfit. After graduating from school, I also prefer to wear them. In early May, a month ago, I turned 21.

My face has an elongated shape as they say “thoroughbred” with high open forehead and prominent cheekbones. The skin of the face is pale matte. Dark blonde eyebrows curved arc. I have a barely visible scar above my right eyebrow. In my childhood, when I played in my room, I hit my head on the heater and cut my forehead on the sharp edge. Then I was taken to the hospital to sew up the wound. She healed quickly, but a small trace left, as a reminder.

Most of all on my face I like my large gray eyes with beautiful almond shaped slit. I got them from my mom. My lips are like the lips of my dad, they are slightly plump sensual, but at the same time have a clear outline. My nose is unremarkable a straight form. Without a doubt, my guest was my copy. She even had a scar over her right eyebrow.

I made coffee and poured it into two cups, then opened the fridge, took out and handed her a pack with cream. She poured cream into the cup gently in a spiral. Usually, so do I, it’s my favorite coffee ritual when I’m home. Who’s my guest?

“Have you ever met a guy with a yellow bag?” she asked suddenly.

“I do not remember, and what?”

“He’ll come to the shop where you work.”

“You know, I never dreamed about such a guy. It’s a fucking joke. Can you finally tell me who you are?”

The image of the kitchen became blurred, and soon all disappeared along with my guest.