Читать книгу Ruby - O.A. - Страница 2

Part 1

In an instant, the sky was covered with dark lead-colored rain clouds. The clover field transformed itself into an endless black ocean. A deep rumbling sound suddenly appeared then disappeared just as quickly. For a minute, numbed by fear, Sandra froze in dead silence, until a giant whirlpool formed twenty meters away. Without hesitation, Sandra lay back down in the coffin and closed the lid.

“Wake up! It’s just a dream…” she repeated to herself, until coming to the realization that… she hadn’t the slightest idea in hell how to end the sentence.

I closed the laptop. No new thoughts or ideas. In just half an hour, I would have to go out and I had not yet had breakfast or even taken a shower. I’ll put on some jeans today, a neutral T-shirt and try to make a pleasantly decent impression.

At the registration desk I was told the number of the room I needed and stated that the doctor would personally call me in. I found a free seat and proceeded to wait for the appointed time.

Near each office one person sat. Apparently, we would all be received at the same time. A couple of seconds passed and, as if connected to the thought, the doors of all of the offices opened almost simultaneously and patients and doctors accompanying them came out of each in pairs.

“Are you Oleg?” My doctor turned out to be a young woman of about 33 to 35.

“Yes. Hello.”

“Hello. Please come in.”

We traded polite smiles, and I entered the office. It was a small room equipped with a comfortable looking sofa and two large overstuffed armchairs facing each other with a coffee table between them.

“Make yourself at home. You can sit wherever you’ll feel comfortable.”

My preference was one of the armchairs near the window because there was a cushion on it – the thought had flashed through my head that I might want to hug it during the session. The doctor sat down on the sofa.

“Well, let’s get acquainted. I’m Mary.”

What, that’s it? There should be some kind of unequal exchange of personal information.

“My name is Oleg. And to be perfectly honest, I have no idea where to start.”

“Start with whatever you want. Just talk about yourself, whatever you see as fitting.”

Well, I can’t stand stewed cabbage and love to walk on edges.

“Arthur recommended you to me. Unfortunately, his last name has slipped my mind. We address each other just by name. In short, he advised me to see you immediately.”

“Yes, he called me. So you know, as a rule, it is recommended that we conduct drug therapy and supportive care at the same time.”

“Yeah, I know but at the moment we spoke I was in no shape to discuss that. At the beginning I was in a horrible state from taking the drugs until we were able to adjust the dosages so that they were suitable for me. All told it took me almost two months to finally get to you.”

“Nevertheless you did good Oleg, in the end you came.”

Maria exudes pleasantness. Her smile draws you to her. When I’m talking to her, I don’t feel any emotional barriers that I need to jump over. I think we’ll get along just fine.

“Over the course of several years, I was suffering from periodic pains in the chest area. They started with a visit to another therapist, one who sent me to another gastroenterologist. He, after questioning me, in turn referred me to a psychiatrist. In the end the psychiatrist diagnosed me as suffering from bipolar disorder with pronounced psychosomatics. For some reason I didn’t really like that diagnosis. At that time, I was of the opinion that an example of a bipolar patient was Carrie Matheson1, who drank lithium with vodka and called the president at night so that he contacted the child protection authorities and ordered them not to take her daughter. For that reason, I was skeptical about the ‘news’ and went to another hospital where I was in fact diagnosed with bipolar disorder again. I was again at a loss. Having googled your center, in order to be sure, I decided to seek a third confirmation of the diagnosis. The third doctor who diagnosed me as bipolar was Arthur, with his full diagnosis being: ‘bipolar disorder with a predominance of depressive phases’. The third time I had nowhere to run, so I have to believe it.”

“How often do you experience depression?”

“In autumn and spring – all the time. During other seasons only occasionally. I just always thought it was simply some kind of vitamin deficiency. Well, and that I just take everything too close to heart.”

“Okay fine. Now, first off why don’t we talk about you and not the diagnosis. What do you do? What do you love? Do you have a hobby?”

“I love cinema and from time to time I attempt to write a book.” That will become a global bestseller.

“Are you working?”

You won’t even ask what I write about?

“Yeah. Just one of the office plankton. I sit at the computer all day performing the same tasks from Monday to Friday, and in order to somehow at least, express myself, in my free time I write.”

“Are you employed in your specialty?”

That is, we closed the topic of the book?

“No. I graduated with a degree in social work, but now I am engaged in the wholesale sales of spare parts for foreign cars. The funniest thing is that I don’t know a damn thing about foreign cars, or even just cars in general, nor even about auto parts.”

“Do you like your job?”

Obviously not.

“Well, it’s more of a way to earn a living and having the opportunity to visit a psychotherapist.”

“Do you have a close relationship with anyone? Are you dating a girl?”

An unnecessary question about the girl, generally it is more correct to ask only about the existence of a relationship.

“No, I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m gay.”

I liked Mary’s reaction, more precisely, her complete lack of reaction.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

We will definitely get along.

“No, no. No boyfriend. No boyfriend for me. I was not made for love.” I had wanted to say that in rhyme, so that there was not even a hint of drama.

“Tell me a little about your parents.”

So you’re not wondering why I don’t have a boyfriend?

“I have a wonderful mom. Really great. She’s more like an older sister or friend.”

“And your father?”

“You mean whether he knows or not?”

“Yes.”

“I have a stepfather. He doesn’t know.”

“And your father? Tell me about your father.”

“So what should I tell about him? Fatherhood wasn’t in the cards for him. My parents divorced when I was in the second grade and my mother and I began to live separately from him.”

“What is your most vivid memory connected to your father?”

I don’t know what exactly caused me to react in such a way but I laughed out loud. At the same time, I was not sure it was really funny to me.

“The most vivid memory…” Let’s see… What kind of memory can I tell you? Which was more vivid, the beatings or the hard drinking? “…in my final year at university, I went home for the New Year’s holidays. Early in the morning on January 3rd, I was woken by the doorbell. Everyone was still asleep, so I got up to greet the early guests. There were two officers standing just over the threshold. They asked if I was the son of such and such. After my affirmative answer, they asked me to come with them in order to be present at the break-in of an apartment and possibly for the identification of a corpse. When the front door was broken in, the first thing I saw was the sole of HIS foot. It was a blue-green color. His whole body in fact was so many colors that it was as if some drunken fan of abstract expressionism had been painting on it. He lay face down on the floor and when the officers tried to turn him over for identification, his face literally stayed stuck to the floor. Later, the medical examination showed that my father had died on December 24th and due to the fact that it was very hot in the apartment, when he finally ‘met us’ he was not in the best shape. If you please that is the most vivid memory connected with him.”

It was apparent that the therapist tried to swallow as quietly as possible, but due to the fact that the only sources of sound in the room were her and me, it turned out to be awkwardly loud.

“But that’s not the funniest thing,” I continued. “My father has a twin brother whom I had not seen for twenty years. Imagine this picture if you will: the next day after the identification of the body, I was again woken up by an early morning doorbell. I decided that it was probably the officers again and that apparently I had not signed some document or other. I opened the door and his twin brother is standing there on the threshold.”

A wave of uncontrollable laughter came over me again.

“Later, as it turns out, my father’s neighbor had told him about the death.” With that I finished.

The psychotherapist took two long sips of water from her glass and again they were too loud. I then literally tried to pass gas loudly so that against my backdrop she didn’t feel as uncomfortable as she seemed to be, but the most I could come up with was a tense flushed face.

When I got home, the traditional evening food tasting ritual was already in full swing in the kitchen. Amir, Cam, and Sopha sat at the kitchen table and excitedly discussed bio-cemeteries and bio-urns made from biodegradable materials for ashes.

“… and the client themselves will be able to choose what kind of tree he will become after death.” summed up Amir.

“Tamatar paneer malay,” Cam handed me a plate of her latest culinary creation.

I glanced quickly at Amir and Sopha. They made barely noticeably nods, making it clear that this time, the dish turned out to be edible.

“Today is the last day of Indian cuisine. For dessert there will be shahi tukra with Indian tea, I didn’t have the patience to make masala. Starting next week I want to try Scandinavian cuisine.”

If I’m not mistaken, in Scandinavian cuisine there is a recipe for sweet herring…

“How was your debut psychotherapy session?” Amir had already finished the Tatarpanarmalan-or-whatever-it-was and was ready for dessert.

Camilla, Cam for short, was a cost consultant by education. Upon realizing that her chosen profession would not bring her either joy or lead to the discovery of her potential, she took up fortune-telling using Tarot cards and began to get very good at. Within six months, Cam had acquired several regular wealthy clients, thanks to which she could afford to earn a living exclusively by fortune-telling. In addition, she is an avid fan of the culinary arts and maintains a culinary blog on which she publishes her successful experiences in preparing national dishes from around the world.

Praise all the saints, today was the last day of Indian cuisine.

Sophia, Sopha for short, is Camilla’s older sister. She works as a veterinarian. All said she is the most emotionally mature person in our company. To her credit, even before I was correctly diagnosed, she understood that the problem was not that I took everything to heart, and once very tactfully even hinted that the matter could be much more serious and I should seek professional help.

Amir, he’s a one-man-orchestra. He’s perhaps the most direct and uncommon person I know. Sometimes (very often actually) it is difficult to grasp where his thoughts are going, things he likes to express aloud. I met Amir at university. We studied in different groups in the same faculty and became friends during a summer session. At one point the question of our expulsion came up. Our last chance to stay in the university was to pass a higher mathematics exam. In our case it was already the third and final attempt. My salvation was a cheat sheet with ready-made answers to the test. From the doomed expression on Amir’s face, it was clear that only a miracle could save him. By a karmic coincidence, it was on that day that I had an acute attack of altruism. I surreptitiously handed him the cheat sheet, which also became his pass to the second course. When we left the exam we were already very good friends.

I met Cam and Sopha at a training session in sports dancing where I happened to be by pure chance. For some time we eyed each other closely. They were, and are, very attractive girls, Camilla with red hair and green eyes and blue-eyed Sophia with her pink hair. I confused their casualness with overconfidence, something which led me to mistakenly think of both of them as arrogant bitches. They, as it turned out later, thought that I was an uptight and insecure nerd. In general, they were partially right.

We became friends due to a mutual love for cinema. It turned out that we are all fans of Darren Aronofsky and David Lynch.

The four of us began to live together, again by fortunate coincidence. Between all of us, only Amir had come to the capital on purpose, hoping to become a singer or radio host. In the meantime, he is working as an event host and tirelessly attending vocal courses. When Amir’s godmother moved to America, she left a four-room apartment near the center of the capital for her godson to look after. For a time, he lived in it alone. Then I, unable to find a job in my profession in another city, was driving home with my last remaining money. At the same time, I was thinking something like: I would not be happy and would not be able to live a full life, due to the fact that I have to hide my sexual orientation, so I would start looking for an alternative to positive emotions, drinking alcohol and using drugs… As a result, I would finish my own life in some bright, but not very dramatic way, as far as that was possible in the context.

So that’s it. I was passing through the capital and planning to stay for a couple of days with Amir, then those two days turned into six years. About three years ago, Sopha and Cam were passing through as well, to attend a music festival, and were planning to stay for a short visit, also “for a couple of days.” Thus, the four of us began to live together. Each of us has our own room, our own story, our own life and our own personal space. The kitchen, on the other hand, is the place for common gatherings, evenings with board games and the witnessing of the culinary (not always masterpieces) works which Camilla treats us to.

“Was it like in the movies, when you lie down on a couch, and the therapist asks what you think and how you feel?” Camilla asked as she poured hot water into the teapot.

“Today’s reception could probably be classified as ‘the acquaintance.’ The psychotherapist asked some questions, and I answered. Apparently, she has some kind of personal question-answer scheme. For example, I told her that I was writing a book, but she did not ask what about, and then I told her that I don’t have a boyfriend, but she didn’t ask why.”

“Maybe she wasn’t interested?” Cam snapped.

“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” Amir looked into his mug, slowly stirring the tea with a spoon counterclockwise. His detached look showed that he had asked the question mechanically, simply to indicate participation in the conversation.

“Amir, are you all right?” Sophia started dessert.

“As it turned out, I am no longer young…” he said.

“And HOW did you discover this?” it was evident that Cam could hardly restrain a smile.

“I am already 31 years old, and I still have not achieved anything…”

Honestly, it was like a worn-out record. Even the word order was unchanged.

By the end of almost every week, it was common for Amir to start thinking aloud about his achievements and again aloud engage in self-criticism about them. Probably, because of his charm, he almost always draws all the attention to himself with his, as it seems to me, feigned sadness. This is quite annoying to me because I believe that with my uncontrived diagnosis, I deserve more attention than him. In contrast to that habit, Amir plans to start a new life almost every Monday, whatever that means, but by the middle of the week these plans are postponed to the next week. That is the way it has been for the whole time I have known him.

“We haven’t got out anywhere for a long time.” Camilla, seeing how Sophia, unseen by Amir was mimicking a pistol at her temple, decided it was time to take out the heavy artillery.

“What about last week? Oleg chose a very interesting leisure time activity!” Sophia rewarded me with a broad smile.

We have developed a tradition of the four of us going out somewhere at least once every two weeks. Where exactly is decided by whoever wins the board game that we usually play on Friday nights. I won the penultimate time and early Saturday morning we went to donate blood at the Medical Research Center for Pediatric Hematology. Yesterday we departed from tradition and dedicated Friday night to a game of Peepers and Camilla was the undisputed champion.

“So! Let’s go!” Cam got up resolutely from the table.

“Where? What should we wear?” I decided to clarify just in case.

Since I really love costume parties and such types of events, I have a broccoli costume, a pink Batman suit and a black wide-brimmed hat (whose usage I haven’t determined yet) in my room.

“I think, for where we are going that for you and Amir, the less clothes – the better.” Camilla winked mockingly.

By the enthusiasm with which Amir began to get ready, one might think that he thought that we were going to a strip club. It was only in the taxi that Cam hinted to him that he had almost guessed right, and perhaps, there would really be a striptease.

All of his expectations were shattered when a taxi dropped us off at the newly opened Soho gay club.

“Sister, if you had even given me a hint about the destination, I would not have dressed up so pretentiously and I would have put on a sports bra.” Sopha took a moist napkin out of her purse and began to wipe off her makeup.

“You can do that in the restroom,” Amir put his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“Are there ladies’ restrooms there?”

What is with the stereotypes…?

We are in heaven! I can’t say anything for Amir and the girls but for me, paradise would look exactly like this. I’ve never seen so many beautiful, muscular male bodies in T-shirts and without and the club felt like it was endless. Fortunately for me, to get to the bar we needed to cross the huge dance floor, completely packed with dancing guys.

Either the lamotrigine and zoloft, which I took 15 minutes before we left home, had begun to act, or I had received a revelation from above that life is beautiful. I was so happy that I had the opportunity to see such beautiful bodies and faces live and not on porn sites and that I could feel like I was a part of all THIS.

Probably, the effect of the drugs had begun to take over…

“And how do we get to the bar?” I asked as I crossed my arms over my chest.

God bless the designer of this facility!

“Follow me, girls!” Camilla started walking across the dance floor to the bar and we followed her.

“Great face!” approximately somewhere in the center of the dance floor, a plump guy with a red beard and a T-shirt with the inscription “Nobody knows I’m a lesbian” grabbed me by the chin.

Oh my God!!! Is that true?!! Thanks!!!

“Sorry, darling, he is mine.” Amir grabbed me by the elbow and, quickening his pace, overtook Camilla and Sophia. “Bro, don’t leave me alone in here!”

“Unfortunately for me, we got to the bar too quickly. My skin still felt the touch of that funny fat man in the funny T-shirt.”

“Three tequilas please, one Medusa and one Blow with a Paddle,” Sopha ordered after studying the menu.

“Binging again? How low the elite have fallen. The same please.” Cam gave the bartender a smile.

An insanely handsome bartender…

“You didn’t offer me any alternatives.”

“Apparently, I’m going to need a real blow with a paddle today. One dark beer please, any kind.” Amir looked around as if he was a spy in enemy territory and his informant had told him that he had been burned and that at any moment he might catch an enemy bullet.

“And for me please; a non-alcoholic mojito without mint leaves. In a manly glass please.” So that everyone thinks that I am drinking vodka or tequila.

The bartender smiled when he heard my order.

Ahhh… He smiled at me!

Sopha and Cam, watching my face change from red to crimson, started winking playfully, as if hinting at the possible development of events between me and the bartender.

“You perverts.” I tried to say in an unwavering voice.

If only you were right!

We sat down at a free table.

“My little Oleg! Sweety. Please relax,” Cam said, “and don’t slouch. Imagine holding a ping-pong ball between your shoulder blades.”

“Well, since we’re in such a place, it’s time to drink to free love,” Sopha suggested.

With the words “To free love!” we all raised our glasses over the table.

“Well…” Sopha drank the Medusa in one gulp, “since there is hardly anyone here who will invite me to dance,” followed by the Blow with a Paddle in another gulp, “Amir will have to.”

“What?!” Amir choked on his beer, “I don’t dance well, especially to fast music.”

This was not true. Given his lack of personality complexes and shyness, in a heterosexual environment Amir could move to the music like a disco dancer.

“No, we’re going to dance.” Sophia got up from the table and, looking at Camilla, tried to imperceptibly nod in my direction.

Apparently, there was to be some serious conversation ahead for me.

“Cam,” Amir drank his glass of beer almost in one gulp, “you have something on your back.” Camilla turned around to try to see what it was and Amir immediately knocked off a portion of her tequila in one gulp. “Now we can go dancing.”

“Come on, let’s burn this dance floor to hell,” Sophia took Amir’s hand, and together they went to the very center of the event.

“We need to talk….” Cam began.

Here we go…

“About what?”

“Something is happening to you. You almost always have a sad expression and you don’t really tell us anything.”

My face often gives me away: it begins to treacherously change color when I lie, feel shy or get angry. And it expresses emotions before I even have time to feel them. Sometimes it seems that it lives a life of its own.

“Cam, it’s called bi-polar disorder. I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t always really understand what I feel myself, and…”

“Well, you could share your thoughts.”

“Thoughts about what? I don’t know what thoughts to tell you about. I don’t always understand them myself.”

“Listen, I’m not leaving you alone until you say something. We’re all worried about you.”

Damn! Here we go again!

“Once again I repeat: I wasn’t going to do anything to myself then.”

Somewhere in my solar plexus area an uncontrollable anger began to boil, which according to experience, would turn to rage if I did not switch my thoughts from this conversation to something else.

“Did I say something about that time? Perhaps it’s because of the drugs…”

So. You need to take nine deep breaths through the nose. I am calm. I am completely and totally calm. Things are good. There are so many handsome guys around… I’m fine. The guys are worried about me. It’s better than if they didn’t care. Things are good. Inhale, exhale. I am a child of space – I have no problems. Om. Breathe in. Damn! I’m sitting with my eyes closed…

“…to be honest this whole evening is for you. You should try to have fun and have a good time. You would definitely not come here yourself.” Camilla was looking away and had not noticed that I had been sitting with my eyes closed for some time.

“I would say thank you, but words cannot express everything I feel.”

“Don’t say thanks.”

“Your mom raised you to be humble.”

Cam smiled broadly.

“Look,” she nodded toward the dance floor, “our baby is no longer shy at all.”

Amir was dancing with his eyes closed in the very center of the hall. His dance movements were somewhat tectonic, but I would better describe his dance style as a “Parkinson’s Party.”

Sophia returned to our table:

“I was talking to Amir. He is having an identity crisis. Again.”

Has he forgotten that he is a living human being?

“I beg your pardon,” a man’s voice came from behind me, “may I invite you to dance?”

Sopha and Cam smiled. I turned around and froze. He was a tall guy with a stylish beard and a black T-shirt wrapped around his perfect muscular torso. Around the bicep of his right arm was a colored tattoo of a snake biting its own tail, Ouroboros. Tight jeans hugged his perfect, muscular legs. I was betting that his buttocks were perfect too.

I think I forgot how to breathe…

Who was he speaking to?

It seemed to me that his smile was a little on the bewildered side.

“Of course, you may! Oleg why are you frozen as if rooted to the spot? Look what a nice gentleman is asking you to dance.” Camilla had clearly gone too far in her role as the pimp.

I got up from the table and said “Oleg” in a timid voice and stretched out my hand. A handsome young man who I really hoped would be my future boyfriend (due to the high level of dopamine in my blood it was difficult to concentrate), shook my hand and said, “Pleased to meet you, Herman.”

Herman… Even your name is perfect. Herman and Oleg. Oleg and Herman.

On the dance floor, as if ordered by higher powers, one of Rihanna’s slow songs, Love on the Brain, was playing.

This would be our song now.

To my regret, Herman put his hands on me well above the waist.

He almost stuck them in my armpits, although such an action should characterize him in a positive light. It meant that he was well-mannered and during our first dance he wanted to demonstrate his good manners.

Since it was important to show that I was completely relaxed and calm and not trying to remember what he was wearing so that on our anniversary I could tell friends about our first meeting with all of the details, I put my hands on his shoulders and gathering all my courage into an iron fist and decided to be the first to start the conversation:

“First time here?”

“Yes, you know, I’ve never been to such an establishment before,” it was evident that Herman was grateful that I was the first to start the conversation, “and you?”

“Me too. I always wanted to come, but you know how it is – you want and intend but…”

“Are you here with your girlfriends?”

“Yeah. And with a friend.” Damn! He might think I mean boyfriend! “My friend is straight. By the way, he must be around here somewhere on the dance floor.”

“I’m straight too. My friends and I decided to bring our gay friend here. He’s having a difficult time right now and we are trying to cheer him up and distract him from his problems.”

Like hell you say… Yeah right, you’ve got to be kidding me…

It’s hard to imagine the expression on my face when Herman looked at me but judging by the way his tone changed, he only then understood what the situation had appeared to be.

“Damn… Friend… It just dawned on me… You got it all wrong. Sorry…”

“Yeah sure, funny situation, everything’s cool, but then why did you invite me to dance?”

I hoped the smile that I squeezed out of myself did not look as pathetic as my self-esteem was at that moment, after this stupid moron steamrolled it into the asphalt.

“Really, I’m sorry again. I’m really embarrassed.”

Are you frickin deaf?! Why the hell did you invite me to dance?!

“Never mind, we’re adults, things happen.”

Now I will never be able to listen to Rihanna for the rest of my life.

“And those two girls who were sitting at the table with you, are they together?”

“You mean if they’re a couple or not?”

“Yes.”

“No,” it seemed that my voice was getting thinner and thinner with every sentence, and there was a real chance that I might cry out in frustration. “They are sisters.”

“Cool! I wanted to invite the one with the pink hair to dance but got confused because of how the redhead was acting things. What is her name?”

“Which one? The redhead?”

“No, the second one.”

I hate you! Despite your beauty… Your perfect hands… Damn you…

“Sophia. And the redhead is her sister Camilla.”

“Does she have a boyfriend? Is she seeing anyone now?”

And how well it had all started…

“She’s not dating anyone at the moment.”

“But she likes guys?”

Yeah, get away from me and go ask yourself!

“Yes, she likes guys.”

“And what does she do?”

Before this conversation Love on the Brain had been one of my favorite songs.

“She’s a veterinarian.”

“What does she like? Do you think I should go talk to her?”

Despite all the tragedy of the situation, I was touched by how such an adult guy could behave like an insecure, timid first grader.

“Herman, I’ll be honest with you. I think that right now it’s not such a good idea to approach her to get acquainted. Most likely when I return to the table they will be trying to calm me down because of a misunderstanding I’ve just had.”

“And what should I do then? How should I proceed?”

Damn, you’re cute.

“Listen, today is definitely out of the question and I want to warn you: she is my friend, and if you turn out to be an asshole, it will be worse for you.”

I surprised even myself with what I said. However, on the other hand, I showed him that I am not wishy washy and can be rude. Let him remember that in case he ever decides to change orientation or experiment.

“I just want to get to know her, and if everything goes well, get to know her even better.” Herman was at a loss, which made me very happy.

“Listen, let’s exchange phone numbers and one of these days we will call or write each other and discuss a plan for further action?”

After exchanging phone numbers, Herman put his hand on my shoulder with the words:

“Friend, once again I ask you to forgive me. Honestly, I did not want to mislead you.”

“Yes, sure no problem, don’t worry.”

I hope that one day you will be in my position!

“By the way, since such a thing happened! Let me introduce you to the friend I was talking about! I am sure he will like you!”

“No, today I’ll have to pass.”

Enough getting acquainted for today.

“No, I insist! I feel guilty. Please wait here, I’ll be right back!”

Pushing his way between the dancing guys, Herman briskly walked towards the lounge area.

Taking advantage of the moment, I ran to our table and with the words: “Girls, I got diarrhea along the way and I won’t go to the toilet here because my future chosen one might be in the next stall.” I grabbed my backpack and headed for the exit. Cam and Sopha wanted to go with me, but I assured them that everything was fine, we had just gotten there and they shouldn’t leave. In any case, they needed to look after Amir.

“See you at home! Have fun!” I looked around with a farewell glance at the dancing beauties nearest to our table and headed for the exit.

At home, before going to bed, succumbing to the intolerable desire to put my thoughts on paper, I took out my diary, but then I decided that there was in fact nothing new to write about, except whining about loneliness which was something I was already physically feeling. I put it back in its place in the lower drawer of the desk and went to bed.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. I am calm and relaxed. Inhale.

Part 2

There was a large old gray sweater hanging from two meat hooks in the middle of the room. The hooks pierced its shoulders. Caleb realized that it was most likely he had chosen the wrong door. His heart was beating so hard and was so loud that the sound seemed to fill the entire room.

“Holy shit…” Caleb put his hand over his mouth to keep from screaming.

The sound of a heartbeat really filled the room. But it wasn’t coming from Caleb at all. The sound came from the sweater hanging from the ceiling, which now began to pulsate in the chest area.

Everything was just like something out of someone’s worst nightmare. Hands with long gnarled clawed fingers began to protrude slowly from the sleeves. Blood stains appeared around the holes from the hooks and increased with each heartbeat. Out of the collar of the sweater now protruded what should have been a head, but only had the shape of a head, and on it there was nothing but a mouth. A horrible mouth filled with hundreds of small sharp needle-like teeth and spread across the pseudo-face, a mouth that uttered an inhuman cry, a cry of agony and rage.

Caleb couldn’t move. His entire body was frozen in terror.

The creature grabbed the chains on which it was suspended…

The alarm went off. The time for the Morning Pages was over. It was time to get ready for the appointment with the psychotherapist. I have time to exercise, which today I will replace with morning masturbation, shower and breakfast and if I combine the first two points, I may have enough time to drop into Starbucks on the way to the session.

Maria was 10 minutes late, and judging by her wet hair, she had not been prepared for the sudden rain.

“Hello, Oleg! Sorry for being late, I got caught in the rain.”

“Yeah sure, no problem, I almost got caught in it too. Although the forecast had promised that it would be sunny with no precipitation, it turned out there was a total downpour.”

“Really, such tropical storms are not typical in the middle latitudes.”

“Global warming. Climate change.”

“Well, so how is your life?” Maria smiled amiably and this time took a chair.

“Good. And how are you doing?”

For some reason I suddenly lost all desire to talk.

“Everything’s okay, thanks,” Maria crossed her legs and took out her tablet for notes. “How was your week?”

“Out of the whole to-do list that I had compiled for the week… There was not a thing on it that I had completed.”

“You didn’t want to? Or you didn’t have the strength?”

“Didn’t want to. I had no strength and I had no thoughts… Probably, at the next appointment with Arthur, I will ask him to increase my dosage of zoloft.”

“Are you sad? Are you getting upset quickly?”

“Yes, there is a little of that.”

“Feeling lonely?”

“I don’t like the word loneliness. It made it seem like something was incomplete… I prefer the term ‘problems with self-sufficiency’.”

“What does that mean to you? What is the feeling like? Can you give me an example of a situation where you experience it?”

“Last Saturday, for example…”

“Soooo, tell me what happened last Saturday.”

“I was at a club with friends and a handsome guy came up and I thought he wanted to meet me. I went and danced with him and during the dance, it turned out that he had wanted to invite my girlfriend to dance, not me. Then for the entire time that we danced he tried to find out as much information as possible about her.”

“Soooo, what happened next?”

“We exchanged phone numbers. On Monday he called me and we met in the evening after work. He found out where my friend works. It turns out that this dude, his name is Herman, has a cat and my friend is a veterinarian. On Tuesday his cat seemed to be sick and he made an appointment and took it to her. After that he called me, thanked me and said that he would continue further on his own.”

“And after that you felt bad?”

“Well, yes. Not exactly after that but from the whole situation. Since Saturday…”

“Tell me, are you having these feelings now too?”

“I feel that way all the time, the feelings never go away.”

“What are the feelings? Do you feel sad and lonely?”

“I feel it… You know… Physically… How can I describe it? Loneliness… The problem with self-sufficiency is that it is felt physically. An unpleasant heaviness in the chest and it is as if you have decreased in size. Like you have become small and insignificant, pathetic… And everything around you seems big. I don’t know how to explain it more clearly.”

“No, that’s fine, everything is very clear. This is called ‘baby mode’.”

“Can we not discuss this today?” I wanted to go to bed, take a couple of sleeping pills and sleep for a couple of days, with my head covered.

“Oh sure, okay. How are things going at work?”

“Everything is pissing me off.”

“And what exactly makes you angry?”

“All these stupid old broads with a worldview a meter in diameter, who do not see anything further than their noses and consider it necessary to share their opinion with everyone on every issue and topic. The phrase “back in our days” has to be heard 15 times a day and they consider it their God given duty to voice their political positions aloud, to discuss who came to work in what, who is too fat, too thin or too ugly, as if they are the unquestionable expert judges of some beauty contest. Why do they think they have the right to do all this?

“Of course, then they never forget to make a special mention of homosexuals, to say that they need to be professionally treated and that probably it’s all due to an overabundance of emotions.”

My hands started to shake almost imperceptibly and I felt weak tremors becoming stronger, to hide them I hugged the cushion that was lying next to me on the sofa.

“We have a common toilet at work for men and women with two stalls which have excellent acoustics between them. That is, being in one booth, you can hear everything that is happening in the other. So, broads even discuss THAT! Can you imagine?! These are toilets! They are made to shit in, that’s what they are for! Why in the name of God discuss that?! It’s like they don’t go to the toilet at all.

“Then there was another mother at work who began complaining that it was too expensive for her to hire a tutor for her brain-dead daughter, and what a monster the tutor was because he asks for so much money per lesson and how private lessons should cost less. Why the hell should they be cheaper?! Where does her certainty come from? Why is she so sure that he owes her anything? Anything at all? He lives on this money! Maybe he has a family and has to support them. Either he is worth hiring or not.

“You have to understand, I have to listen to this brain numbing garbage every day from Monday to Friday! The logic of these broads is the apogee of idiocy, the height of ignorance!”

“And if you…”

“They are also unhappy with what is happening in the world and in the country,” I interrupted her, “but in reality with the attitude towards everything and everyone that they have… They deserve all the crap that is going on!”

I understood that perhaps I now looked like a madman but I was certain that if I released that stream of consciousness through my words, I would feel relief (as if I had been riding in a bus for 12 hours, suppressing the urge to go to the toilet, and at last the bus made a cherished stop).

I grabbed my right side.

“What happened? Are you in pain?”

“Yeah, but who the hell knows why. Feels like I’m falling apart.”

“What hurts exactly?”

“You mean where does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“On my right side, right under my ribs and between the ribs, sometimes it on the right but sometimes on the left too… In my chest, I don’t know where exactly. It feels like I’m being eating away inside… Like rust. It hurts between my shoulder blades. My larynx… Neck. Back and even my lap. All the time I am thinking that I might have cancer. Can I have cancer at my age? It’s hereditary… My grandmother died of cancer. I’m afraid that this will affect my mother too… This… I understand that I am speaking, maybe incoherently and too quickly, but the words themselves are just coming out…”

The tremor in my hands was already noticeable. Gradually, my shoulders began to twitch…

“So, Oleg. Let’s figure this out. Now, are you afraid of cancer?”

“And that too. Yes. I’m afraid of getting sick. I’m afraid my mom will get sick.”

“Let’s do this: you will name the reasons why you think that is possible and we will discuss them.”

“Well… So… Heredity. That is the first reason. Stress, the second reason. Statistics show that almost all relatives die of cancer. Global change of environment: my parents are planning to move south soon. I am now beginning to understand that you will convince me otherwise… But these thoughts are like leeches. I don’t know how to get them out of my head. I start to worry about something and then everything starts to hurt, that’s it! I’m starting to think it’s cancer.”

“Are those all the points?”

“I think so.”

“Let’s take them apart now. Heredity and statistics, in fact, can be combined into one item. At what age did your grandmother and relatives die?”

“About 75 or 80 years old. I can’t say for sure.”

“Not all cancers are inherited. There are breast cancer and types of cancer in female organs that can in fact be transmitted… However, in most situations, each case is individual and moreover cancer is essentially a disease of very old people. If everyone had good health and no one was sick with anything, then in the end everyone would die of cancer in old age. Some would also die from heart attacks or strokes…”

“And not live to see their cancer?” I interrupted, “And those who die from it just simply met their cancer?” I began to experience a feeling of unpleasant, inexplicable fun.

Craaaaazy, I’m going craaaazy… I sang in my mind.

“To some extent, yes. About the change of environment: if it caused oncology, then all migrant workers would die of cancer.”

I liked that Maria, having said this, almost laughed (I love black humor).

“And stress?”

“Stress levels do not affect the development of oncology. I understand that there are many articles on the Internet where the opposite is written but stress doesn’t cause cancer. If you are interested, I can e-mail you scientific articles by one good oncologist who is sorting out the exact issues that concern you.”

“I would be very grateful to you for that.”

“Oleg, tell me, when do you go to see Arthur?”

“I’m scheduled for next Friday.”

“I will correct the dosage regimen for you. Then I will contact Arthur and discuss it with him and if you have the opportunity, I would recommend going to the appointment early. In fact, the sooner the better.”

So, it appears, I really do behave like a nutcase…

On the way home, I got caught in a sudden rain storm after all which only exacerbated the completely disgusting mood I was in.

When I finally made it to my building and was in the elevator, I took my cell phone out of my backpack and saw four missed calls from Amir. I decided not to call back and find out what he wanted when I got home, since it would only be in a couple of minutes.

In the corridor, in addition to familiar shoes, someone’s new sneakers of impressive size caught my eye.

Maybe Amir just called to warn me that Bigfoot2 had come to visit us?

In the kitchen, in addition to Camilla, Sopha and Amir, our new guest was sitting with his back to me, and they were all playing the game “Who am I”. THEY HADN’T EVEN WAITED FOR ME!

Judging by the fact that the stickers with the words were only stuck to the foreheads of Sophia and Amir, Camilla had again won a victory.

“Oh, here’s Oleg!” Cam pulled out a plate from the fridge with a large piece of what looked like a puff cake. “Vinarterta or simply: ‘the Striped Lady’. It is intended to be consumed with a large serving of cocoa.”

“Oleg, get acquainted… My new friend,” Sophia sat with her chin in her palms and smiled. On a sticker glued to her forehead was the inscription “Elton John” (I would say with 100 hundred percent certainty that that was Amir’s idea).

The new friend got up from the table and turned around. It turned out to be a damn handsome, tall, muscular guy with a perfect chin and short hair.

Well, whyyyy… Whyyyyyyyyyy can’t I have one like that?!

“Hi, my name’s Oleg. Nice to meet you,” I shook the hand extended to me by the guest.

“Glad to meet you, Oleg. I’m Herman.”

God almighty!!!!!!!!

Herman’s overly strong handshake, along with his gaze, made me understand that I should pretend that we were meeting for the first time.

Well done, he did it himself.

After we had met on Monday, Herman shaved off his beard and cut his hair short. If he hadn’t given his name, I wouldn’t have recognized him at first. He didn’t look at all like the Herman I danced with in the club, but he was still pretty damn handsome. I didn’t even immediately notice the sticker on his forehead with the words “Diana Ross”.

The evening promised to be interesting.

While I was eating the Striped Lady, the game was coming to an end. It remained for Amir to guess the word on his own sticker, after which, if I’m not mistaken, we would start drinking cocoa and asking tricky questions to the damn handsome Herman. I’m more than sure that the guys shouldn’t have started doing this without me.

“Barbra Streisand!” Amir finally guessed the inscription on his sticker. “I knew immediately that it was her!”

“Yes, but then why did you guess her name for almost five minutes?” Camilla started making cocoa.

“I had to be sure.”

“Herman, what do you do? What is your profession?” I decided to start first (I was really bursting with curiosity).

“I work for my father,” Herman sat up straight, straightening his back, as if at an interview, “we have a family business. Several music stores.”

“Ooh, cool! Music is my theme! Do you play anything?” Amir was as delighted as if his childhood idol was sitting in front of him.

“Yeah. The electric guitar, the bass guitar and the piano.”

“Great. Maybe you also sing?” Camilla removed the boiling kettle from the stove.

“Maybe I also sing,” Herman smiled, “but only on special occasions… Under special circumstances.”

“Do you write songs?”

It was clear that Amir was only interested in the part of Herman’s life which was somehow connected to music.

“No, I sing exclusively covers.”

Doesn’t anyone wonder what special occasions and circumstances he meant?

“Me too! I love the Beatles the most. I also do vocals…”

“How did you meet?” I believe that I will ask the most interesting questions today.

“My cat fell ill, and I took him to the veterinary clinic. And the doctor to whom he ended up with turned out to be Sophia.” a slight blush appeared on Herman’s beautiful face.

Well done, still keeping it under control.

“What’s your cat’s name?”

Amir! Why are you interested in all that kind of crap?

“My cat’s name is Alf.”

“In honor of whom?”

Oh God would you calm down already!

“In honor of the alien who loves to eat cats.”

Damn… Brilliant!

“Do you have brothers or sisters?” Cam poured everyone cocoa and placed a large plate in the center of the table with the five remaining pieces of Striped Lady.

“Yes, I have three older brothers…” I hope they are just as beautiful, and at least one of them is gay… “My mother died when I was nine years old, so we were raised by our father and grandparents.”

There was an awkward silence. It’s good that I didn’t ask that question.

“Tell the guys how you and your brothers came across a bear in the forest.” Sopha came to the rescue.

“Ooh yeah. Well, I will definitely tell you all the story, but at some other time. That story is best told while drinking.”

Herman looked at Sophia with such a gentle look… Can it really happen that after such a short period of time after meeting that someone looks at you like THAT?

I felt a snowball of longing in my chest. And I felt ashamed that I couldn’t be happy for Sophia at the moment. And, probably, Herman (I’m sure he’s a good guy).

“So maybe we all have a beer?”

Amir’s proposal meant that he was ready to accept Herman as a friend.

Now I also felt an incomprehensible prick of jealousy.

“Amir, don’t forget that not all of us can drink alcohol.” Sophia’s voice held a perceptible moral tone.

“Who doesn’t drink?”

“Me. But it’s not that I don’t want to. I just can’t right now… Get out the beer, and I’ll eat a piece of Amir’s Striped Lady. And let’s hear the story about the bear and your brothers.”

“When my brothers and I were small…” as Herman began talking, Camilla took out four bottles of beer from the refrigerator and handed them to the guys, leaving one for herself. “The weather was cloudy, but it was not in the least bit cold…”

Sophia’s face showed such interest that it was as if she was listening to the story for the first time.

Outside the window, the rain grew stronger and thunder rumbled. I imagined that we were all sitting in some cozy forest hut by a burning fireplace, wrapped in warm blankets and listening to how Herman and his brothers fled from the bear and we were drinking cocoa, not beer.

Amir, listening to the story, completely lost control of his facial expression and looked very comical: his eyes were wide open, as if he was a direct participant in what was happening, and from his gaping mouth one might assume that he could not breathe through his nose. Camilla sat on the windowsill, examining the patterns made by the rain on the window. She had not opened her bottle of beer. Sopha listened to the devilishly and unrealistically handsome Herman, her chin still resting on her palms.

I wish I had someone to look at with that look and even better if it was mutual.

“… and then we heard a shot. These were hunters who had seen us…”

I have to admit that looking at Herman is much more pleasant than listening to him. But despite such a pleasure for the eyes, I wanted even more to sleep. And again, I felt a weak tremor in my hands.

As if dumb, I silently poked my wristwatch with my finger and, tilting my head to one side, put two palms on my left cheek, indicating that it was time for me to sleep. Then just as silently I got up from the table and held out my hand to Herman for a goodbye handshake.

Am I doing the right thing saying goodbye to him? I won’t see him early tomorrow morning in his underpants in the kitchen, will I?

Herman got up from the table and, instead of shaking hands, hugged me and patted me on the back.

Unexpected, but nice.

When I was finally in bed, only one thought stayed with me: what was with that whole story about the bear and how did it end?

Part 3

“I think most of us have, at one time or another, dreamed of becoming superheroes. As a child I often had such a desire. And with age, it has not disappeared.

“Once I saw a TV show about how people who survived a lightning strike or just experienced a strong current strike had telepathic abilities, they stopped aging and could see the future. Naturally, a parasitic obsession immediately penetrated my brain, that if I was shocked with electricity, then I would gain some kind of superpower. If I had shown such perseverance in the study of higher mathematics, and not in a manic desire to receive an electric shock then perhaps, I would have achieved outstanding success. So that’s it.

“After that, with great enthusiasm, I tried the following methods: an awl stuck into an outlet, a finger stuck into a light bulb socket and then the most interesting one, a finger stuck into the socket of a circuit breaker in a fuse box. I even lost consciousness from the last method, but unfortunately nothing supernatural was awoken in me.

“A couple of times, maybe, I saw prophetic dreams, but they did not continue. Just so that you don’t think anything bad: I wanted to get at least some kind of superpower, at least something that would help me cope… I was not trying to harm myself. My belief was that the electric shock would benefit me.”

“How old were you then?” the therapist, with smooth movements, made some notes on a tablet lying in her lap.

Maybe she’s just drawing out of boredom?

“Maybe nine or ten…” Lie! Lie! Lie! Lie! Lie! “Or even eight. I don’t remember exactly.” Fourteen or fifteen years old…

“And what would you do if you had superpowers? Let’s imagine that you have the opportunity to choose any three abilities. What would they be and why would you want them?”

“That’s very simple, I don’t even need to think,” I felt enthusiasm waking up in me. “Teleportation, the ability to heal and telekinesis: teleportation for myself, so I could move to any part of the planet in an instant; the ability to heal, so that I could be beneficial to humanity and so that there would be at least some sense to my existence and finally telekinesis which I would use for self-defense. I think that in a world in which I had such abilities, there would be those who would want to kill me because of them.”

“Tell me, how have you been feeling this week?” Maria was still taking some notes.

Wait, I would really like to fantasize some more…

“Do you mean physically?”

“Physically, mentally… Have you felt sad? Has anything upset you? Or have you felt emotionally uplifted? How was your week?”

“Well… I am concerned that sometimes it can be difficult to concentrate on something. Sometimes I just don’t hear what my interlocutor is saying. You know, it flies into one ear and out the other. This happens to me in a literal fashion. At work, in conversations with friends… At some point I catch myself completely immersed in some of my spontaneous reflections and I can’t remember from what moment this happened. I can’t even improvise. I have to smile like a fool and hope that I will not need to connect to the conversation.”

“How long have you noticed such problems with concentration?”

“Yeah well, as long as I can remember. At school I could not learn what was not interesting and this was almost 90% of the educational material. At the institute, I considered myself to be just an inattentive and easily distracted dreamer. But there was one case… Once when my boyfriend and I were having sex… It was almost too late but I caught myself thinking during the process, about the age at which I began to distinguish special effects in films. You know… Understand that they are special effects. It’s good that I came to my senses in time. And lucky the lights were off. This was the first and hopefully the last time I had to fake an orgasm. And for guys mind you, this is much more difficult to do. If there was an Oscar for that I would be the undisputed winner.”

“Were you excited at that moment? Did you want intimacy with your partner or was it,” Maria made a short pause, trying to find the right word, “… routine?”

Why can’t we just call a spade a spade?

“That’s the problem: I was horny and I wanted my boyfriend, but then at some point, I just fell into my own thoughts. And after that incident, not only did I become afraid of dementia, but now even during sex I could not completely relax since I needed to keep my thoughts under control all the time so as not to disappear into them.”

“I understand you. Tell me, how was your week?”

“Like one solid non-stop groundhog day. Every day is similar to the previous ones. I wake up, take a shower, brush my teeth, sometimes have breakfast, trudge to work then go home after work. Oh, and I read.”

“What are you reading?”

“Any literature I can find about mental disorders. Just yesterday I finished reading a book called My Victory Over Bipolar Disorder. I don’t remember the author, some old broad who faked the title about a victory. As it turned out after reading the whole thing there was no actual information about any kind of victory. I even took the time and spent the energy to read all of the author’s thanks at the end of the book, just in case she decided to share her secret there, but nothing, nowhere. The real conclusion of the book is that all your life you will have to take pills and visit psychotherapists, but the most important thing is not to lose your optimism. Why the hell be optimistic when you realize that you will forever need pills just to function? You will need to save and hold onto prescriptions and always have a spare supply. I also read on some forum that bipolar disorder forces us to undergo premature aging with all of its physical and mental degradations, years, even decades, before the due age. Somehow this all greatly lowers my expectations from life, you know. All in all however I had hoped to find at least some useful information for myself…”

“Oleg, I don’t think you should read that kind of literature. In many cases, it is written subjectively and even when people with the same problems as yours start to see improvements, reading such books can only make things worse. Your room mates, how do you communicate with them? Are you friends with them?”

“Yes.” Family.

Maria made it clear with a glance that she was waiting for a more complete answer.

I kind of pay money for the time I spend to deal with my problems, not for talking about my friends.

“We practically did not intersect this past week. The traditional evening board game meeting didn’t even take place yesterday. Amir has some rehearsals. In addition to work, Sopha now also has Herman. By the way, I hadn’t paid attention as to whether he had already stayed with us for the night. So, in fact I only saw Camilla. Have you ever tasted sweet herring? It’s pretty good, I can tell you.”

“So you had no one to share your experiences with this week?”

Well, today is only Saturday, and I am sharing with you.

“Yeah, somehow there was no need. In case of emergency, there is my diary. Generally, perhaps, I have no need to share my cockroaches with anyone. You are an exception, of course. Although I’m not sure it will do any good.”

“Tell me, why do you think that is so?”

“Well… How can I explain it to you? No matter what, all experiences and thoughts cannot be turned into the desired and correct form of words. It would be easier to communicate with telepaths so that they could look into my head and understand what is happening in there. In all honesty, we are all on our own, we are all alone. THERE, in our head, each of us is alone. No one will ever be able to know you completely, your whole world, except yourself. Who will understand your jokes better than anyone? Who doesn’t need to hear an explanation about anything? Who knows all the reasons, details and all of the background for all of your actions and deeds? So why share this with someone when they can only listen to you but not understand, and when in doing so you can’t even find relief. I don’t know. This does not apply to you, I’m just thinking out loud, so to speak.”

The therapist smiled.

As soon as I was outside after the session with Maria, my mobile rang.

“Hi Mom.”

“Hello son. How are you? What are you doing?”

“Everything is fine. I was with friends at the climbing wall. We had a lot of fun. I’m going home now. Probably stop by Starbucks on the way, grab a coffee and take a leisurely stroll through the park. How are you? How are things there?”

“Sounds wonderful! I’m fine. I watched the clip that you sent me on Facebook, they did a really great job. Ordinary mannequins look so animated! And my attention was drawn to what you were talking about: you really get the feeling that you can read live emotions on their faces. But this is thanks to the music and the work of the camera operator, of course.”

“Of course, that is what was intended,” I smiled. “What are you planning to do in the evening?”

“I don’t even know. I’ll read a book or watch a movie. I still can’t believe that starting Monday I am officially retired.”

“Sounds good too. Have a nice evening then?”

“Yes, then have a good evening, see you soon.”

“Until next time, I love you.”

“And I love you.”

Mom gave birth to me at the age of 26, on February 29. I was not a planned child. As my mother once said, the birth went easily and almost imperceptibly: “There I was being taken to the maternity ward and then suddenly you were in my arms.”

For as long as I can remember, she never raised her voice at me, and there were no conflicts between us. She talked to me on equal terms, as with a friend. For me, she too was and remains a friend or an older sister. It seems to me that there is no suitable age to become a parent. I remember myself at the age of 26, I had the same mindset as at 17. Mom was not ready to become a mother, but decided to deal with problems as they came. So, after my appearance, we began to grow together, and now our friendship is 30 years old.

When I was in my senior year, I decided it was TIME. It was time to tell mom that her son was gay. In early June, she came to visit me when I got my diploma in higher education. The day before graduation, I took her on a walk at the botanical garden.

Since it is impossible to mentally prepare for something like that, I decided to just spit it out, so to speak. I thought it would be like tearing off a Band-Aid. But it turned out that the Band-Aid was very well stuck and it took a lot of effort to tear it off.

We found a cozy bench under a large linden tree, and I decided that there would be no more opportune moment than now.

“Mom… I…”

“What?”

The pause lasted about 10 seconds, but it felt like about 20 minutes.

It was like pulling the trigger of a pistol at your head.

“What are you? Sick or something?”

Pull yourself together! Be a man!

“I’m…” Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! “Gay…”

Well, that’s it. You said it. YOU DID IT!

Mom gave out a nervous laugh. It was clear that she had not yet fully digested the news she had just heard. The silence lasted 10 seconds.

“Maybe you’re just bi?”

Out of my worry, I could not quite understand whether she had seriously asked that or was trying to make a joke.

“No, Mommy, it’s already definite.”

Probably, every person has had moments when they could say that their lives were divided into “before and after” a certain event. For some it’s the birth of a child and for others it’s receiving an Oscar for the leading male role in a foreign film, for example. I had several such situations when I thought: This is it! Now I will definitely be able to divide my life into “before and after” this moment, now everything will be different. And, perhaps, this conversation was the first of such delusions. The before was life in the closet, the after was the coming out in a small circle of people, the first of whom was my mother.

“When did you understand this? Have you had girls?”

Here we goooooooo…

“I have known about it since kindergarten. More precisely the first signs were in kindergarten.”

“First signs? What are you talking about?”

“When the older brother of a girl in our group came to get her, I was just dumbfounded, he seemed so handsome to me. How old was I then? Five, I guess. At the time I did not attach much importance to it but that was the first alarm bell. Yes, I had girls.”

In fact, I had not been with a girl but in order to avoid questions like “How can you claim that you are gay if you haven’t had a girlfriend?” I decided to lie.

“Mom, there is, in fact, nothing surprising. Everything started in early childhood. Do you remember the first audio cassette you gave me?” I tried to move the conversation into a more comic tone.

“Which one?”

“The George Michael Older3 album.”

“What’s the connection?” It was visible that mom was holding back tears.

“Well, George Michael is famously openly gay. And there was the first birthday present I remember? The small PINK electronic piano, it was as if you and father were hinting to me: ‘Son, you will soon find that you like boys’. ” A nervous laugh escaped my lips. “This is not my choice or preference. I was born this way and there is nothing you can do about it, and I want to say right away that this is not your or anyone else’s fault. It just happened and nothing can be changed.”

Mom covered her face with her hands, and her shoulders began to tremble.

This is not fair. I don’t have to make excuses. I haven’t done anything wrong.

A wave of cold anger swept over me.

“Mom, it’s okay. Look,” my voice sounded firm and detached, “I love you and I don’t want to lie to you anymore. I lied to you before because I love you. And now I am telling you the truth, because I love you. I want to be extremely honest with you and I want you to take part in my REAL life, in the one I did not tell you about. Therefore, all tears from this news cry here and now. We’ll sit here as long as it takes you to calm down, and then I suggest we go to the movies.”

It took mom about three months to get used to the idea that she would not have grandchildren, and that if she suddenly for some reason did, then they would have two dads. But by September we had mutual jokes about my orientation and I could calmly discuss guys with her and call a spade a spade.

“Hello, are you hungry? There is a pan of pies with feta cheese and herbs in the refrigerator.” Camilla was sitting at the kitchen table over another spread of cards.

She is spending too much time with her Tarot cards. This week I always find her at the cards.

“Cool! You are a God send! Should I warm up enough for two? Are the guys at home?”

“Amir is the host at some event today. My sister is sleeping with Herman. Everything seems to be serious. I’ve already eaten, warm some up for yourself, and please put on the kettle, we’ll have tea together.”

There were about 20 patties in the pan. I put five on my plate and put it in the microwave to warm them up. Then I put the kettle on to boil. All this time Cam was staring intently at the layout of the cards.

“What do the cards say? What or whose fortune are you reading?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Camilla put together the seven cards laid out in front of her and returned them to the deck. “I have spent much too long with them today…”

Sitting at the table, we didn’t ask each other how we were doing. The conversation did not go well. After discussing the unpredictable weather, we each sunk into our own thoughts. I tried to at least pretend to be thinking about something significant and serious. I think that this evening Camilla is not in the mood to talk about her problems or listen to mine. We seemed to be in accordance with this. I promised myself to definitely talk to her tomorrow during the day, ask what is happening in her life, why she seemed so sad tonight, maybe suggest watching some movie together, without waiting for Sophia and Amir. But I will try to do all this tomorrow. Not today. I hope this doesn’t make me a bad friend.

“Thank you very much, everything was really very tasty,” having finished my tea and finished my portion of pies, I got up from the table to put the dishes in the sink.

“Don’t screw yourself up,” Cam smiled.

The electronic timer on the microwave showed ten o’clock in the evening.

“What are you planning to do now?”

“I thought about reading, maybe I’ll give myself a manicure…”

“So, you’re going to take a nap?”

“You know me too well.”

“Leave the mug. I’ll wash the dishes, go rest.”

Camilla stretched, got up from the table and, wishing me good night, went to her room.

Heavy rain began again outside the window. After washing the dishes, I turned off the lights in the kitchen and climbed onto the windowsill in the dark. Crossing my legs, I made myself comfortable and began to observe the poor fellows out on the street who were taken by surprise by the weather. My attention was attracted to a girl in a dress with a crinoline4, as if from some old film. She stood out not so much because of her drunk zigzag gait, but due to a truly gigantic braid wrapped around her neck, the belt and dragging behind her dress. Apparently, someone is having a really bad day today. The girl approached the pedestrian crossing, and two passing cars, one after the other, splashed the poor thing from a large puddle. Even from the fifth floor, I could see her pointing her middle finger after them.

The rain intensified as if it was the tropics. Sadness, like a sucking leech, throbbed in my chest. I wanted to drink a dose of antidepressants twice the prescribed dose. Maybe I will. Tomorrow is still Sunday. I had until Monday to hang around.

I think I dozed off by the window. I don’t know how much time has passed, but my legs were already numb and my knees crunched when I began to straighten them.

There was the sound of a turning key in the front door lock. I walked barefoot into the corridor. On the threshold stood the same girl with the giant braid and a very familiar face.

“Amir?”

“I hate children’s holidays.” His mascara had run from the water and was smeared all over his face.

“Are you Rapunzel?”

I put in a lot of effort to contain my laughter, as judging by the look on his face, his appearance and what I had observed from the window, my friend’s day had not really worked out.

“No, I’m her balding half-sister.” Amir closed the door behind him and took off his wig.

“How much did you drink?”

“Not enough to make it through this day. Not e-n-o-u-g-h.”

“Give me a five, buddy,” I put my hand up. “…go change your clothes, while I warm up the pies and wait in the kitchen for you and your story, the one about from which fairy tale such a beauty has come to our house.”

Part 4

Levy and Ethan blocked the door with a dresser. Caleb sat in the far corner of the room, his hand clutching the wound on his shoulder. The blood had practically stopped, but a tight bandage was still needed.

“So, what’s next? We’re at an impasse!” Sandra sat down on the floor next to Caleb, her arms wrapped around her knees.

The room was square. The floor, walls and ceiling were of light wood and in many places there was a black mold growing. Levy had the impression that the room resembled the color of a Dalmatian. The only light sources were the three kerosene lamps that the guys were holding.

“The main thing is to be quiet. Let’s wait a few hours.” Levy took one of the corners in the room.

“This is a weird place.” Ethan opened the top drawer of nightstand. “Why, out of all possible furniture there is only this nightstand?”

“Is that the only thing that interests you now?” Caleb spoke in a whisper.

“Guys, look…” Ethan pulled out a large rusty dagger from the second drawer. “Is this what I think it is?”

Sandra jumped to her feet and backed away into a free corner. Her knees bent backwards with a crunch.

“You’re not Sandra…” Caleb didn’t even turn his head in her direction. It seemed that a little more and he would lose consciousness.

“No, but I have her skin on,” pseudo-Sandra smiled, showing her mouth full of needle like teeth. “It was necessary to make friends with you pigs.”

“Who is he?” Ethan held out the dagger in front of him, pointing it towards the creature hiding behind the facade of his sister. “Who’s in charge? Who the hell did all this?!”

“Mine? Our mother, my little brother. I will say one thing: he is not such a honey as me. And I think that you will soon see for yourself.”

The Sinnerman5 song on the alarm clock announced that the time for the Morning Pages was over and it was time to get ready for an appointment with the therapist. The guys had already gone about their business. It wasn’t that we hadn’t had a good conversation in recent weeks it was the fact that there just wasn’t one. Everyone had plunged into their own lives at once, into their own worries. The traditional Friday gatherings in the kitchen had ceased. It was good that at least Camille’s culinary exploits remained unchanged. A paper sticker was stuck to the microwave, on which it was written in her handwriting:

Banal pumpkin puree with potatoes and cheese.

Warm up for a minute at medium power.

Bon appetit and have a nice day. Kisses.

“Why not register on a thematic dating site? There are many applications on your topic.” Maria crossed her arms over her chest.

If my memory serves me, then this gesture can mean that the interlocutor is unpleasant to her? That is, I.

“You feel like a piece of meat in the market on those sites, and in my opinion, there are mainly only three types of personalities.

“The first is the handsome men with the bodies of Greek gods, who believe that the time spent in the gym equates to: “I worked too hard and went through too much in my life to make any more efforts, so everyone owes me.” To be honest, I am a little afraid of such people because I don’t know how to behave with them at all or what to talk about. In the company of such people, an inferiority complex can develop but usually all you can say about such people is “just a beautiful wrapper’ and, perhaps, that’s all, just a pretty wrapper. If such a demigod is dating someone, then most likely it is not just dating but most likely he needs something from his partner.

“Then you suspect the insincerity of those in whom the incompatible is combined: beauty, intelligence and a big heart. If you meet such a person, all the time you ask yourself: “What’s the catch?” Therefore, you can never enjoy such a relationship.

“The second type are wealthy mature men who are looking for young people of the first type and ready to support them.

“The third type is married or don’t really care and do not want anything more serious than sex. Almost 90% want to meet tall, muscular guys with no complex.

“In general, through the efforts of millions of modern gays, classical “masculinity’ has become some kind of obligatory standard of sexuality, while any manifestation of “femininity’, on the contrary, is undesirable and asexual.

“At the same time, guys who do not fit or simply do not want to fit into the framework are humiliated not only by heterosexuals, but also by those who should understand their feelings better than anyone else, other homosexuals. That is, this is a kind of homophobia among gays!”

“What type do you consider yourself to be?”

Heck…

“Probably some fourth subtype. When the waves of loneliness hit me, I started an account on Hornet and Surge6, with the intention of treating myself and sex less seriously but as soon as I came across photos of the first type of profiles with their requests ‘tall and muscular’, I began to freak out, it woke personality complexes in me and I deleted my profile… And so, two or three times a month it happened. I understand that I am reasoning like a prude, but this is my mood now. Maybe I don’t really think so… I don’t know… I don’t want to think that I am a hypocrite, and I myself would not mind dating a tall and muscular guy. Oh, how I am not against that. I would like to think that inner qualities come first for me, and it’s okay if a little fat comes with them. I don’t know this topic is somehow painful for me… At the moment…”

“And now? Have you tried dating? Why don’t you have a boyfriend now?”

“Because I have the desire, but not the strength.”

“What is that like? Explain.”

“Well, I’ll try…”

“I want to be taken care of and listened to. I want to be the center of the world. I want sensual sex, touching, I will not voice all my sexual fantasies, but this is all one-sided. This is much more than what I am ready to and able to give. Sometimes I just don’t even have the strength to keep the conversation going. I don’t know if it’s the depression or because of taking medication, but as soon as I have the intention of meeting someone, I remember that I will need to talk about myself and listen to the interlocutor and, you know, the enthusiasm immediately disappears. I do not have enough tactile sensations, and sometimes out of loneliness I want to climb up a wall, but then I understand that this may be just an attack of lust, a release of hormones. After all, what happens after I get sex and attention? I don’t know what to do next. After all, it would be necessary to maintain a conversation and somehow continue to interact, and right now I am not capable of most of the above. I hope that I somehow get better and that I will not be an eternal soufflé.”

“I understand you…”

“You know, I was not always such a whiner,” I interrupted, “before I used to be the soul of any company, I could find a common language with everyone. And now, this is the only place where I can speak out.” I shrugged. “Where else can I moan and groan if not with you?”

“I understood you,” Maria smiled.

The session’s time was coming to an end.

“Tell me, when do you have a meeting with Arthur?”

“Oh, not soon. He is leaving with his family on vacation and said that he would write to me and tell me when he will return. So, we have not even discussed the date of the next session.”

“Oleg, next week I am leaving to study, and then I also have a vacation.”

Well isn’t this the shit… What else can I say…?

“And what am I supposed to do without you…?”

“Support groups are held on Saturdays. They are supervised by a good specialist.”

“A support group? So, I won’t be alone? It’s not individual?”

“Yes, but such sessions also have a positive effect, just like individual therapy.”

No. No. No. This is definitely not for me.

“How much do they cost?”

“I will talk to them and make sure that they will be free for you. Since Arthur and I are leaving you so suddenly and for a while.”

Yeah… Thanks for that.

“OK, thanks. Then you will also let me know when you will return?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Then you have a productive study and a good vacation.”

I decided to go home by a different route. I just put the headphones in my ears, turned on the player and started walking, not really choosing the route. Since tomorrow is a day off, I can go to bed later than usual.

After 40 minutes of walking, a desire came over me to go into the park and smell the lilacs. All that remained was to find a park. All around me there were only office buildings. I had never been to this area. It was probably a business district.

I got a coffee to go in the first cafe I came across and wanted to sit on a bench, put the player in my backpack and listen to my own thoughts. I decided not to take off my sunglasses so that I could sit with my eyes closed.

10 seconds after my plan was in place the pungent smell of unwashed body and alcohol hit my nose. I opened my eyes and slowly turned my head to the right, there was no one there, and then I slowly turned my head to the left.

“You remind me of my grandson.”

A bearded old man, not really dressed for the weather, was looking at me. It felt like the temperature outside was close to summer and the strong-smelling character was dressed in a winter down jacket, a hat and slippers covering woolen socks. Everything about his appearance and smell spoke of the fact that he lives on the street.

Oh, no, no, no. There are plenty of free benches around…

“Really? Why?”

“You look sad.”

Where the hell did you come from?

“And does your grandson often look sad?”

“Not anymore. He died.”

Well hell in a handbasket…

“My condolences.”

“Everything’s fine. That’s life.”

Something needs to be said. Something needs to be said.

“What happened to him?”

“Drug overdose.”

“Do you have anyone besides him? Any relatives?”

“Of course, thanks to them I ended up on the street.”

Wonderful… Should I keep the conversation going somehow?

Despite the smell that was bringing tears to my eyes there was an urge to hug the poor fellow.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, dear boy, thanks. I have a place to sleep. Don’t pay attention to my appearance, it’s not as bad as it looks… or smells.”

I opened my backpack to get some money out but the old man stopped me.

“If you want to give me money, I don’t need it. I’ll drink it away anyway. I think I have two or three days left. I can feel it. You know, I’ve lived a bright, eventful life. So bright that there are not enough colors to describe it.”

And was it worth it?

“Please wait here. I’ll be right back!”

I ran back to the cafe where I had gotten myself a coffee to buy some food for the poor fellow but when I returned, he was no longer there. I left a paper bag with a double cheeseburger, three meat patties and a large bottle of mineral water on the bench. Hopefully when I leave the old man will come back and notice the package. And he can eat before he dies.

Despite the fact that it was approaching sunset, I did not want to take off my dark glasses, as in them I could look at the guys I liked who were passing by without fear that someone would notice. Walking along a narrow one-way street, I noticed a sign which said The CLOUD ROOM Art Gallery. As I approached the entrance, my attention was drawn to a poster with a picture of a tall, slender guy in white swimming trunks and a rabbit mask. One the image was printed, in bold red typeface:

THE LAST DAY OF THE EXHIBITION

“THE OUTCAST”

FREE ADMISSION

I looked around cautiously. Not that I was afraid that someone would notice my interest in a guy in swimming trunks… Although… Who am I kidding??? I felt like a little boy who should never be seen doing anything wrong in front of adults… So, they must not, God forbid, see me staring at a man’s body… in swimming trunks… and a rabbit mask.

The gallery consisted of four large white rooms, the walls of which were hung with framed photographs. All the photos showed the same guy in swimming trunks and a rabbit mask.

Why was the exhibition called the Outcast? He’s alone here. Although… Maybe only outcasts come to see him? That is, the name is not about who is in the photo, but about those who look at him…

Apart from me, the only person in the gallery was the girl at the small reception desk, who was so carried away by the correspondence on her phone that, most likely, she did not notice that I walked past her.

The hero of the photo history was depicted in different life situations, places and countries. The only invariable attributes were his white swimming trunks and mask.

I was most attracted by a picture taken in a swimming pool. The hero was lying in the water, posing like a five-pointed star and looking at the sky. There was something soothing and peaceful about it.

“Awesome, huh?”

I shuddered at the sudden question behind me.

From where the hell are people suddenly appearing out of the blue all day?!

The question was asked by a tall handsome man of about forty. He was dressed in jeans and a jacket over a white T-shirt. A bit unsuitable for the weather, but it suited him very well.

Need to say something! Need to say something! Don’t be silent!

“Yeah…” I swallowed loudly.

You’re the king of eloquence!

“Dimitry.” the man held out his hand to me.

“Oleg. Very nice to meet you.” I answered with a handshake.

Very, very, very nice!

Dimitry Dima went up to the next photo. It showed the same guy, in the same swimming trunks and mask. He was standing on the edge of the roof of a multi-story building.

“What good lies ahead? What can be expected?”

Dimitry looked at the picture and I didn’t quite understand (or rather, I didn’t understand at all) whether the question was addressed at me or whether he was just voicing thoughts out loud.

“The End of the World?”

The main thing is not to start imagining our life together ahead of time.

“Isn’t that a movie?”

What the hell are we talking about?

Answering the question what I meant was the death that awaits the hero when he takes a step into the abyss.

“How did you find out about this exhibition?” I plucked up the courage to get personal and direct the conversation into neutral territory.

“I am the owner of this gallery,” Dimitry smiled shyly. So! I’ve fallen in love! How cool you are! “We’re just about to close… The end of the working day…”

Kill me, please, someone…

Well hell! Why is it every time someone shows me attention, I immediately regard it as the beginning of a relationship or almost a declaration of love?! You can’t do that. You can’t. Can’t can’t can’t can’t.

“Oh, yes, of course, I beg your pardon…” I said fussily, “I was just leaving.”

…to try to heal my pride and self-esteem…

“Sorry sir, so…”

When you address me formally I feel even more humiliated. You goat!

“No, it’s all right,” I interrupted, “I just need to take a… tram.”

What tram? You dumbass. You take the subway.

I turned around and headed for the exit.

“Next week there will be an interesting exhibition. We will be anxiously waiting for you.”

“Oh, screw you!”

Oh my God! Did I say that out loud?!

I flew out of the gallery like a bullet and ran to the first intersection to hide around the corner and try to survive the surging waves of shame, awkwardness and self-loathing.

Not my day. Not my day. Today is definitely not my day.

The desire to find a park and smell the lilacs now seemed like something distant, like some old childhood memory. Now I just wanted to get home, go to bed and figure out what to do with myself.

I’ve had enough for today. It can’t go on like this.