[sosolala]

Перебирала я сегодня свои старые бумаги с целью найти один рецепт. В итоге поиски закочились массовым выбрасыванием старых распечаток и конспектов еще с тех времен, когда я училась в первом университете тут. И в процессе всего этого безжалостного неистовства, я наткнулась на свой рассказ.

Написала я его для курса "Advanced Language Course", то бишь английский для продвинутых. Нам показали одну картину, на которой стояла одинокая босая девушка, ночью, посередине улицы, позади нее стояло такси с распахнутой дверью, в котором на заднем сиденье сидел мужчина, а позади нее в дали мигал огоньками одинокий дом. Очень колоритная картина, скажу я вам. До сих пор помню. А задание было - написать рассказ, который оканчивался бы именно этой сценой. Вот я и написала, и забыла.

А сейчас достала, прочла пару строк, и мне подумалось, а ведь очень неплохо получилось... Ну а чтоб он не затерялся опять в бумажках, переписала его сюда.

Датирован 17 ноября 2009. Названия нет. Того, кто может быть, все-таки рискнет его прочитать (чему я была бы очень рада, кстати сказать), сразу предупреждаю - он довольно длинный.

***

Thank God, the night was warm. It was that kind of summer night, when the asphalt is still even a bit too hot after the very sunny day, but the wind is mild and very pleasant. Thank God, because I didn't have much clothes on (or with me, for that matter), and I was wearing no shoes. I was glad I'd managed to get out of that house alive, so putting on some shoes hadn't been my number one priority, you see.

***

You know how some people live. When they are born, they have their loving mom and dad, probably even a sibling, who is looking forward to them growing up, so that they have an eager playmate at home. When they reach teenagehood, they meet some nice guy or girl to hook up with. They have friends. A lot of friends. They get pretty much everything they want - from a laptop to a shiny new car. Then they go to university, get a degree, find a nice job, meet the right person, marry him or her, have kids. "And they lived happily ever after. The End."

My life had never been that kind of life. I never knew my dad, He knocked up my mom and left her, because he was too young to get married and too cowardly to take responsibility. As far as I know, he later found a woman who managed to put her hands on him and made him marry her. I think she was exactly the right woman for him, because they are still together and have "two lovely sons", as my mom used to say sarcastically.

My mom died when I was eleven. She was a very kind and caring mother to me, and she was always honest when it came to her and my dad's relationship, but she was also a bitter, lonely woman. I wish she had spared me some of the "truth" about my dad. I'd rather he had died defending the innocent, or saving kids from a burning house, or any other lie she could have come up with.

So, where was I? Oh yes, my mom died when I was eleven. The doctors and the official report said she had died of cancer, but I think it was her bitterness that killed her. Anyway, I was left to my grandma. She replaced my mom for me in every sense; the only thing she couldn't do was to make me smile again and be happy and unaware of the "big, grey world" as an eleven-year old kid should be. I mean, when you are eleven, you are supposed to look at the world with shining, innocent eyes, aren't you? Well, as for me, I think I grew up too early.

That is probably why I didn't have any friends at school. I had always been very reserved anyway. Now, I was, frankly speaking, bored with my classmates and with their silly problems, like having to spend every other weekend with the divorced dad and his new family. I thought to myself, "Be happy you HAVE a dad". Obviously, I'd inherited my mom's bitterness, if it is something one can inherit. By the time I was, at last, done with my reservedness and her bitterness, and tried to start a new life with a new me, I was already known as a local freak; no one wanted to notice that I had done some hard work on my own to change myself, and had even succeeded in it. I remained a "weirdo" right up to the last grade.

Then I went to university, and those were the happiest days of my whole miserfuckingable life. I had always wanted to be a surgeon, but, to my own great surprise, when it came to finally choosing a career, I chose to become a forensic autopsist, and I must say, it was the right choice. I had wonderful people I studied with, a lot of fun, parties and get-togethers plus I liked what I studied. I wanted to help people when no one else could help them any more; I wanted to seek justice for them if one can say that.

My luck failed me again when I graduated from university. No one in my town actually believed in women-autopsists. Strange as it was, in our time of the emancipation of women and female activism, I had to virtually bite and claw my way into the autopsy center in our local police department. There were plenty of women technicians, women assistants, women secretaries, but there were no women autopsists. I became the first of the kind. It was my true victory, but my bitterness came back to me. I felt suspicious and scornful glances follow me everywhere I went during the first year I worked there. Only after that did it get slightly better. Naturally, it wasn't always that bad, but believe me, often enough to drive someone mad.

And then I met Jeremy.

I had never fallen in love with anybody. I guess I couldn't allow myself that kind of vulnerability. But this time, almost against my own free will, I was utterly, unconditionally in love with that man. And he seemed to be in love with me too. At least, I think he truely believed in it. It was so fairy-tale-like that I had no second thoughts when he proposed to me after 6 months of dating. I said "yes". And I anticipated my own "happily ever after".

This anticipation ended with our first big fight, seven months after the wedding. He punched me right in the face. I hadn't cheated on him, or stolen his money, or crashed his car, no such thing. I just wanted to go out with my friends, and he got jealous. He cut my upper lip and I crawled into the bathroom, covered in my own saliva, blood and tears. What I didn't know then was that it was just the tip of the iceberg. I won't go through all the stories; it would be enough to mention that with time, the blows grew harder, the reasons that had triggered them - smaller. Last time I ended up in hospital; he drove me there himself. At the reception desk he said that I had fallen prey to a gang of "young bastards" when I was walking home late in the evening. "No, we don't want to file charges. Why? I don't know, my wife has let me know she doesn't want to, haven't you, my mouse?" I could only mumble in return, - my jaw was broken. Oh, and my left arm too, but that isn't really important for the ability to speak, is it?

You ask me why I haven't left him? I can't answer that question, because I don't know why. I think most women who are beaten by their husbands and still stay with them don't know the answer either. It's just the way some things are.

Anyway, after a week in hospital and another 2 months recovering I was in good physical shape again. And Jeremy was nice and loving, even more then before. Until today, anyway. Today was a normal sunny day, normal in every sense; and I got an ordinary phone call, from one of my former university friends. He was back in town, after so many years, and wanted to see me. And I swear I said, "No, I can't, I'm too busy". But Jeremy had overheard me and he got two things: a male name and cheerfulness in my voice. It was enough for him to draw his own conclusions.

When I hung up, I saw him approaching me with a bat in his hand, hanging almost nonchalantly, calm eyes, and a smile playing on his lips. I think that smile frightened me most. I had seen his enraged face plenty of times, I knew it too well. But I had never seen that smile. And I knew at that moment "That's it. I'm going to die." No more hospitals, no more gangs of young bastards.

I can't say for sure what happened then. I had some sort of blackout, I guess. I think I smashed a glass salad bowl on his head, but I'm not sure. What I do remember is that one minute he was approaching me and the next minute he was lying on the floor, moaning. I grabbed the first clothes my eyes fell upon and fled out of the house and on to the street. I ran until my feet went out of my control and I had to stop, and then I looked back. All the lights in the house were still on, but there were no signs of Jeremy, neither on the street, nor moving around the house. I sighed. And then I heard a car approaching behind my back.

***

I swivelled around, horrified, but immediately relaxed: it was just a cab, with a young couple on the back seat. The cab screeched to a halt, and the woman jumped out of the car, threw back smiling, "I'll be back in five sec" and disappeared inside the nearest house. The man stayed inside, with the back door still swung open. He was waiting for his girl, paying no attention to a strange petite barefoot woman standing in the middle of the road, with a crazy look in her eyes. I was nothing, I was a blind spot. I guess it had always been so, more or less. And I thought at that moment that there was not a single person in the world who would wait for me like that. I turned away.