Another morning. 0940 hours, Sunday. Weather condition: pretty good. It's actually surprising that I'm not starting my morning with anger at something, even though I have plenty of things to hate. Like this phone, for example. An oversized piece of junk that belongs in a technological landfill, that for many reasons should be forgotten, and yet here it is, in my hand, and I'm even okay with it. I guess it's the realization that I simply don't have another phone or any way of getting another phone.

I rise from my greasy bed. The sheets and duvet are crumpled to the point of squalor, and the pillow looks as if it had been sitting on well before I picked it up and stuffed it under my head. Looking at where I was sleeping, I even felt sorry for myself, not in a bad way, but in a good way (if there is a good and bad meaning to such a word). I get a stool from the kitchen, put a rolled-up blanket on it, and a pillow on top. It turns out to be such an interesting, very delicate and very fragile construction that it is best to avoid it at a distance of three miles. Then I take the edges of the sheet and lurch it – the sheet rises like a wave, settling down almost perfectly. I tuck the edges in, then spread out the rest.

Although my bed is greasy and dusty and dirty and old and shabby, it is pleasant to look at it now, assembled. There is even a kind of joy in it – a very old joy in what was preserved for some special occasion. Or a very simple occasion, like this one.

The room is somehow dim, and I pull back the thick curtains. Light seeps through the dusty windows, like fruit juice – if that were the case, I'd set out a few glasses, and taste the photon juice. The layer of dust is quite thin, but it's already thick enough to prevent me from really looking outside, but I already know what the landscape outside the window will be like – sad, dreary, abandoned, desolate, and a bunch of other words that fit this place.

The silence is beginning to make me sick. That feeling, when I feel my body twisting, bending into pretzels of non-Euclidean geometry like I'm off drugs and experiencing abstinence – that's the one I hate the most. I should be doing something. It's weird that I feel this way on Sunday, a day my body knows more about than the rest of the week. It's not even clear what's causing it.

Well, how to say unclear: I know the reason, it's a flat. But I don't know why I feel strange. I don't know why I feel this way at this moment. In general, everything is strange and incomprehensible, but that's why life is life, that it's strange and incomprehensible.

In keeping with my poetic view of the world, I thought about leisure activities. It's like walking to Washington, D.C. – it doesn't start until almost midnight. Plenty of time. I don't even want to be happy that it's going so slowly. I should do something to pass the time and stop feeling like a drug addict.

The floor is dusty again. The shelves where the books I 'read' are kept are very, very bad. The kitchen is no better. I won't even mention the toilet. Yeah…

I rush into the kitchen to get a brush and start a leisurely clean. The brush sweeps across the laminate floor, picking up a layer of dirt. It's strange, I don't seem to walk around in my shoes very often, and yet this layer is still there, still somehow formed on my floor.

This minute, as I was running the brush back and forth, gathering all the dirt into a single mound, I was thinking about the past. Not that I hate my past, no – it's still a part of me, and when I hate a part of myself, it's not far from complete self-hatred. Not far, because my current state and environment would easily push me over the edge.

And yet I think of it. Thinking, while methodically running this brush across the floor. Thinking, while picking up the dirt into the dustpan. Thinking, while throwing the dirt into the darkness of the bin.

I just can’t stop thinking about it, it seems. As if it just sucks me in and doesn’t let me go out of it. Like a whirlpool or something.

After I’m done with brushing the floor, I return the brush to its place and sit down on the bed. What do I do now? Today’s the flatshow, but it starts at around 11 PM or so. What to do in the meantime?

I stand up. The least I can do is to stop sitting around here like a buffoon. I should walk around the town, to… mentally prepare for anything that could come my way on the flatshow.

I walk over to the hallway, get my boots on, and leave my apartment. Soon enough, I’m outside on the streets. Looking so desolate and so boring. With no destination in mind, I began to walk out of this district.

The streets here are always empty. Despite me hearing noises from the alleys, from the closed doors inside the stairwells of some okay-looking apartment complexes, I don’t notice anyone walking outside. Not even a junkie or a hobo. It makes me feel like the sole reason why this place still exists. The first goal – move out of this hellhole.

Before I know it, I make my way into the nicer districts. The pavements here are not permeated by cracks, and they look clean. As much as this concrete can look clean. The buildings are not confining me at all, they look like typical bystanders, like those strangers walking past me. Makes me feel a bit freer than when I’m in my little hellhole, where those torn buildings make me feel guilty, as if I was the one who brought that demise onto them.

As I notice where I am, I suddenly remember where to go now. A park, not so far away. As much as it looks the same as the park near my district (desolate and lifeless), here, I believe, it’ll make me think differently.

I turn around the corner of the store I was walking past, and immediately notice the park not so far away from me. I speed up my pace, cross the road and step onto the park’s pavement. It all looks the same: yellow moisty leaves, spikes of black dead trees, the overcast sky, the pale gray concrete paths, the empty benches… It is all the same as I’ve seen before, but here I strangely feel different. Maybe it’s because this district itself looks way nicer.

I walk around, slowly, in peaceful solitude. I don’t even feel the autumn cold now. My mind feels cleansed from any worries at all. Not even a single doubt that anything will go wrong. This place is definitely magical. Or is it just me? Me and my constant lifelessness, that pushes people away from me? Me and my desire to just be human all over again, despite what I had to go through in the army? Me and my will to feel something for someone who feels something for me? Questions, but no answers whatsoever…

I sigh, automatically, and sit on the nearest bench I find. It’s cold, but I don’t mind. It’s also looking quite new, which I like. The fat wide planks of this bench are varnished so much the wood looks almost black. Well, it isn’t black like those naked trees, so there’s that.

I take out my pack of Papieros, open it, and take one stick out. Then I find my lighter, light the Papieros, and take a drag. Papieros… The name’s funny. Makes it feel more like something that came from Cuba or something, not Eastern Europe.

Should I move to normal cigarettes sometime? I mean, Papieros are cheaper, yes, and they come in those huge packs with, like, fifty of them inside. But with cigarettes, you don’t need to worry about if they’re good. There are only three brands of Papieros that are good for my taste, but any cigarette I had to smoke (even the forbidden “Java” sticks!) is good no matter how shitty it can be produced.

No. I shouldn’t think about smoking normal cigs. I shouldn’t even think about smoking Papieros. I should drop this habit, no matter if it makes me feel good. I need to stop smoking. Today is the day, I hope.

I finish this Papieros and toss it into the ashtray, mounted on top of the trashcan. I still feel the pack inside my pockets, but I am using all my willpower not to take it out, to have another smoke. I’m stronger than this. I know I am.

As I tremble inside myself, fighting the urge to smoke, I look around the park. Suddenly, of all the people I could notice, I see Reed, just wandering around in solitude, just like I did a couple of minutes ago. It’s so strange to see him, but in the meantime, it’s so nice to see someone who I can talk to.

He notices me, staring at him. On his face, a smile appears. He quickly walks over to me and sits down on the bench. We shake hands.

— Never expected to see you here, – I say.

— Yeah, likewise! – Reed replies. – What are you doing around here? Just wandered off?

— Yeah, just wanted to walk around, – I reply.

He leans into the backrest and sinks in. His legs are stretched outwards, crossed one on another. He is relaxed. Good on him.

— So, like, what are you going to do today? – Reed asks.

— Eh, nothing much, – I say and wave my hand to the side. – Just do bits here and there, and then I’ll get to a flatshow.

— A flatshow? – Reed asks. – Like, the one my lil’ Reeda attends?

— Yeah.

He smiles bright.

— That’s… interesting, – he says.

— Yeah. I hope she will fucking rule it.

— I hope so too. She prepared for this for so long… I can’t even remember when I saw her at the drums with such a determined look before. Lately she was really, really preparing for the flatshow. Like, maybe a week ago or so, she just came out of the college and straight behind a drumset. That’s the level of determination all of us need sometimes.

I don’t reply – just nod. After looking into the pavement for some time, he looks at me.

— So, like, you have someone who will take you there? Or are you just going to be alone?

— I have.

— Oh, wait! Nevermind, sorry for asking. I just forgot who you were to that girl… What’s her name, again?

— Sera. Are you sure you… didn’t take anything before, Reed? Like, carfe or shit?

— No, no, no. I’m clean, Greene. Clean as all hell. I took carfe… a decade ago or so. The last time. It felt nice, but I knew this must end.

— You did it for Reeda I assume?

He looked at me quite surprised, but then he smiled again.

— Yeah… For my little Reeda.

He said it with some kind of awe, he said it so childishly, it almost made me tear up. And I was still fighting my urge to smoke in the meantime, making this process even harder.

— You know… I never thought before that I could be a nice parent, – Reed says. – I mean, I am a nice person! I’m always relaxed, I always try to understand people before doing shit and such… But I just never thought that I could become a good father to anyone. Despite my dad saying otherwise. I just never believed in this.

— Let me guess, – I interfered, – it was because of your carfe addiction?

Reed just nods.

— Let me ask you something, – I say, – do you think I make a good… partner? I am still confused at what I am to Sera, and I don’t exactly know how to react to what she does. I just don’t know what to do, and… that makes me feel like I am failing an opportunity after an opportunity.

Reed looks at me. He smiles warmly at me, and puts his hand on my back.

— I get what you feel. I was where you are now. Confused, afraid. And it’s okay. It’s okay to be confused and afraid. You’ll learn. For sure. And, answering your question… You are nice, Greene. To me, to my daughter and her lover, to Sera… Being nice gets you a long way, get it? Not only that, you are honest. You are trying to not hide anything from your friends, and that will get you a lot, too. Even if you feel like people will turn away from you if you will be honest, it just means they can’t withstand it.

Thanks, Reed, but you still don’t get shit. I hide a lot of things. Like, a huge lot.

I wait for a second, digesting his words, before replying:

— Thanks.

He gives me another warm smile.

— You’re welcome. If you want, I could, you know, listen to you. If you need it, of course.

— I already have a psychiatrist.

— A psychiatrist? – Reed sounds surprised. – Damn. Must’ve got him for a good reason, yeah?

I nod. I feel like Reed will begin questioning me about my condition, like he will begin trying to guess what it is… But, surprisingly, he doesn’t. He just asks:

— What’s his name?

Still, the question takes me a bit aback. Reed notices that.

— Well, if you don’t want to, – he adds, quickly, – there’s no need. It’s just… – He chuckles. – I had a psychiatrist too, and it would be funny if we had, like, the same dude.

I think for a second, whether I want to reply or not. What if he had the same psychiatrists? It would be nice and, as he said, funny. But in the meantime… Despite Reed being a nice guy, I would be telling him who my psychiatrist is a little… too much?

Reed notices my contemplative look and leans back.

— Okay, keep it with you, – he says. – I don’t mind.

We talk a bit more, before he stands up, excusing himself with a need to get back to home, to prepare for the flatshow.

— How are you going to get there? – he asks me.

— Uh… Walking, – I say.

He gives me a surprised look.

— It’ll take an hour or so to walk to that place, you know that? – he says.

I just nod.

— What if I, you know, pick you up? I’ll drive there. And I don’t mind it at all.

At first I wanted to deny his offer, but a quick moment of doubt stops me from saying it. Instead, after thinking about this for a few more seconds, I nod and reply:

— Sure.

I tell him the address. He isn’t surprised, or playing Mother Theresa in front of me, telling me how I should move out ASAP. That’s why he’s nice – he doesn’t push shit to the extreme.

— Alright, – he says. – Can you also, like, give me your phone number? I’ll call you when I get near your place.

I nod and tell him my phone number, not even using my phone – just out of my head. It’s simple to pronounce and to remember, but still.

— Alright, – he says. – Later then, Greene.

I nod and shake his hand. He leaves the park, and I sit down, taken back into the solitude.

Not even five minutes after this talk, I noticed another, very familiar figure approaching me from a distance. A light and roomy coat, tight trousers – yes, it was my favorite psychiatrist.

As if on purpose, my body began to malfunction and I began to cough, almost as I had done yesterday: with feeling, with purpose, very hard and painful even. This didn't stop my favorite psychiatrist even for a second – more so, made him a bit faster walking to me. I don't know what sparked it in him, whether it was my presence that he noticed or that damn cough.

He sat down onto the bench near me, almost exactly onto the spot where Reed was sitting five minutes ago.

— You'd better stop smoking, – Kerensky said, putting his hand on my shoulder, – it’ll kill you.

— I don't know what would kill me faster, a junkie or a few cigarettes a day, – I joked.

He just laughed lightly. And then we began a typical conversation, in the usual spirit of mentor and student.

First we talked about cigarettes, how they affect the brain and the psyche, how the main reason for the habit is to calm the nerves, and how if people knew how to find something to do, the tobacco industry would be left to the elite, and a little bit to those who still think smoking is fun. From cigarettes we moved on to daily exercise, and I again bore my favorite psychiatrist with my nervousness. Kerensky again told me how I could get rid of them (and if not get rid of them, then at least minimize their presence in my life). Again I listened attentively, again I memorized his advice, only to forget it again in the name of perpetuating the cycle of nervousness. From the classroom we moved on to friends, we shared our insights about our circles of friends: Kerensky mentioned how his fellow psychiatrists had finally adapted their courses to the needs of the new generation, and I simply told him what had happened during the week. I also wanted to say that I began to feel something for the one who considers me his part, his second soul, his love, although I don't know if these feelings are love or not. My tongue simply did not turn from the desire to say this thought aloud, and not because I was afraid of my favorite psychiatrist, no, not at all – it just seemed to me that such a dilemma was better left to me to sort out. I also kept quiet about the message I had received that morning, thinking that was my job, not his. I had already burdened him too much, and he had a clientele besides me, with their own dilemmas, difficulties of all kinds, chafing from all sorts of nervous events, and so on.

It was at least an hour (probably more) before I got up and decided to end my streetwalking.

— By the way, my friends are having a flatshow tonight, – I mentioned in passing. Then I raised my hand to say goodbye to Kerensky, turned and started to leave, but as soon as I took a step he said:

— Wait! A flatshow? Tonight? – And he sounded surprised, as if he hadn't expected me to say that.

I had to turn around and face him again.

— Well, yes, – I said casually.

He shuddered, straightened up as if regaining control of his body, then lowered his eyes in a kind of shame, put his hand on the back of his neck and said:

— I'm sorry, Green. I just... I've got a lot to do with the whole flatshow, you know? – He smiled at first, then looked at me and smirked. – I don't even know if I've lived my life outside of someone’s apartment, dancing to the music and even flirting with ladies... – He sighs, a bit dreamy. – That was a time I felt a bit more alive than today.

Part of me wanted to leave right now, to put this on something that would give me a reason not to talk to him, even if it was absurd. The other part wanted to stay, talk, maybe even ask the old man to the ball. I stood there thinking and soon came to the conclusion that it would be better to talk. He might tell me something interesting.

— It's nothing, – I said. – To be honest, I too have a small connection with these flatshows.

Kerensky sat down and sighed with relief. His face was filled with the joy of nostalgia, as if he were reliving all those days.

— Yes... – he sighed. – I can't believe some people still make flatshows a thing. They just could leave it in the past. They even found a replacement for it, much more fun and open! But flatshows still exists, and they are still popular. At least here.

I sat down next to him and talked to him about the flats. The clock was ticking and I kept on talking. I was in no hurry, but I wanted to prepare myself morally for whatever might happen to me in that flat. To conclude this dialogue, I invited him to the party. At first he refused, saying that he was already having trouble sleeping, but then he suddenly agreed, putting those problems aside. Talk about changing boots and opinions.

I gave him the address of the flat, said goodbye and went home, tired but happy nonetheless.

As I walk home, I notice the time on my watch: 1600 hours. Still, a huge time to do a lot of things. And my mind betrays me by coming up with nothing better to do than to return back to my apartment and waste all the hours until Reed will call me.

Also, I should tell Reed to pick up Kerensky when the time comes. That’ll surprise them both.

The surroundings slowly change, the district becomes more and more desolate and abandoned. I am back on my territory, where I exist no matter what. The fact that I lived for so long with no major injuries (aside from…) is surprising me all the time. Sometimes I think that I should be dead by tomorrow morning, but no: I still wake up. And that makes me think that even junkies are uninterested in killing someone who went through what he went through.

I quickly ascend the staircase, but before I enter my apartment as usual, I notice a white envelope on the mat. That’s interesting. Is it my bills?

I pick it up and flip it around. Then a couple more times, to see if I missed anything. Strangely enough, the envelope is empty. As if it was delivered not by a postman, but by… someone else.

That hits every single “weirdness” threshold. Who would deliver this envelope to me? All the way from god knows where, to here? Is it something that will kill me or what?

The envelope is light, but also fat at the same time. The lightness tells me it’s not a bomb that is tucked inside the envelope. Also, it doesn’t reek of cyanide. So that’s a relief.

I take the envelope with me and enter my apartment. I close and lock the door, take off my boots and almost immediately enter the kitchen. I sit down at the kitchen table and begin to open it. I try and try, and soon just give up and tear it open.

Out of it, first things first, I take out… a wad of cash.

I am stunned. To say the least. I look at the wad for a good minute or so, unable to say, think or blink. The money in that wad is almost the same amount as my scholarship. The bills are all fresh and smell of that strangely soothing typography odor.

I settle the cash on the table and, reaching inside the envelope again, I take out a folded note. With no hesitation, I unfold and begin reading it.

 

“Greene,

If you are reading this, then it means my patience and passion paid off. A lot of time and talking, and the result is this delivered envelope, now in your hands. Sometimes I thought that it wasn’t even worth the shot, but I still kept on fighting, so that you will read this.

How are you? I hope you are doing fine. I hope that you are doing your best at college, so that you will have an easy life. I hope that you found someone for yourself, too. And if not, then don’t worry, you will find someone who will love you. And, again, I hope that they will love you the same way I still do.

This money that I’ve put inside this envelope… I don’t know how to properly describe it. Let’s just say that it’s not a gift, but something you truly deserve. After everything you went through. And, still, you deserve much more.

This envelope was a long thing in making. It took me at least a couple of months to get it all set up properly. To put a lot of meaning into the message and the cash I’ve sent your way. To show you that we still care.

I still desire to find you out on the streets one day. To be surprised. To squeak of joy as I hug you tightly, for the first time since forever. To tell you how I’ve been. To hear you telling me how you’ve been. To show you how I still love you, despite you never appearing on our doorstep ever since you’ve left… And much more.

Pay us a visit sometime in the future, will you?”

 

The message leaves me stunned for another few minutes. Who, what, why, where… A lot of questions cross my mind in and out, like rats inside a hollow tube. And I feel like I know who wrote that, and the handwriting is similar, – and yet my mind doesn’t allow me to remember who could’ve possibly written that.

I feel warm inside. A slow spiral of warmth unwinds as I sit and reread the message, over and over and over again. I know this warmth, but at the same time I feel that it is something else. Something I’ve never felt in quite a while. Something that even Sera, with all her care and passionate love, wouldn’t give me no matter what.

I take the wad, fold the message back and put it into the envelope. Then, I stand up and slowly, as if my limbs are stiffened or not under my control, make my way to the kitchen cabinet. I opened it and put the envelope inside. After that, I close the cabinet and walk out of the kitchen.

I still feel weird. I hope that this weird feeling will wear off soon enough.

To remove the weird feeling enveloping me, I swing into the bathroom. If there is anything I could do to look better – is a good warm bath. And if it won't make me look better, at least I'll not reek of sweat.

There it is, my second bed, made entirely out of hot water. The steam rises, slowly enveloping every inch of this little place in humidity. I take off my clothes, leaving them on a lonely broken chair (broken specifically to hold my clothes), and, standing on a mat in anticipation, I slowly enter the bathtub.

Almost immediately, I collapsed under the comfort. My muscles relax. I feel hazy and sleepy, and looking at the white tiles on the walls doesn't make it any better, moreso – makes it way worse. I want to close my eyes, but I understand that if I close them, I'd immediately turn off and miss the flatshow, something I don't want to happen. With every bit of my energy, I keep my eyes open.

In this little moment of rest, I think about the future. It's funny: the fact that in the morning I thought about the past and in the evening, I think about the future. Makes me think that this is some kind of a swing: a swing of thought. In some way, it is a swing – one moment you think, another moment you forget.

The future... Damn, I didn't stop to think about it, did I? Makes it even worse to think about it, because I don't even know where to begin. No, wait, I do. The graduation. That'll be my starting point. Then, what comes after that? Finding a job. Even though the college will give us some good offers, they are only good on paper. In reality, they can be shitty, with a quite high percentage of them being so. And finding them is... quite fun, I think. Until the first two rejections at least. Graduation, finding stable work... Getting out of this hellhole – my primary goal. I think that I'll achieve it in no time, given the fact that I want to live like a proper person. After that is done, what else?... Finding someone you love, of course. Creating a family, having children, all that bullshit. Never really understood the appeal of the "childfree" movement. Well, Sera... I guess she solved that for me.

Okay, so: graduation, getting a stable job, coming along with Sera. So easy on paper.

I look around the bathroom. Individual droplets formed on the tiles, shining back into my face. I get enough courage to raise my left hand out of the water, to grip the edge of the tub.

Then, like an anime colossus, rising from the ruins, I slowly get out of the water. The moment later, my entire body gets eaten by coldness. Makes me get out of the tub quicker.

Standing on the mat, I take a towel and violently wipe every inch of my body. Then I place the towel back and begin to dress up. Getting back into clothes after a bath is always weird for me, but I manage to bear it like the constant coldness of my apartment.

After I zip up the coat, I look at myself in the mirror. I look lovely in it. Much more alive than before.

Before leaving the bathroom, I pick up the wet mat and place it onto the pipes near the towel. I know for sure it won't dry off, but I still do it.

Back in my room, I look at the time: 2300 hours. Holy shit, I spent literal hours in the bath. Just a minute ago it was nearly 5 PM.

Still, quite some time left before leaving.

Strangely, I feel like my image is incomplete. Despite never feeling this before, I already hate it – it spews ignorance and egoism. I wander around the room for a couple of minutes, hoping that this feeling will wear off, but it doesn't.

In frustration, I get onto my knees and reach under my bed. By touch, I locate and pull a small metallic box out of the darkness. Its army green reminds me of what I hate the most. Still, I unlock the latch and open the box.

Army uniform, some souvenirs I bought, a picture of me and my crew, and a dogtag. Memories, all kept in an aluminum can.

I take the dogtag and, not looking at it to provoke any reaction, put it on. Army metal coldness makes its way under my scaly skin. Truly an unforgettable feeling.

I put the aluminum can back underneath the bed and stand up. I fix all the clothes on me, tighten my belt, look at the time on the phone. I am ready.

Before leaving, though, I enter the bathroom again, to look at myself. Strangely enough, I don’t feel like actually hating myself. I look quite… plausible. For the first time.

I try to smile, genuinely pushing my facial muscles, but it feels so alien and disgusting when I make it, I immediately switch back to my usual poker face. I’d rather look unlively than actually fucking psychotic.

I try to fix my hair, but no matter how I comb it, it all looks weird, especially when it reveals my eyes. No, fuck it, emo fuckface it is.

I leave the bathroom. In the hallway, I get my boots on, check the pockets and leave. While I descend the staircase, I receive a call. I answered it without hesitation.

— Yeah?

— Are you ready? – I know the voice on the other line. It’s Reed.

— Yeah, I’m ready.

— Good. T-minus 15 minutes.

After that, he hangs up. I put my phone back into my pocket and I head outside..

I wonder, what would Reed feel when he notices me, literally shining from taking a long ass bath, on the background of a ruin and a half? I mean, he didn’t look that surprised when he heard where I live, but still. What if he thought I was bluffing?

Well, if he really thought so, shame on him – noticing me will be a surprise.

Minutes pass. It sure is boring to wait all the time. Before, when I waited for this hour, I didn’t feel like I was bored. Even in the bath, where I was all alone to myself and everything that gnawed at me at that moment. But in the bath, I thought for several hours, and before the bath, walking on the streets and meeting Reed and my psychiatrist, I never felt bored, because they were there with me. I talked with them, and our dialogue just went and went, with no confinement to time. I could spend hours talking to someone, just to pass the time, nitpicking some details just to hang on the subject or change the course, and I wouldn’t grow tired of it.

Am I spoiled with fucking socializing? Am I spoiled by the fact that people actually talk to me? If I think about it, I could perfectly spend time alone in my apartment, just gazing at the ceiling and waiting for the day to end, so I could close my eyes and drop into the dreamy blackness. But now I try to spend those fifteen fucking minutes just waiting for Reed to pick me up, and I just can’t stand straight.

Something has switched in me, for sure. And the days became more… packed with things too. Without any nitpicking or attentive observing (like Kerensky suggested), I still find myself noticing all the little things that happened today, yesterday or even in the recent past. Even though it’s just routine, I feel that it became… more alive? Like, it has this unusual “alive” feeling to it that never occurred. And today is just yet another proof of that: with all the walking and talking, and that… letter. And I know that the flatshow is going to be just yet another proof of that.

Whatever it actually may be, I like where this is going, and… I really hope that it will actually continue.

In the dark silence, I hear a car speeding down the empty street towards me. I turn my head to the noise and notice two lights, growing bigger and bigger, the same way as the clarity of this noise. Soon, the car stops, just near me – it’s a simple, reliable dark blue sedan from the previous century.

With no back thought, I walk over to it, open the door and peek inside. Inside is a really comfy-looking dark-color salon. Reed sits behind the steering wheel, his grip on it looks really firm. No words were spoken, as I sat down into the shotgun seat and closed the door – only after that I asked Reed:

— Can we pick up someone else too?

— Yeah, we can, – Reed says as he looks at me. – Tell me the address, and we’re off.

I quickly told him Kerensky’s address. He thinks for a second, then nods, but that moment of him pondering tells me something. Maybe he actually knows Kerensky?

Reed is not stingy on pushing the gas pedal. We speed through the streets like it’s nothing. This also tells me he’s quite excited, but for what exactly, – the flatshow or meeting Kerensky, – I didn’t know.

— Where’s your daughter, by the way? – I ask.

— Oh, she’s already there. Told me she needed to arrive before the show, to prepare.

— Oh, that’s understandable.

He looks at me.

— I thought Sera would be with you? – He asks, curiously.

— I think she’s already there, waiting, – I reply.

— Oh... – He says, uncertainly, then adds: – I’m sorry, but that’s weird for me. I thought you and Sera would be together for this moment.

— Well, we are in… relationship… – The word makes me itch. – But we’re still independent from each other.

— Oh, okay. So she’s fine with you arriving later than her?

— Yeah.

Reed doesn’t ask me anything further, calming my nerves down.

Soon, Reed arrives at Kerensky’s place. For a few minutes, we sat in silence. I feel the urge to smoke, but I fight it as much as I can.

Then, the door to the back passenger seats opens, and Kerensky enters, dressed in a tuxedo. He and Reed meet gazes, and a second later they firmly shake each other’s hands. Now I’m sure as shit they know each other.

Reed speeds off again. For the first few seconds, the salon is drenched in silence until Kerensky decides to speak up:

— So, Reed… How are you doing?

— Pretty fine, – he replies.

— You’re going to join Greene and me on the flatshow?

— Yeah, that sounds interesting.

— Okay… – Kerensky goes silent for a few more seconds. – And what about you Greene? Do you feel any anticipation?

— Well, not really. Since I know how they go. But this one… This one seems different from others.

— It does, yeah. It feels… more spacious if I say so myself.

— How so?

— I mean, first things first, I haven't been to a proper show in a huge amount of time. Also, how you proposed it… I just can’t stop myself from feeling that it is really something huge. Something that was in the making for quite some time.

I just nod to that.

Some more minutes later, and now we’re at our destination. The apartment complex, where Tommy and Claire live, is welcoming me once again.

We exit Reed’s car and enter the stairwell. First thing, I hear an echo of voices, far up; it’s indescribable, but I recognize the tones. Maybe it’s Claire and Tommy themselves, waiting for the last guests to arrive?

We enter the small elevator, barely fitting inside. Despite the discomfort, we rose to the needed floor uneventfully. As we get out of the confinement, I notice two figures standing near an open door into the apartment, with soft music playing out of it. It was Claire and Tommy, talking outside of the apartment and waiting for others.

They turn to us, a trio of men ready to party, and smile.

— Greene! – Claire calls out. – You made it!

She walks to me and gives me a slight friendly hug. After that, she steps back.

— You even brought someone! – Her voice emits excitement.

I nod. She giggles a bit.

— You don’t even realize how much help you’ve made, – she says with her usual soft smile.

— Alright, gentlemen, let’s get inside, – Tommy interferes, as he walks to his sister and puts his firm hand onto her shoulder.

I walk around them, straight into the den of the party.

Their apartment didn’t even change in the slightest. The tone of the walls stayed the same, the lighting stayed the same, even the furniture wasn’t moved a single inch. It all feels the same, except for some people I don’t know standing around here and there, waiting for the flatshow to begin. This, and the fact that they are dressed quite classy, tells me: this is a flatshow, not a typical party.

Stumbling into the kitchen, I notice some more people and a table served with everything my eye can feast upon. So much variety, it takes a herculean effort to just not devour it all.

— Are you Greene? – someone asks from behind.

I turn around slightly, and notice a friendly Parasaurolophus lady. She smiles warmly. I don’t recognize her.

— Who’s asking? – I ask back.

— Melissa, – she says. – The older daughter of Tommy and Claire.

I nod to her.

— Say, are you looking forward for this flatshow? – she asks, kindly. – I am sorry if that is any weird for you, but that is what I ask of everybody. I feel that is my duty.

— I understand. And yes, I do look forward to it, – I try to be as less hostile and cold as I can.

She just smiles.

— We have a variety of food and drinks. Even some alcohol.

Alcohol? Sign me the fuck up.

She saw my interest, and became a bit more serious, keeping her usual smile.

— Don’t worry. I’ll make sure no one gets drunk.

Aw, shucks. She just turned off the fun meter in the flatshow.

Still, she poured me a glass of crystal-clear vodka and left to attend her own business.

I ate some things from the table here and there, drank a bit of my vodka, and then entered the living room. And, to say the least, the word “living” was an understatement. People talking here and there. An improvised scene stands in the corner, with Reeda behind a small drum set and Samuel standing beside her with a guitar. They continuously talk and tune their instruments at the same time. I feel a bit jealous since I didn’t spot Sera anywhere.

Speaking of Sera…

— Hey, hey, he-ey.~

The feeling of some lusty gal’s bust pressing against my forearm is something that I will never forget.

— Were you waiting for me?~ – she asks.

— I just made it here, – I responded, then turned to her. – Good to know you made it here without trouble.

She giggles and snuggles my forearm. So cute.

Claire and Tommy made their way onto the improvised scene. Tommy picked up his guitar, and Claire took the microphone. People slowly moved in the living room and began waiting in anticipation. We all were anticipating a good night spent in a good company of good strangers.

Reed measured the beat, and the flatshow became official.

Their ballads were soothing. Claire's soft voice telling simple stories about love made me forget all my worries. Slow, serene drumming from Reeda synchronized with my still heartbeat. Tommy’s hushed guitar completely submerged me into calmness and peace.

People begin dancing in pairs, slowly spinning under the lamps. I called Sera out, to which she smiled and agreed with no hesitation. We found ourselves a place, put our hands accordingly, and began dancing, just like the others. But unlike the others, unlike their desire to spend some time here in hopes of forgetting their worries or hooking up with an intelligent gal, we, me and Sera, – we were dancing for each other. We were dancing with the desire to spend time in each other’s embrace.

Crystal clarity permeates my mind as I spin with Sera in a clockwork pattern. Obnoxious feelings make their daring escape out of my cranial framework. My heart is still, beating to the music and in unison with Sera. Our legs move slowly, our hands are connected.

Oh yes. It feels just like home.

 

***

 

— You alright?

I shiver and turn around. Kerensky was leaning down to me, looking calm, but a bit worried. I look around myself: I am in a cold stairwell, sitting down on a cold concrete stair. My left shoulder was leaning against a wall. Cold lightning processes every single surface. My mind was dizzy, and I didn’t understand a thing.

Kerensky sat down near me, on the cold stairs. I wanted to stop him, but I couldn’t find the strength to say a word.

— When the dances were over, – Kerensky said, – you told us that you wanted to sit outside for a second. It’s been half an hour, and I became worried that something happened to you.

Oh. That sounds about right. I do remember that I left after the dances were over, leaving Sera and my friends behind, but anything afterward… I don’t remember it.

— What happened, Greene? Are you sick? Do you need something? – Kerensky asked, worried even more.

It took me some strength, but I slowly shook my head. Kerensky didn’t look satisfied with the answer.

— Greene, you better not bottle this like before. – He said, a bit serious. – I don’t want to play fishing games with your mental problems.

I want to respond, but anything that comes to my mind slowly falls apart two seconds after. I want to say something, but every word of mine dissipates on the tip of my tongue.

Kerensky just sat there, patiently, before saying:

— You are sick. Sure as shit, you are.

He placed my hand over his shoulder and slowly got me up on my feet. Every inch of my forced movements was making me want to vomit. I decided to not say a thing, to let Kerensky get me to safety, to push my nausea back as much as possible.

Suddenly, I hear a second voice – it is Reed, concerned, worried.

— What happened to our soldier? – he asked.

— He got drunk, that’s what happened, – Kerensky said. – He drank a lot. Like, an equivalent of one bottle of vodka is now in his stomach.

Reed sighed. A silence between them emitted, but it was tense.

— Are you just going to fucking stand there like a statue? – Kerensky asked, sternly.

Reed got my second hand onto his shoulders, and now both of them were carrying me out of this spinning hell.

Soon, we were outside, where it was so spacious. I almost vomited. Almost, keyword. I felt the bale taste inside my mouth, but nothing came out.

It was also dark. So dark that the street lamps felt like dots of white in the endless black.

Kerensky and Reed dragged me over to Reed’s sedan, and got me to sit in the back. Reed and Kerensky sat in the front. Reed was silent and serious, Kerensky sometimes looked at me into the rear mirror.

— Surprisingly, all of that happened… like it did, – Kerensky said. – Good thing you didn’t spew anything. – He then paused for a second, then began anew: – I saw you constantly drinking, like crazy. Five minutes later you were drunk as all hell, walking around slowly, looking… like a madman. I’m sorry, Greene, but that was really how you were looking. Then you came up to us, told us something about leaving for a minute, and then you left the apartment and didn’t return. For the first ten minutes, me and Reed thought you just needed a moment alone. Another ten minutes in, me, Reed, Sera and Claire with Tommy were worried for you. Then, another ten minutes in, I decided to come out and find you there. Sitting alone. I hope you know what happened later.

Why was Nasera not at the flatshow? I thought she would be the first to arrive. It was her who got me on this in the first place. Maybe she got caught up in her own shit. That’s understandable.

— You were drinking nonstop, – Reed said. – I told you to not drink that much, and you didn’t listen. – He sighed, trying to be as calm as he could. – And look at yourself now…

— He may be drinking to forget.

— He isn’t looking like someone who drinks to forget, and that buckles me the worst.

Sera’s scent was nice. She used her time plenty to get the perfect perfume. Maybe her mom gave her some of her perfume. Something that knocks a man down the first sniff. They both know how to appear in public.

— Is he asleep in there or something? – Reed asks, nervously.

— No, he isn’t. And leave him be, Reed. Just drive, – Kerensky says.

She knows how to dance, too. Her little body wasn’t a problem for me. I think she led me through this because I know jack shit about dancing. I just went with the rhythm everyone was following. And that somehow worked for me.

— We’re near, – Reed says.

Kerensky looks around in the window. He is at a loss for words, never before he was in a place so desolate.

— Raptor Jesus on his cross of rock… – Kerensky mutters. – And that is where he lives… No doubt his problems gnaw on him like crazy.

Soon, the car stops, and both Kerensky and Reed leave. They take me out of the car and drag me inside the building.

— Are you sure it’s the right one? – Kerensky asks, worried.

— Yes I am, – Reed says, more serious than ever.

We go upstairs, sometimes we stop, to give me a second to look for my door or something. Strangely enough, as soon as we entered the apartment complex, I felt something weird inside me growing, like a spiral of sorts. And it grew as we got up and up.

Soon, on one of the floors, the spiral finally unfolds. With that little bit of consciousness I have, I point toward a door, shining for me invitingly.

Reed and Kerensky drag me to the door. They then begin to search for the keys inside in my coat and jeans. Kerensky soon finds it, unlocks the door and gets me inside.

— Go, Reed, – Kerensky said.

Reed just nods and goes to the stairs.

Kerensky drags me into my bedroom and gets me to lie down on my bed. After he made sure that nothing happens to me at the moment, he takes a step back and looks at me, worried. Then, he sighs and leaves my apartment.

After that, I don’t remember anything. Just blackness and strange loud clicks.