Today I was struck by something on the topic of my son and graduation. Those who have children will understand. That's what it is, well.
In general, I came to my son’s graduation. Everything was as it should be: a limousine, rides around Moscow, a restaurant, dressed-up mothers, a tear-stained teacher - everything, in theory, should have been touching and sweet.
But not here, of course. We were not imprisoned with our son. They knew that he and I would whisper and laugh. They actually put me in some kind of restaurant asshole, near the toilet. In principle, I didn’t expect anything more from the first grade. I knew this would happen. And one of the organizers of the holiday hired a hellish horse woman in blue leggings, who, I swear on anything, had worked as a toastmaster at rural weddings for forty years before that day. Has everyone seen the film "Gorko"? Do you remember the aunt-toastmaster?
There it was. Like alive. And in blue leggings.
I hoped until the very end that perhaps we would somehow manage without competitions with wrapping children in toilet paper and other “just the way we like” fun. But no. Of course, this was not the case. where I am, I always have fun with toilet papers and dressing up as transvestites. Since I was sitting in the ass of the restaurant, I listened to the beginning of the first competition and its very idea, but I perfectly heard the cries of the toastmaster, “And now we will bend the bread!”
I thought I heard it. I felt my son with my eyes. My son responded by reaching into his phone, and half a minute later I received the first text message. Well, actually, for two hours we shared our impressions of his graduation - across a distance of ten meters. At the third hour we left, having uglyly lied to the teacher that we had a plane to Bangladesh in an hour.
Of course, they didn’t believe us, but they were clearly glad that I wouldn’t be shining there anymore.
© Lydia Raevskaya
Shared
I am already so old that I still remember meeting people through advertisements in the newspaper. And what’s more: I met people through these advertisements. True, I was 15 years old at the time, and I wrote the ad myself. In the newspaper “Moskovsky Komsomolets”, in the teenage section “Dating School”. I don’t remember literally, but some kind of rhyme with diamond rhymes like “I’m a cool girl, where are you, boy?” and a call to find and write to me. Well, I say, I won’t disappoint. Because it’s good on all sides and I cook pasta.
Everyone fell for the pasta, everyone fell for it. Because after 2 weeks they called me from the editorial office of MK and told me to come for my letters. They sent me two bags here. Take your passport and go get the latest press.
I didn’t have a passport then, but my mother had a passport. She had to admit what she had done and show her her poem about the boy and the pasta. Mom scolded me, said that at the age of 15 she was still playing with dolls and jumping in sacks in a pioneer camp, and I went crazy, and then she took my passport and went with me to the editorial office.
For once, MK didn’t lie about anything: there were actually two bags of letters. Never again in my life have I held in my hands so many boys who lust after me. So, as if anticipating this, I began to cry.
Mom took my bags and carried them on outstretched arms, like a test for latent chlamydia. With mom and bags of boys, we went out into the editorial courtyard and sat on a bench. Mom took out and put on her glasses, leaned back in a tragic pose, put her hand to her forehead and said: Read out loud! Now, Lida, is a terrible time. There are pedophiles all around and debauchery in general. In video salons, tits are shown in full screen for only a ruble. The rotten West is corrupting the youth. When we were your age, we jumped in sacks and raced to carry a boiled egg in a tablespoon! And they were happy!
I replied that I, too, fall into euphoria from a boiled egg, but for complete happiness I still need a little boy. You, mother, are already 37 years old. They don’t live that long at all. You probably remember Lenin as a curly-haired boy, and you saw live Pithecanthropus.
And now it’s 1994 and there’s a sex revolution.
And she untied the first bag. And she pulled out an envelope at random.
Read! - Mom moaned, feigning languor and a migraine.
Hello, Lida! - I read solemnly.
It's a good start. Polite boy. Well-mannered. Already good. Read on.
-...My name is Armen Mkhitaryan, I’m 26 years old...
PEDOPHILE!!! - Mom screamed, snatched the letter from my hands, cried, and blew her nose into the envelope. - And a Dagestani at that!
Yes, he’s an Armenian, well!
Well, finally I don’t see the difference! If only it were Gagauz! TWENTY SIX YEARS!!! Is there his return address? You should go to the police.
Quiet! - I shouted at my mother and took the envelope with snot from her. - I’m reading further!
Sometimes there were letters from the boys of my dreams - I felt it in my heart and saw it right in their handwriting. They invited me to go to a video salon in the evening and watch a film there for a ruble. Mom screamed: “TITS!!! They will show you tits for a ruble, and debauchery without panties!!! And then he’ll go to accompany you, and he’ll want tits too!
I also shouted that I also wanted boobs, even more than all these boys and one Chinese man! Because I don't have any! Not even a trace! Not in profile, not by touch, not under a microscope! THERE IS NONE OF THEM!!! Let me look at them for at least a ruble!
Mom screamed, I screamed, employees of the Moskovsky Komsomolets shouted obscenities from the windows. Meanwhile, the second bag of letters was running out. There are two envelopes left. One was from a certain Mikhail, who is 17 years old, he loves quantum physics, plays the balalaika, and invites me to go to the Polytechnic Museum to look at the steam engine.
My mother liked Mikhail so much that she stopped pretending to have a migraine, a stroke, or a coma, and said that in our family the wedding ring is passed down from mother to daughter. And now your time has finally come, daughter.
My daughter screamed that Armen Mkhitaryan should marry Mikhail, and together they look at the steam engine and play the balalaikas, and now I’ll just go home and cry there for a week! And yes - I won’t open and read the last letter to you! I read it at home. And if there is a God in the world, my destiny will be in this letter.
There is a God in the world. Dima was in this envelope. Dima, whom I fell in love with simply for his handwriting and seven phone numbers. He wrote that of all the advertisements in the newspaper, he was only impressed by mine. These magical rhymes! This trochee! This iambic! This amphibrachium! Let's go to the video salon, Lidok, let's look at the tits?
...We agreed to meet with Dima the next day. He also had a divine voice. I had no doubt that he looked like Prince Atreyu from the movie “The Neverending Story.”
It was necessary to dress up for a meeting with fate. Dress up for the Cannes Film Festival. Like being presented with the Nobel Prize. How I don’t know where!!!
There was absolutely nothing to dress up in. I broke out my entire closet, I was completely convinced of this, and went to rummage through my mother’s. there was everything needed to meet fate. Mom’s turquoise sweater, which was like a dress to me, barely covering my butt, black fishnet tights, and a bra. Bra size three. Which had to be stuffed with something. I couldn't go to meet fate without boobs. Moreover, he was going to look at strangers for the ruble. I needed my own. Which there are none. But now I’ll grow them.
My mother's stiletto heels and lilac makeup up to my ears completed my image of a Nobel laureate, and I went to the metro to meet my fate.
There is a God in the world, truly I tell you. I recognized Dima in the crowd another hundred meters away. Because he looked like Prince Atreyu. My legs and daddy's socks began to shake.
Dima came up to me and said:
I would recognize you from a thousand. Because you are the most beautiful. Let's go to the video store to watch a movie about tits, but first let's have a beer.
With Dima, I was ready to drink even curare poison and Maxim’s Youth cologne, and even at least five liters of beer.
And we went to drink beer in the dark basement of the pub.
Dima put a half-liter mug in front of me, I gracefully, like a drunken ensign, blew the foam off it (I saw this in a movie about alcoholics), and drank half of it at once.
The Divine Prince Dima carefully hit me on the back, making sure that I did not tie the horses, which is why the plastic clasp of my mother’s bra came undone, and four of my father’s socks and my mother’s ugly gauze softly fell out onto the floor, gliding like hang gliders. There was enough light in the dim bar for Dima to notice both, and for me to see horror and grief in his eyes.
Lida! - Mom’s voice screamed in my ear. - Lida, are you crazy??? Do you drink??? you drink beer? are you wearing my sweater? Why did you take daddy's socks??? Aaaaaaah, why do you need my gauze??? And who is this boy with the distorted face? Lida, do you know that at your age I was jumping in a sack with a boiled egg and was happy without beer???
I cried and hiccupped beer. Mom cried, clutching her head and heart in turn, and lamented that her daughter was an alcoholic, and Dima ran away without paying.
It was the most terrible day of my life.
Mom led me home by the arm, putting my dad’s socks in her purse, and wiped my snot with gauze, and said:
Remember, Lida: if a man leaves you just because you don’t have tits, he’s not a man, but a goat and a reptile. And you shouldn’t waste your time on such things. a man should love you for your character and beautiful eyes. Well, and for your butt - it’s beautiful too. You can love for your butt. Understood?
Then I didn’t want to understand anything. I wanted to die of grief, and nothing more. And I still hoped that soon my boobs would grow, and they would love me for them too.
It's been 20 years since then, but my boobs still haven't grown. But I got married three times. Without any boobs. And my husbands told me that they loved me for my character, beautiful eyes, and also for my butt. She is also beautiful, you can love her for her butt.
Happiness is not in boobs, I swear. Not in them.
In the eyes, of course. Exclusively in the eyes.
Chocolate candy
Lydia Raevskaya
I was not the only child in the family for long. Just four years. I didn’t even have time to understand this. One day my mother suddenly developed a belly. He grew and moved. It was big and round. Mom suggested that I touch it, but I was afraid. Mom was still angry for some reason...
And then autumn came. My grandmother dressed me up in a burgundy suit with a baby elephant on the breast pocket, and took me somewhere on the bus. Then she and I walked and walked and walked somewhere for a long time until we reached a big house. I thought that we were going to visit someone. My grandmother often took me with her to visit... But we never went into the house. Grandmother stood under the windows, looked uncertainly at the windows, and shouted:
- Tanya!
I also wanted to shout, but for some reason I was shy. Maybe because I was wearing a boy's suit? I didn't like him. Because of my short hair and this suit, I was constantly mistaken for a boy. And I really wanted to have long braids. To the floor. Like the Snow Maiden. But for some reason they always cut my hair short and didn’t ask me what I wanted. And I also wanted a skirt made of gauze, with shiny beads sewn to it, like Nastya Arkhipova from our group, and white skate boots... All winter I asked my dad to take the blades off the skates and give me the boots. Blades only spoil them.
White boots with a large square heel...
I would be the most beautiful. And in this stupid suit I felt uncomfortable and ashamed.
Grandmother called Tanya again, and suddenly grabbed me by the shoulders and began to push me forward, saying:
- Raise your little head. Do you see mom? Wow, she's looking out the window!
I raised my head, but didn’t see my mother. And the grandmother was already shouting again:
- Tanyusha, do you have any milk?
“No, mom, it hasn’t arrived yet...” Mom’s voice answered from somewhere. I tried to understand where he was coming from, but I didn’t understand. It became very offensive.
- Where is mom? “I pulled my grandmother’s hand.
- She’s tall, Lidusha. – Grandma kissed me on the top of the head. - Don’t pull your neck, you won’t see it. And it’s hard for me to take you in my arms.
- Why are we here? - I frowned.
- We came to visit your sister. – Grandmother smiled, but somehow sadly, only with her lips.
- Is this a store? – I carefully looked at the house again. They told me that they would buy me a sister at the store. Strange people: they didn’t even invite me to choose...
- You can say so. – Grandma took my hand tightly, raised her head again, and shouted: “Tanyush, I already gave you a package there, drink more milk.” Give Mashenka a kiss from us!
That’s how I realized that my new sister’s name is Masha. I didn't like it. I already had one Masha doll. And I wanted Juliet...
So a little one appeared in our house. Masha was restless and cried all the time. I was not allowed to play with her.
And one day my mother collected all my things and toys in a large bag, took me by the hand, and took me to my grandmother. I loved visiting my grandmother. It was always quiet there, you could watch color TV as much as you wanted, and my grandfather allowed me to blow soap bubbles in the bathroom.
I was fiddling around with my toys in the room, placing dolls in the corners, and I heard my grandmother talking to my mother in the kitchen.
- You don’t love her, Tanya. “The grandmother suddenly said quietly. She said very quietly, but for some reason I heard it. She forgot to put the doll Kolya on the sofa and went to the door.
- Mom, don't be stupid! - This is my mother answering my grandmother. – It’s just hard for me with two at once. Mashenka is only a month old, I’m tired as a dog. And then Lidka gets underfoot... And you yourself promised to help me!
- Why did you give birth to a second one? – Grandmother asked even more quietly.
- Slavik wanted a boy! “My mother once desperately cried out, and suddenly sobbed: “Well, let her live with you for a month, huh?” At least I'll take a break. I brought her clothes and toys. Here's the money for it.
Something rustled and tinkled.
- Take it away. “The grandmother said very quietly again. - We are not poor. Grandfather is paid a good pension. They give orders. We'll feed you, don't be afraid.
- Don't give her candy. “Mom said again, and I closed my eyes. Why don't you give me candy? I'm behaving well. Good children can have candy.
- Go away, Tanya. You'll miss feedings. - Grandma speaks again. - At least call sometimes. The child will be bored.
- I'll call. “Mom said this as she was leaving the kitchen, and I quietly ran away from the door so that no one would understand that I was eavesdropping.
Mom came into the room, kissed me on the cheek, and said:
- Don’t be bored, dad and I will come to you on Saturday.
I nodded, but for some reason I didn’t believe it...
When my mother left, my grandmother came up to me, sat down on the sofa, and patted him next to her:
- Come to me…
I sat down next to my grandmother and quietly asked:
- Can I have some candy?
For some reason, grandma wrinkled all over, chewed her lips like that, turned away, quickly ran her hand over her face, and answered:
- Only after lunch. Did you hear everything?
I turned my back to my grandmother and, side by side, began to put plaid shorts on the Kolya doll. Grandmother sighed:
- Let's go bake some pies. With cabbage. Will you help me knead the dough?
I immediately put Kolya aside and rushed to the kitchen. Mom never baked pies at home. And I loved touching the big warm white ball of dough with my hands, and listening to my grandmother say: “Don’t press it so hard. The dough is alive, it breathes. He's in pain. You pet him, remember a little, talk to him. The dough doesn't like to be rushed"
All evening we baked pies with my grandmother, and my grandfather sat in the room and wrote poetry. He always writes poems about the war. He has a whole notebook of these poems. About the war and about Pskov. Pskov is my grandfather’s hometown, he told me. There is the Velikaya River and grandfather’s school. He sometimes goes there and meets with friends. They are all old, these friends. And they also come to Pskov. Probably their grandfather reads his poems to them there.
When it was already dark, my grandmother set the coffee table in the room, brought pies and rosettes with jam there, and I, washed by my grandmother’s hands, clean and relaxed, climbed into a chair with my feet and watched “Good night, kids.” I had already forgotten that I was offended by my mother. And now I suddenly started to get bored...
I quietly made my way into the kitchen and sat by the window. A lantern and trees were visible. And another path. According to which my mother was supposed to come on Saturday. I heard my grandmother calling and looking for me, and for some reason I was silent and rubbed my nose on the glass.
Grandfather discovered me. He entered the kitchen, his prosthesis creaking, turned on the light, and pulled me out from under the windowsill. He sat me down on a chair and said:
- Mom will come on Saturday. He will definitely come. Do you believe me?
I nodded, but my nose still stung.
- Tomorrow we will blow bubbles. “Grandfather stroked my head and kissed the top of my head. – And I’ll also tell you about how our regiment was bombed near Berlin. Want?
- Want…
- Then let's go to bed. You will lie under the blanket, and I will sit next to you. Let's go, let's go...
And I went. And, falling asleep on a clean, clean sheet that for some reason smelled of lilac, I thought about my mother and sweets.
But mom didn’t come on Saturday...
The phone rang. I looked at the caller and picked up the phone:
- Yes mom?
- What time will you be home today?
I looked at my watch, shrugged, as if they could see it on the other end of the phone, and answered:
- Don't know. I'll be in the office until six. Then I will have a part-time job. It's about ten o'clock. At eleven I’ll drop by home, change clothes, and go to the cafe. I have a night shift today.
- Try to come at seven. There's a surprise waiting for you at home. Unpleasant.
Mom always knew how to talk tactfully with people.
- Which? Better tell me right away.
- The child is fine, he is in kindergarten. Volodya came...
I bit my lip hard. Vovka left me four months ago. He left without even leaving a note. I didn’t know where he lived. I tried to look for him, but he cut off all the loose ends... But I just wanted to ask - why?
- What did he say? He is back? – Hands trembled.
- He brought a statement of claim and a summons to court... He filed for divorce.
- Why?! – No other questions came to mind.
- Because because. - Mom snapped. - Your husband, ask him. Husbands don’t leave good women, I already told you! And you and your girlfriends were still hanging out at the entrance! The husband sits at home, and she chats with the girls!
- I was walking with the child... - My eyes stung, but I couldn’t show this to my mother. - I’m in the yard with a stroller...
- So just sit there with the stroller! But a man needs a woman for whom a husband is more important than a stroller! What I fought for is what I ran into.
- Fuck you! “I couldn’t stand it and hung up.
So it's a divorce. So that's it. So, Vova has a new woman now... Why, Lord, why, eh?
The phone rang again. Without looking at the determinant, I pressed the “Answer” button and barked:
- What else do you need?!
- Lidush... - Grandma’s voice is on the phone. - Come see me after work, okay? I already know everything...
- Grandma-ah-ah... - I roared out loud, without embarrassment, - Grandma-ah-ah, why is he doing this?
- Don’t cry, don’t... Everything happens in life. Everything passes. Your baby is growing. Well, think about it: is it really that bad? Who was luckier: you or Volodya? Volodya has a new woman, you need to get used to her, dry off... But you still have your little blood. The way you raise him is how he will be. And the whole thing is entirely yours. You come to me in the evening. Be sure to come.
I didn’t go to work that day. I lay around with my grandmother. Sometimes it howled, sometimes it died down. Grandma didn't fuss. She was busily dripping Corvalol into a glass, counting the drops with her lips alone, and sat at my head, saying:
- Drink, drink. Then get some sleep. The morning is wiser than the evening. You are not the first, you are not the last. Your mother was married twice, your aunt too... And Volodya... What about Volodya? You know what people say? “If you haven’t eaten enough of the first piece, the second one will hurt your throat.” And God willing, everything will work out well for Vova...
- Grandmother?! - I sat up on the bed with a jerk, seeing my swollen red face in the mirror out of the corner of my eye: - Do you wish him, this stinking goat, more happiness?! Well, thank you!
- Lay down, lie down.. - Grandma put her hand on my shoulder. - Lie down and listen: don’t wish Volodya harm, don’t. Apparently, it’s not destiny for you to just live together. Sometimes the Lord confuses the halves... Everything works out for Volodya - a good sign. And you will soon find it. Just don't be angry, it's not good.
I collapsed on the pillow with a howl and roared again...
***
Nerves to the limit. I have no strength to cry anymore. It hurts to breathe. The air, saturated with the smell of medicine, corrodes the lungs, and it makes the throat sore...
- Lida, bring the vessel!
I hear my mother’s voice coming from my grandmother’s room, I run to the toilet behind the bedpan, and rush with it to my grandmother.
- Don’t, Lidusha... - Grandma lies facing the wall. The spine is visible through the chintz nightie. I bite my lip and pinch my nose tightly with my fingers. So as not to sob. - No need for a ship. I'm sorry…
- For what, grandma? “I try to speak cheerfully, but I’m glad that she doesn’t see my face...
- For adding more work to you. I’m lying here like a log, and you, poor thing, are toiling...
- Grandma... - I squatted down next to the bed and buried my nose in my grandmother’s back. - Is it hard for me? How much did you fuss with me, how many diapers did you wash after me? Now it's my turn.
“It was such a joy for me...” Grandmother answered heavily and asked: “Turn me over, please.”
I throw the vessel onto the floor, it falls with a roar... With great care, I begin to shift my grandmother to the other side. She's in pain. Me too. I'm already roaring without holding back.
My mother enters the room. She smells of tobacco and valerian.
- Let me help. Go ahead and smoke if you want.
I nod gratefully to my mother, grab my cigarettes, and run out onto the stairs. Marya Nikolaevna, grandma’s neighbor and friend, stands at the garbage chute with a plastic bucket.
- Well, how is she? - Marya Nikolaevna puts the bucket on the floor and leans heavily on the railing.
- He’s dying... - The cigarette breaks in my fingers, I take out the second one. - I can’t do it anymore, Lord... I can’t! It would be better if I suffered so much for her! Why does she do this, Marya Nikolaevna?
- You, Lidok, when you see that everything is already nearby, hit the ceiling with a mop. They say that this way the soul departs more easily, without torment...
The first thought is to be indignant. And right behind it is the second one:
- Thank you... I'll hit you. I can't watch anymore, I can't!
Tears drip onto the cigarette, and it hisses and then goes out. I throw the cigarette butt into a saury jar and go to my grandmother again.
Grandma lies on the bed facing me and is silent. He just looks like that... Like a face from an icon.
I fall to my knees and press my cheek to my grandmother’s withered hand:
- Grandma, don’t... Don’t, please! Do not do that! “Tears are rolling down like hail, my nose is stuffy.”
- The apartment will go to you, Lidusha. Grandfather wanted it for so long. If I don’t exist, make some repairs here, okay? I really wanted to renovate the toilet, put in tiles, hang a beautiful lamp...
- No way...
- Under the bed you will find a box with an elastic bandage in it. When I die, tie up my jaw. Otherwise they will bury him with his mouth open.
- Stop it!
- And there’s a medallion in the closet. To me for a monument. I ordered it a long time ago. Make sure it is attached to the monument...
- S-s-s-s-a-a-a-a-a...
- Go home, Lidok. Mom will stay here. Go and rest. And everything is so green...
I crawl along the wall towards the door. The phone rings in my pocket. I pick up the phone and remain silent.
- Why are you silent? - Vovka's voice. - Hello, I say!
- What do you want? - I'm sobbing.
- Tomorrow is the twenty-eighth, don’t forget. Butyrsky court, two o'clock in the afternoon. Do not be late.
- Vovkaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally... Grandma is dying... Please move the divorce date, huh? I just can't right now...
- And then I can’t. Don't fuck my brain, okay? It's like the keys to the car you sold. It seems like they exist, but the car is no longer there. All. So don't cling to this cliche, what good does it do to you?
- Not now, Vov... I can’t.
- Can. Tomorrow at two o'clock.
I put the phone in my pocket and slide down the wall...
... “Don’t cry, it so happened that fate did not allow you and me to be together, where was I before?” - The radio was singing in the taxi driver’s car, and I was swallowing tears.
All. So we got rid of unnecessary keys. Now Vova will be fine. But for me it’s unlikely...
“Only you, even though you were bad... My dreams - in them you are still mine...”
- Can I ask you to change the cassette? Your Bulanova is not the topic now. I divorced my husband ten minutes ago.
The taxi driver nodded understandingly and turned on the radio.
“Dear friend, gone on an eternal voyage, a fresh mound between other hillocks... Pray for me in the paradise harbor, so that there are no more other lighthouses...”
- Stop the car. Please.
I paid the taxi driver and wandered down the street on foot. I reached for cigarettes and it turned out there were none. Either I lost it or forgot how I threw away the empty pack. I go to a shop by the road.
- A pack of Java Gold and a lighter.
My gaze scans the display window and I ask:
-Are those sweets you have delicious?
- Which?
- A-o-he’s the one.
- Everything is delicious here, take it.
- Give me half a kilo.
I go outside and immediately unwrap the candy wrapper. I eat chocolate voraciously. With some kind of frenzy. And again I move forward.
Here is grandma's house. I take the elevator to the fourth floor and ring the doorbell.
Mom opens. Without letting her say anything, I extend my palm across the threshold, on which lies the candy:
- I want grandma to eat it. Let her eat it. You know, I remembered how you forbade me to eat candy as a child, but my grandmother still gave it to me... I also want to give my grandmother candy.
Mom is silent and looks at me. Her eyes are red and swollen.
- What?! “I’m screaming without noticing it, and the candy is trembling in the palm of my hand.” – Why are you looking at me like that?! I brought grandma candy!
“She died...” Mom said this in a colorless voice and sat down on the threshold of the door. Straight to the floor. - Ten minutes ago. The car is coming now...
I step on my mother and fly into the room. Grandma was already covered with a sheet. I flip it back and start stuffing candy into Grandma’s dead hand.
- Take it, take it, please! I never brought you candy! I couldn't be late! I... I was in court with Vovka, bah! I took a taxi from there! I just went to the store... Well, take it, take it with your hand, grandma!!!
The chocolate crawled out from under the wrapper like a thin worm and stained the clean, clean sheet, which for some reason smelled of lilac...
***
I don't like candy.
I love chocolate, I love cakes, and pastries too, especially the little baskets.
I never eat candy.
They give me boxes of them, I accept the gifts, smiling and warmly thanking them, and then I put the box in the closet. To serve it to guests for tea...
And none of them ever asked me why I don't eat candy.
Nobody.
And never.
