26.06.02
Tomorrow is my birthday. My old friend Oleg, whom I’ve known for 15 years, came to visit me. I have no idea why. I loved him a long time ago, 15 years ago. Very deeply. It was probably the strongest and purest love I ever had as a teenager. And we’re still friends, even though there was nothing between us except for one mind-blowing kiss. He came over, just as a friend. I needed to get some sleep because I had to wake up early tomorrow to buy groceries for the birthday celebration. But he doesn’t want to leave. He jokes, jokes… He’s fishing for help in the morning. I ask him to help. He thinks he might stay the night.
But when he realizes he’s mistaken, to my great surprise, he takes me by the shoulders (just like back in our distant adolescence) and kisses me on the lips. This kiss makes me dizzy, and I realize that for the first time in all these years of our friendship, I want him… But suddenly, everything goes quiet.
I find myself in some enormous five-star rest house, God knows how many kilometers from Moscow. It’s winter. I drove there by car following a very strange legend. We barely made it; we overcame almost mythical obstacles along the way. But it was worth it. The rest house has a grand concert hall (like the one in Ostankino, if not bigger) and every pleasure imaginable—restaurants, bars, discos, saunas, pools, and other joys of life. What’s more, I’m performing with “Pesnyary” at a concert that’s being broadcast on TV. Not only that, but this concert is some kind of competition. We sing that very song, “Where is my dark-eyed one, where—In Vologda, Vologda, Vologda-where.” And I’m one of the soloists. I finish the performance with my solo, and the huge hall applauds, giving me flowers, ovations, “bravos!” It’s a success!!! I won something. We leave the stage for the dressing rooms and rooms, and along the way, I meet my friend Marinka Koroleva, and with sparkling eyes, I show her “the Pesnyary” and say, “Here they are, I performed with them!” Marinka nods in understanding, happy for me, and I run off. In the dressing room, we sing again, and I take the harmony part, hitting it perfectly for the first time, which immediately earns praise from the esteemed “Pesnyary.”
For my participation in the concert, they give me a beautiful purple pass with an image of a singing girl with long, curly hair. This pass gives me free access to everything in this paradise of entertainment until morning.
I run to get dressed. In the room, I find out that my entire wardrobe is with me, but all I have for shoes are—horror!—winter boots. What am I supposed to wear for the evening? To the restaurant? To the disco? Tears are streaming down my face as unexpectedly red shoes start falling apart on my feet. Is the evening ruined? I’m ready to drive all the way to Moscow in winter, through the cold, to get some new shoes… And I keep trying to reach some men I know by phone. I want them to accompany me. Just one of them. But none of their phones answer…
I never found out how this strange story of mad success and subsequent disappointing failure would end, if not for the sunlight that woke me up.
03.08.02
My friends and I were captured by some woman. In order to be released, I had to fight in the ring. But the situation was quite amusing—until the first blow. Whoever lands the first blow wins the round. Three rounds. I won the first two. I was competing against a professional boxer. While she was showing off and trying to scare me with her bulk, I managed to strike from an unexpected angle… I won, and the boxer became defensive because it upset her that she was beaten by a non-athlete. We started fighting, but then Sasha called, and I woke up…
14.08.02
We were alone. He was hugging me—gently, caressing, kissing me… I felt so good! I looked into his face to understand who was next to me. In his embrace was… my ex-husband. The one from twenty years ago, the one I met—gentle, open, emotional, dear to me… He kept saying, “It’s me, it’s me!” For a moment, I relaxed.
But something was wrong. When I closed my eyes, I couldn’t believe that it was Sergey. I looked at him again, trying to find confirmation that it was really him, and he, seeming to understand my doubt, replied, “It’s Sergey!” Maybe I would’ve believed him if he hadn’t said that. I realized that this was someone’s devilish game, a shapeless image, someone messing with my mind. I pushed him away and started hitting his arms to make the devilish vision disappear. I became frightened. The image of my ex-husband evaporated. Trembling, I woke up.
The room was bathed in a strange orange light, emanating from inside the objects. Everything in the room seemed alive. A persistent, faint ringing was coming from the ceiling, and from the hallway, voices could be heard, insulting, terrifying, driving me insane. I tried to cross myself, but my hand was tightly bound by an organza ribbon. I managed to free myself and began blessing my house and myself, reciting “Our Father,” but the ribbon re-tied my hands. However, the prayer worked, and the ribbon loosened, and the voices quieted. Terrified by what was happening, I sat on the bed and—woke up for real. It turned out that I had only been asleep for an hour, and I was lying across the bed, curled up as if hiding something on my stomach… From the dream, I could still hear a faint murmuring of the prayer. I was scared. After lying there for a few minutes and realizing that I was home, that it was night, and everything was fine, I fell back asleep. Until morning.
29.08.02
Stepmother
She hurt me with her words.
She wouldn’t leave my room. I became furious and threw her to the end of the hallway. She fell awkwardly against the wall and groaned.
I became scared. For her. I could see that she was in a lot of pain.
I went to her, turned her over, leaned her back against the wall, and asked:
– Are you okay? Does anything hurt?
I touched her arms and legs to make sure she was okay. Even through her jeans, I could feel her left shin was broken.
– It hurts here! – she groaned. – Maybe it’s a dislocation.
– No, your leg is broken.
– Really?
– Yes, definitely.
I rushed to the phone to call an ambulance. The phone wasn’t working. I grabbed another phone—no dial tone.
Then, in despair, I started crying, “The phone’s not working!” I screamed.
My stepmother looked at me with a completely different gaze. There was no hatred in her eyes, just pain and a silent question, “So, what did you achieve? Are you still going to hate me now?”
She didn’t scream, didn’t blame me, didn’t demand immediate help, didn’t scold me. She accepted what had happened. And I suddenly felt terribly sorry for her because I understood her pain with my entire being. I felt deeply hurt by the fact that we couldn’t find a way to be friends…
I took her to the hospital. There, it turned out the break wasn’t closed as I had thought, but the foot was completely detached… the bare bone was sticking out of her knee. I was scared; everything was covered in blood. The doctor said, “You’ve lost the leg.” I replied, “No, I won’t allow it. Sew it back on.”
When I left the room where my poor stepmother was lying on the hospital bed, and the nurse was jumping around her with a needle, the dream ended.
Now I won’t be able to feel anger toward her.
31.08.02
Some users came to visit me—kitp, nach_berlin, and some other fake users in small numbers. But I still had nothing to eat at home, so we went to the supermarket to buy food and bought a huge cake. I kept trying to put some CD with music into the stereo, but it wouldn’t work…
Then I remembered that my car had been stolen, so I took the metro on strange trains, which consisted of only one car.
In our old apartment, I opened the balcony door to step outside and get some air, and almost broke my neck when I took a step forward, but I realized just in time that the balcony door still opened, and there was no balcony in sight… A serious fall from the 6th floor… I always hated that balcony in my dreams—it swayed and seemed like it might collapse any moment… A suspicious place.