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Life consists of stages. Each requires serious transformation, a change in thinking, and sometimes a complete change of lifestyle. Many struggle with growing up, especially when they are thrown into adult life unprepared after school. Some take such changes simply – the situation changes, their approach remains the same, and in the new conditions, an individual emerges who has adapted but not acquired new skills, carrying them over from the past, remaining essentially an infant. Others try with all their might to remake themselves, learning a new reality and finding their place in it. And some resist with all their strength, unwilling to change anything, but reality comes anyway, placing them among the first or second types.
He, for example, did not wish for change at all. All social conventions were for him merely chains, ways society tries to constrain each person, and apparently, society succeeded. It succeeded so well that, for example, even losing a job – a significant event – made people worry more than necessary. He seemed concerned about the lack of means to exist, but in reality, the main reason was different – he fell out of the usual cycle of days, out of the routine someone had established for someone, realizing he could not imagine himself outside society’s rules. For such people, these rules were salvation; for him and people like him, they were punishment.
Karina, lost in her thoughts, lost her vigilance, and the pits scattered across the asphalt nearly became the site of their mutual fall. Karina screamed and collapsed onto him with her whole body. He managed to group himself in time, and only that saved them from sprawling in the middle of the pavement.
– I was just thinking… – she apologized, adjusting her curls, and his baser instincts immediately took control. He almost wanted to suggest they return there right then…
“What was I thinking?! – he scolded himself. – We…?!”
But what exactly “we…” meant, he couldn’t put into words right away. Thoughts swirled in his head but were reluctant to formalize, which made him somewhat uneasy. The new persona, the “new costume,” the new mask, if one could put it that way, didn’t yet possess the traits and skills inherent to the version of him he had been before deciding to claw his way out of the pit and become a new person, to merge into society.
The archetype was taking over, becoming him. Honestly, that didn’t bother him at all, because he himself didn’t know which of the many archetypes hidden in his subconscious was his true self.
“Probably, they’re all me!” – the thought flashed through his mind.
“You’ve got too much clutter,” the “respectable citizen” seemed to say, “We’ll have to get rid of all this!” he added.
“Probably, that’s what I’ll have to do!” – he agreed, meanwhile feeling the changes this new entity was bringing to his thinking and behavior.
– Are you cold? – he tried to hug Karina in a sudden impulse. – Don’t worry, we’ll warm up in the metro soon…
***
If we talk about work, the day could definitely be considered a success. Successful in every aspect.
It turned out that if you looked at the world with different eyes, assessing the situation from the perspective of an ordinary citizen – dedicated and faithful to their place in society, which in this case was the workplace – then an endless number of tasks appear.
He admitted that part of what had suddenly fallen on him that morning was nothing other than postponed tasks he had previously had no intention of completing.
There’s a category of tasks that, in principle, don’t really matter and probably won’t even be required by management. You can always refer to circumstances, more important tasks, and thus, if not bury the task entirely, at least postpone its completion until it’s forgotten or loses relevance.
But that was not how he acted. The same person who, except from a severe hangover, never came to work, whose thoughts revolved around nightlife, hungover at Zhenya’s, and who was more interested in correlating skirt lengths with the intentions of the opposite sex than, say, the possibility of relocating production to Southeast Asia.
Looking at himself just a week ago, he was surprised at how unaware he had been of his own descent – the pit he had been sliding into, the utter hopelessness of his existence, and the complete absence of any prospects or ambitions!
For example, the research… Management loved “throwing ideas into the masses”! They tossed them out, watched, and then decided whether anything would come of it. One of these ideas was the request to assess the feasibility of relocating or establishing production in Southeast Asia. He had been dodging this task for weeks, and likely would have continued to do so if he hadn’t decided to change himself – since the world wouldn’t change for him. And if anyone had to change, it would be him. That’s how he thought now. And he wouldn’t have lied if he said he liked it.
Reports were queued in a growing list of tasks that expanded faster than he could even organize them. It turned out he had accumulated many such abandoned tasks. Moreover, colleagues who previously had not rushed to contact him suddenly flooded his desk with requests, assignments, and small favors…
It turned out he had work up to his ears, and he marveled at how he had previously managed to do nothing for half the day, spending the other half drinking Zhenya’s “mad scientist” cocktails!
– Did you hear who spent the night here? – Igor patted him on the shoulder as he ran by. – “Keep it up! – and ran off. Fortunately, because much had changed, but his attitude toward Igor hadn’t. There was something about him that, even in his new persona, annoyed him as much as it did in a drunken haze.
– No, in general, Igor as a person isn’t bad… – he analyzed and reassured himself. – He’s even okay to deal with. At least reliable…’ – but something disrupted the confidence of these thoughts, and certain feelings didn’t leave him. He hated Igor just as much as before. ‘But on the other hand, an ordinary member of society isn’t without human weaknesses! – he reminded himself.
– Can I talk to you? – Alia once popped by. He was about to agree, but someone jumped in with their request, excited that for once he had done something for someone else, and he had to refuse the girl.
– We’ll definitely talk, – he smiled at her. – But right now, I’m swamped, as you can see! – he smiled at her again.
Alia said nothing and, like a shadow, disappeared in some unknown direction. And he wasn’t really watching her movements anyway. There was far too much work.
– Darling, shall we have lunch? – this was Karina. He couldn’t refuse her, especially since… Their relationship was developing unusually smoothly. He was gliding along a perfectly even plane, and she was guiding his path; it was almost idyllic.
Their appearance in the cafeteria was met with restrained reactions, although every one of the dozen people present undoubtedly understood what was happening. People are always eager to observe others’ lives, especially when events unfold nearby, resembling the twists of Latin American soap operas, and concern someone other than the viewer.
Previously, attention from strangers hadn’t bothered him much. “Well, they’re looking – so what! – he shrugged. – Must be envy!” – he laughed to himself, confident that everyone would like to dive into the world he was in then, enjoy it, and return without loss. Visit, so to speak, the “world of the fallen.” One of the most miserable hangovers had even prompted him to consider organizing such excursions for the curious… at their expense, of course, and without any obligations on his part. The idea seemed good, but his state didn’t allow him to even lift his head, so it came and went without being acted on.
Subdued smiles, equally restrained emotions, something akin to approval or even admiration. All of it would fade once the situation became ordinary, become normal, but would remain at the level of rumors or gossip.
– Today we have porridge, – Karina fussed around him, serving lunch. – And for the first course, looks like kharcho soup! – meals were delivered, so employees didn’t have to bring food from home, worrying about jostling containers or them being opened in their bags.
– Thank you, – he replied, slightly embarrassed. His new archetype was taking over, and he already felt awkward from the extra attention, but he couldn’t respond or withdraw – the social conventions wouldn’t allow it.
– Perfect! – Karina sat down next to him.
Two tables away, Alia kept her eyes on him. A fork frozen in midair completed the picture.
He felt uneasy, suddenly embarrassed, but could do nothing. Alia ate the rest of her lunch and, like a shadow, headed toward the exit.
– That’s not you! – she whispered in his ear as she passed by, bending abruptly. – They replaced you…
– What did she say” – Karina asked, shooting a glare at Alia’s retreating back.
– Ah, nothing, – he waved it off. —Some nonsense…
***
The whole day passed immersed in work. He didn’t even notice how the clock struck the end of the workday, and the employees, obeying the reflexes of office plankton, immediately started heading for the exit.
– I’ve been waiting for you, – Karina appeared instantly. – Today…
– I’m terribly tired! – he admitted, hinting that he would like to spend the night alone, in his own space…
– A warm bath and a cozy bed are waiting for you! – she smiled.
– I mean something else… – he searched for words. – In short, I’m just exhausted today. And I’d like to rest… Don’t get me wrong, really… – he realized that being a decent person wasn’t as simple as it seemed; he even surprised himself. In another situation, he wouldn’t have had to apologize or explain anything at all, but having decided to consider himself a member of society with a claim to decency and respectability, he had to…
Karina didn’t understand at first. Then she pouted. She seemed about to give a speech. But, apparently, she couldn’t find the words, so she just turned around dramatically and left, leaving him with a lingering sense of guilt.
He was fully aware that appealing to guilt was a favorite tactic of female manipulation, yet he could do nothing about it and was ready to run after her to… But she had gone. She slammed the door, leaving him alone with the feelings stirred by the situation.
Something deep inside him was tearing to get out, trying to reach his consciousness, to remind him of how he had previously handled such situations, but it didn’t break through, didn’t make itself heard…
***
The person who invented the subway must surely deserve a golden monument! At least, such thoughts occasionally crossed his mind. And it wasn’t even about the subway connecting different, sometimes incredibly distant parts of the city into a single whole, like the circulatory system of a living organism. Nor was it about the fact that somewhere above, the elements raged, the sun burned, or everything was buried under frozen snow – down here, none of that mattered. The subway was something more: a place to spend time, a place of meetings and partings. It was a place you entered with a feeling similar to visiting a store or even the foyer of a theater… The subway was significant, and its inventor simply had to be immortalized in gold somewhere near the first station.
Alya, it seemed, was waiting for him. She didn’t hide herself particularly, nor did she particularly hide her intentions. But fortunately for him, he noticed her while still approaching the coveted turnstile, in the passage, and the fact that she turned for a moment to the display window of a kiosk allowed him to slip past, avoiding yet another encounter he didn’t want at the moment.
“Who’s better?!” – the thought flashed as he already sat in the subway car. Naturally, he meant Karina and Alya. Each had her pros and cons. Each had potential for growth and her limitations. Each could become his companion… And here he faltered. Probably not everyone… Or maybe everyone? He got confused, inwardly smiling and regretting that he was bound by the norms of monogamous marriage. How easily the problem could be solved if he could legally have several women at once!! But here – dilemma and headache, however!!
And again, somewhere under the slab of decency, something stirred, sending a quiet little voice, which he, however, did not hear. And that voice told him that what he would have once found horrifying – the mere mention of a possible marital connection – now seemed perfectly natural to him, raising no questions whatsoever.
Meanwhile, the train carried him further and further toward the last station on the subway line, the rhythmic clatter of wheels and the conditioned air lulling him into a trance, threatening to turn into full sleep. And somehow, thoughts of Alya and Karina, their comparison – and why had he even thought to compare two opposites? – faded away on their own…
8
The apartment greeted him with an unfriendly emptiness. It turned out that a change in behavioral paradigms also brought a change in one’s perception of the world – especially when one stops using stimulants, alcohol first and foremost.
Breaking free from alcohol dependence doesn’t happen overnight – he’d been through that before. Though he didn’t consider himself an addict, he remembered how, during one such attempt, after a long stretch without alcohol, his body had demanded just a little – at least half a shot of vodka…
It always started out well. That feeling of cleanliness and calm. His head would clear more with each passing day, and even his muscle tone would spike for a while. It created the illusion – familiar to most alcoholics – that he could quit drinking at will. And it was true, for about a couple of weeks, while the main traces of intoxication were still leaving his body but still exerting their effects. The turning point came around the third week.
He had been walking down the street. The sun blazed mercilessly, and the melting asphalt yielded beneath his sneakers. Not that he particularly wanted to drink – just a kiosk with a wall-sized ad for a beer brand caught his attention. Immediately, he craved beer. That beer, cold and invigorating, foaming in the glass in the advertisement, beads of condensation streaming down the frosted side.
The urge was so strong his hands automatically reached for his wallet and paid for a cold bottle. He was ready to open it right there – even with his teeth – and probably would have, had circumstances not intervened and prevented him from popping the cap. So the beer went home with him, its cool, sweating side pressed to his head as he walked. There, common sense prevailed, and he promised himself to endure, to fight off the temptation. It wasn’t easy, especially with that bottle now sitting, forsaken, on a shelf in the fridge.
It got worse after that. The thought of a frosted shot glass practically haunted him. Actually, who was he kidding – it did haunt him! Something inside, accustomed to heavy doses of alcohol, insisted, reminded, triggered associations at the most inappropriate moments. The overwhelming urge to drink, to pour, to gulp, to dose – it never left him.
Clenching his will into a fist, daring himself to hold out, he managed to cope. Around a month and a half to two months in, the grip of alcohol began to loosen, its reminders growing weaker and weaker. And at about the three-month mark, the craving vanished completely. He experienced the world anew, felt himself a victor who had emerged, battered but triumphant, from his fight with the “green serpent.” Naturally, that very evening there had been women, champagne, and a foam-topped sense of victory in his bathroom.
Later he even laughed at himself – the comical irony of celebrating his triumph over alcohol by drinking it.
Sometimes he caught himself thinking that he didn’t belong to the category of people who abuse alcohol – just like every hardened alcoholic, convinced they can quit any time they like. But in reality, the road to sobriety is neither easy nor free of temptations. The hardest part is the rejection of non-drinkers by a drinking society, where a sober man is seen, at best, as an outcast – if not something worse. Not drinking, in such a world, is more than a crime.
The apartment greeted him with emptiness. The active phase of withdrawal still lay ahead, but he already sensed the world’s mutability – and at the same time, its grayness and dullness. And so, he immediately wanted a drink. At least tea, if you please…
Karina hadn’t called. He’d sworn not to pay attention to his phone and so tucked it into his pocket, periodically taking it out or laying it face-up on the bathroom counter, the kitchen table. Truth be told, he was waiting for her call. Waiting long, even with a tinge of resentment. But she didn’t call. And he, in his state and the irrational grievance that had crept over him, wasn’t in a hurry to dial her either. Perhaps they were both waiting – he certainly was.
Half the evening passed like that. Another cup of coffee had been downed, sending the hum of rising blood pressure through his head. He felt lonely and wanted someone to talk to… So when the phone finally buzzed, jumped on the lacquered surface, and vibrated toward the edge, he instantly picked up, not even checking the caller ID:
– Hello! – he said, fighting the tremor in his voice.
– Hi! – replied the voice on the other end. He didn’t recognize it immediately. It wasn’t Karina’s – this was a man’s voice, somewhat hoarse, occasionally uncertain.
– Well hello, good sir! – he replied, realizing that he probably wouldn’t get to talk to Karina tonight, for whatever reason. – What brings you to our hearth?
– Well, I don’t know, – answered Zheka, slurping something audibly. – I just thought…
– You thought and called, – he chuckled. – That’s good. So, tell me.
According to him, Zheka was calling purely out of excess free time and a desire to chat – though something else, something hidden, peeked out from behind that veil.
– What’s new with you? What have you got to share? – he kept pressing, keeping the conversation alive.
Zheka didn’t really have much to tell – he already knew most of it anyway – but it was clear Zheka was curious about him, though he tried to hide it.
– Well, I’ve decided to quit drinking, – he said, picking up on Zheka’s unspoken cue to steer the conversation toward what interested him. – They’ve put me on parole. You know that, right?
Of course Zheka knew. Even in his lair of the “mad chemist,” kept isolated and on invisible chains, the rumors had reached him.
– Is it true? – asked Zheka.
– I can’t vouch for everything you’ve heard, but I’ll say this – there’s no smoke without fire. It’s hard for me to put it into words, let alone make people believe it… But the most amazing thing is, I myself can’t quite get used to it. It feels like this isn’t happening “to me”, but “around me”. Like I’m part of the process, but more as an observer than as an active participant…”
– How’s that? – Zheka didn’t get it – and he could almost picture him, on the other end of the line, pushing his slipping glasses back up his nose.
– It’s like… I could ask myself why Evgeny kicked me out of his lab not so long ago, but now he’s the one calling. But in this case, it’s perfectly clear…
– What’s clear?
– As the pampered, sometimes lazy French like to say – “cherchez la femme”. In all misfortunes, look for the woman!” He practically collapsed onto the bed, feeling calmer and more comfortable at once. « … … …”
– What? – That seemed to be more information than Zheka could handle.
– Forget it, – he waved off. – That topic’s so slippery I don’t even want to touch it. Just remember – women are to blame for everything! – he joked. – It’s an axiom. Don’t believe their maxims, and don’t treat them with pathos. They like it, but alas, they despise the one who does it.”
– I don’t get it… came Zheka’s voice.
– It’s simple. Zhenya only lost it because he’s interested in a certain person we both know…
– And when the situation changed, and Karina was able to replace in my – what, heart, maybe – Alya’s place, Zheka hurried to pay me a visit, so to speak, – he almost added. Some things were better left unsaid.
– You bastard! – Zheka replied with a laugh. There was no irritation or resentment in his tone.
– That’s hardly news to you. But I hope all that’s behind me. Somehow I feel my past life was bright, spectacular, but it led to the same end as the fireworks of a junkie’s dreams. I think it’s time to change.
– That’s what I’m asking, – Zheka repeated. – Is it true?
– I think so. You know, just recently I was recalling my previous break with alcohol. Not the most delightful time, I’ll tell you. I’m afraid that on the road to leaving my old life behind, I’ll face no fewer obstacles. Withdrawal, longing for the past, all of that…”
Zheka couldn’t understand – he had merely been the one brewing his “morning remedies” in his lab, but hadn’t taken them himself. How could he know what a drawn-out binge, a string of hangovers, and alcohol withdrawal felt like?
– Do you need help or something? – Zheka asked, at a loss for words.
– Yes! Most likely I will. And the most important thing – if I come to you for a morning pick-me-up, turn me away. That’s the first and most important…
– And what else? What’s the second, less important thing?
“Take Alya away!” – he almost blurted out, but immediately realized that the subject required a certain delicacy and tact, since both Zheka and Alya themselves saw the world through, alas, lenses of very different shades, and thus their worldviews diverged considerably.
– I think the best help you could give me is to just listen carefully from time to time,” he said, almost slipping into sleep. Lying down was doing exactly that to him.
Zheka agreed.
– Then listen and don’t interrupt. It’s a very instructive story, in my opinion…
– Uh-huh,” Zheka replied.
– Just not too long…
– Not too long. Perfect, – he assured Zheka.
Once upon a time, there was a boy. He was somewhere around seventeen – or maybe even nineteen – which, at that age, is already a monumental event, making you feel like life is passing you by while you’re standing on some half-forgotten platform and your bus just never arrives. And so the waiting becomes dark and hopeless.
Everything seemed fine for him. Caring parents, decent classmates, and the school was arguably the best in the district. Everything worked out – for home, for school, even for hanging out in the yard with friends. But the opposite sex… well, they weren’t exactly ignoring him, yet they weren’t rushing to form close ties either.
The gold medal on the wall didn’t thrill him, nor did the numerous certificates he had amassed, which might impress a couple of dorky overachievers – but he didn’t care much for them. He was drawn, as boys often are at that age, to something beautiful, elevated, soulful – in other words, to voluptuous girls of a free-spirited nature, whose escapades were famous across the district. That’s where the attraction lay! They embodied what all the boys in the area – and naturally him – found irresistible.
Alas, as I said, these girls showed no interest in the bookish boy, who could spend hours talking about cosmology, the movements of planets, or funny stories from the lives of physicists or mathematicians – like the story of strict Newton, who allegedly had an apple fall on his head as a lesson, and supposedly not by accident, but misinterpreted, giving birth to the law now known to all.
The girls might have heard of Newton at best. They liked apples, but the laws of universal gravitation meant nothing to them, as their focus was on material things and male virility, not on intellectual or spiritual pursuits.
His testosterone-fueled brain refused to answer the obvious question: “What happens when all the romance fades, admiration wanes, and sexual pleasures lose their former edge? What then?” Two people, connected only by intimacy, suddenly lose interest in it – leaving a gap between them. How do you fill that gap? Her interests remained grounded in the material world, while he was ready to wander for years in realms of ideas and scientific exploration, never intersecting with her spiritually.