Diamond painting

 

Diamond painting

 

Bite the Lord God in the calf Biting God in the Calf

. My back started hurting first. In that place where the vertebrae are embedded in the pelvis, as if at their base. For some reason, this area of ​​the human body was called the sacrum. This pain would forever accompany me in the future whenever I stood or walked too long. It challenged my belief in the axiom of man as an upright animal. I guessed that if I had remained in a more animalistic position, the unpleasant pain, which after an hour transformed into painful muscle stiffness, would not have appeared at all. I stood before my father, in the crush, I could feel his hands folded in prayer just above the aching area of ​​my back. I might have reached his shoulders then, and all the aunts would have told me how tall I was. None of them said I was fat—that was what my friends at school said. Somehow, I didn't care much what my friends at school said.

I stood in the crush and gloom of a church that the postcards available at Ruch kiosks described as an example of modern architecture. To me, it was simply a very ugly church, resembling a granary rather than a house of God. It was light years away from the soaring Gothic edifices or the magnificent dignity of Romanesque churches. But even that didn't matter to me at the time. Besides, I wasn't familiar with beautiful churches back then, and I didn't understand the connection between architecture and faith. But I was already beginning to suspect that standing in church, enduring backache, the stuffiness, and the crowds, might have little to do with faith. But it was a faint premonition, and rather insignificant given the overall atmosphere surrounding the approaching Easter. At home, from morning until late at night, my mother was busy in the kitchen—chopping, cooking, simmering, seasoning, baking. Everything gleamed with cleanliness, and my childhood mind was filled with anticipation. I didn't really know what for, but it was a pleasant feeling, and I willingly gave in to it. Holy Week brought respite from my school friends, who noticed—unlike my aunts—that I was overweight. It also brought a new order—a festive sense of order. The day then slowly flowed toward evening services. Naturally, I went with my father.

It was dark and cold that day. The holidays fell in March, and this year March was still more wintry than spring-like. The Church was full – the government was popular and materialistic, and the people, as usual, clung to the faith of their forefathers with a truly peasant stubbornness, though perhaps thoughtlessly. It was Friday, the day on which the Romans nailed – as they did every year – Christ to the cross. They condemn the incarnate God, a man so good that he only once became angry, to one of the most cruel deaths ever devised by man. The cross – an executioner's instrument that became a religious symbol. This monstrous duality – seemingly hidden – persisted somewhere in the subconscious in the form of the superstition that children should not be given crosses on chains, but only medallions depicting the Virgin Mary. As if to prolong the age of innocence for children, to shield them from the cruel truth of the death of their God. But such were not the motivations behind this behavior. These could be called humanist, but reality grinned with superstition. "Don't give her a cross for First Communion! She has time to carry a cross; it's too early now!" my aunt, my father's older sister, would say to her daughter, whose child was receiving First Communion for the first time. So, the cross worn around a child's neck was supposed to be some kind of anti-amulet, a challenge to fate, or even an encouragement for fate to deal unceremoniously with the culprit. I wonder what Orthodoxy would say?

Yet it was so obvious: Christ died for humanity. Bad soldiers nailed Him to the cross. I remember my grandmother watching some Italian film from the series "The Life of Jesus." I remember how moved she was and how she railed against those who nailed the fair-haired young man to the cross. I'm sure my grandmother would have loved Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ."

Why did he die? I don't know, I never asked. And then, at a meeting with Father Józef Tischner, I heard from the philosopher's lips: "He didn't have to die, there didn't have to be suffering..." How many faces of faith there are. But then, on Good Friday, I was still far from these observations. My back ached, and I could smell the sharp perfume of the redheaded woman whose coiffed head was right in front of my nose. If it weren't for Christian love, especially obligatory in a holy place, I would have hated her for her hairstyle and for that smell, which almost made me nauseous. Yet all of this—the backache, the stuffiness, and the smell of her cheap deodorant—I wanted to endure it bravely, because what was it, after all, compared to the death of the Innocent on the cross? Now that I think about it, I think Father Tischner wasn't entirely right—Christ had to die. Not only to atone for our sins—I still don't quite understand why the God-Man was killed for my stupidity and evil thoughts. And it angers me a little that, without asking if I wanted this burnt offering, I was burdened with the sacrifice of life—not just a human life, but a divine life at that. And if that weren't enough, the burden is past, so there's nothing I can do about it—even if I live exemplarily until the end of my days, this Galilean will be nailed to the cross every year. And he will suffer just as he did then under the sun of Palestine. But perhaps He had to die for another reason as well? Perhaps He had to die so that the incarnation could be complete? Perhaps Father Tischner didn't take this into account? Because the God-Man, just as He was born of a woman, had to die like every human being—in suffering and loneliness. Perhaps this is precisely why this terrible ordeal with suffering and then crucifixion—to show God incarnate in man, a tortured body that dominates the mind, that fills the mind with echoes of suffering? "Eli lama sabachthani?!" – the cry of a man abandoned by God... And if he had to die like a man, perhaps he also lived like a man? Perhaps Scorsese was right in portraying Christ as subject to the most human desires? But these issues didn't enter my mind then either, although it seems that a few years earlier the authorities had reached an agreement with the Episcopate not to release "The Last Temptation of Christ" in Polish cinemas.

I stood in the granary-like church in Sochaczew, right in front of my father, hearing his singing—perhaps not pure, but very sincere—and inhaling the awful smell of deodorant used by the worshipper in front of me. It all took too long. It was too stuffy, too dark, and too uncomfortable. I wanted to go home and soak up the pre-Christmas atmosphere. But for now, I had to endure the veneration of the cross. This was to be the last part of the ceremony. Perhaps the most depressing. The mournful tones of the organ and the wailing of a choir composed of people with little understanding of singing completed the atmosphere of mourning. Add to this the dimness of the church and the crowd, which had skillfully formed into two lines that snaked along the entire nave, transforming behind the last pews into a jostling crowd thick with the smell and warmth of human bodies. The talent for queuing was as common back then as the ability to survive in a crowd pressing for something good. It didn't matter whether that good was oranges from a local shop or contact with the sacred—a kiss placed on the feet of the Crucified. The bodies of the faithful transformed into living battering rams: widely spaced feet ensured the ram's stability and mobility, which ensured rapid passage from the crowd to the queue in the main nave. All this was done to reach one of the two enormous crucifixes held by pink-faced altar boys. This was precisely what the adoration of the cross was all about. After pushing through the crowd and trudging along in a long line, one found oneself face to face with the five-foot-tall cross, to which one had to approach and kiss the lower half of the crucified body. It wasn't clear to me what one should kiss: feet, knees, calves, or perhaps the nails in the feet, or the dark red trickle of blood wrapped around the ankles? It wasn't the first time I'd participated in such a ritual, but I still didn't understand its meaning. It was probably about paying homage. I never asked my father about it. We never talked about matters of faith. We'd always gone to church together. My father and I, driving through the village in our grass-green Fiat 125p, or walking through the streets of Sochaczew with a crowd of fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, all similarly clad in—as my father used to say—church shoes. We'd always gone to church together, but we never talked about God. God simply was. But then, on Good Friday in the granary church, with another inhale of cheap perfume, with the trampling of a shoe by the heavy heel of a faithful person, with a momentary loss of balance and the necessity of leaning on the arm of a slender brunette who smiled with humiliating forbearance, I grew angry at the One who had imposed himself on humanity with his bloody sacrifice and now demanded that we kiss his plaster images covered in gold paint every year. No, I wasn't thinking about humiliation: after all, the faithful are there to kiss the feet of gods.But doing so in such a demonstrative manner in a public place began to look suspicious to my childish mind. Next to the altar boys stood lectors in ankle-length albs. Each held a white cloth, which he used to wipe the Savior's feet after each kiss. So the moment of intimacy with the deity was further limited by this assistant and his handkerchief, which removed the trace of the servile homage immediately after it was rendered.

I glanced to the side, suddenly filled with anxiety. The cleaning lady from my school was pushing past me, singing. She was a powerful woman, very much like one of my many aunts, the ones who didn't notice my fatness, which was obvious to my classmates. The cleaning ladies at our school wielded considerable power. If we'd known Greek mythology back then, we probably would have called them Cerberus. They fulfilled a similar role: they stood in the narrow doorway leading from the hall to the school corridor, armed with a broom handle and perhaps a floor cloth. Their job was to check whether a student had changed shoes for the school's junior monsters. Proper footwear was the first and most essential requirement for admission to school. All future knowledge acquired in this institution thus became dependent on the condition of footwear, and the guardian of this criterion was a woman equipped with a phenomenal ability to tear herself apart in the hallway and possessing incredible skill with a combat rag, often landing on the backs of unruly students who, contrary to the arrangements and rules, were so brazen in their pursuit of learning that they ignored the janitor's office and forced their way through her gate in inappropriate footwear. Instead of being chased, they received a painful blow to the back or, naturally, to the lower regions of the body. Now this most courageous woman, performing her duties, unceremoniously pushed her way in and took her place ahead of me in the queue, the source of which we had just reached. Her broad back was level with my nose—she was a head taller than me and half as wide, and it was I they called "fat"... It took me a moment to realize what that meant. If she's standing in front of me, it means she'll kiss the Savior before me, and that means I'll kiss her right behind her... it's almost as if I kissed her herself, a thought flashed through my mind. I wanted to look at my father, to find hope in him, but my gaze landed on the brunette I'd brushed against a few minutes earlier. She was standing in the line next to me, a few people ahead of me. Her head was bowed, her hands folded, not on her stomach like most of the faithful, but crossed over her chest. A feeling of shame gripped me, the source of which I couldn't pinpoint. The thought flashed through my mind that I'd rather be standing behind her. I was also ashamed of this thought, as the image of the suffering of the God-Man approached. I leaned out of the throbbing queue to watch the rite. People were slowly approaching the altar boys. Then the same sequence took place very quickly: the worshipper kneeling, a quick movement of the head in a gesture of prostration and a quick kiss, wherever it hit – on the knees, calves, feet, then getting up and leaving, a short and careless movement of the cloth wiping God's feet, soiled by human lips.

I saw the brunette woman perform the same ritual: she approached, slowly, very slowly, kneeling, tilting her head slightly, lifting her chin, pursing her lips in a way that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and kissing the Savior's feet. Then she quickly stood up and disappeared into the crowd on the other side of the pews. The line moved forward, the organ played terribly sadly, I couldn't breathe, longing to be outside on the cool March evening. The cleaning woman's back suddenly vanished from my sight. She was already kneeling, kissing the Savior. I tried to see where, to what place. But then the altar boy's hand moved quickly. I hesitated for a moment. I felt Father nudge me forward slightly. I took a bigger step. The entire church fell silent. I no longer heard the organ or the singing, my back no longer ached, or smelled the awful smell of cheap perfume from the Ruch kiosk. I knelt before the crucifix. The altar boy looked at me blankly. He's silent, waiting with the entire church for what I'll do. I'm kneeling badly, I'm kneeling terribly. Too far from the cross! I can't get up and kneel again, I have to reach out. I feel sweat beading my forehead and trickling down my back. Everyone holds their breath, looking at me. So instead of kissing on my knees, I rise and, hunched over, smothered by my own awkwardness in kneeling, yet simultaneously overwhelmed by the Majesty of the Crucified One, hunched over and actually still kneeling, I, this wretched human being who has no idea what happened two thousand years ago in Palestine, under the hot midday sun, humbly bring my face close to the plaster, or perhaps plastic, legs of God. I have the body of Christ before me. His knees are at the level of my nose, his emaciated calves, sculptured with taut muscles at the level of his mouth. I feel the disapproval of the crowd behind me, my father's shame at being so clumsy. My back, exhausted from two hours of standing and now suddenly forced into a new shape, burns like a living flame. I don't open my mouth for a kiss. I open it wide, animalistically pucker my lips, revealing sharp fangs, and bite the Savior's calf. I clench my jaw. Warm blood flows down my throat, my teeth sink into the succulent flesh. The bush roars all around, teeming with creatures fighting for survival. Food ensures survival. One must eat to live. Eating isn't easy—it takes a lot of effort to catch up with a sick doe abandoned by the herd, to drive off the wolf and jackal competition, to bring something back to the cave for the rest of the group... It seems to me that at this point I should be dying for sacrilege, that the altar boy will now kidnap me and carry me to the priest. I tear myself away from God's calf. My teeth and jaw ache. I glance at your calf again. Nothing has happened to it. The altar boy, his expression unchanged, works with his cloth. I turn from the altar and follow the crowd toward the exit. My father follows me. But now I feel even more alone.

clubbing

She came to see me from her hometown by passenger train. We'd already been together for quite a while, over a year, I think, but it doesn't really matter. 5:52 p.m., Śródmieście Station, I pick her up, smile, kiss, etc. Directions: subway, we're going to my place. I'm a romantic, well, I definitely was, so it's a shock for her when we enter the cottage. In winter, at 7 p.m., it's already dark, so she walked in and was blown away. The cottage is covered in roses, the whole room is pink, the floor, the bed, everything is full of flowers, plus candles everywhere, just wow, and Erykah Badu in the background, because everyone knows Badu is the best for sex. And it goes on like this: soul music in the background, wine in our hands, we drink, talk, embrace, and finally have quick sex. The evening promised to be great, or at least that's how it started. We didn't have much time because we had to be at the rotunda by 9 p.m., obviously, a Friday party was planned. Another subway, a lineup with a guy who was already waiting for us. Directions: Monopoly, supplies, double-zero sevens, and we head to the square where they were already waiting for us. Hey, hey, everyone, and we're drinking, standard... In an hour and a half, my friend and I have sorted out our accessories and ordered a taxi; it's time to start clubbing!

A familiar student club is in front of us, the familiar line to get in, the familiar waiting room, and well-known brands of beer in our hands. At this point, I should have realized that not everything is as good as we thought it would be. There are problems getting in, because we're supposed to pay, and why should we? We're students, after all! We have IDs, damn it! We explain that the line was long and that we were already here before 10 p.m., that we deserve free entry, and what does that even mean, but it's no use, it's pointless, we have no chance. We're desperate, so we act accordingly, so the guy says he'd like to speak with the club manager. Okay, come on in, I didn't know such an innocent text would work so quickly on security.

It's a mess inside, few people, not much of anything at all. We realize we might not have enough alcohol in our bloodstream, so we quickly go to the bar, ask for six shots of tequila, then another six, and I don't know how much there was, and I don't know if anyone cares. After drinking, we're supposed to take a piss and hit the dance floor, which we did. We dance, and it turns out there's just the right amount of alcohol, but something's still missing. We decide the atmosphere's lacking, that it's time to do something about it. It's hay, it's time to go somewhere else. Some girls are also approaching me, some old friends. Why the hell should I recognize them all right away? You can't see I'm drinking! You can't see I'm having fun! Getting out wasn't so easy because something was wrong with my jacket in the cloakroom, or rather with the cash register. So I try to help, I do. I didn't help, quite the opposite, I think I broke it because it got stuck, and again, problems. Oh well, I'll wait outside. And so I wait, and I decide I'll go get them because they're taking a while to come out. And of course, as if it could have been any other way, there's an immediate scandal with security because they won't let me in, because I left and now I'm not coming back in, and kiss your ass. That's it. A taxi was waiting for us, so I got in. Remember, if the party starts off well, it can get worse; there's no rule that it'll be okay all the time.

We get off at another well-known club, this time known for its hip-hop, because it's downtown, and that 50s on Fridays are five. We go in, and the security looks at me strangely today, because right from the start, they're asking if I can handle it. I say I can handle it, and he says, "Okay, come on in." Man, it's hot, it's hot! My first thoughts when I saw what was going on here: delicious old-school music, tons of guys and girls having a blast on the dance floor, and it was just absolutely amazing. After seeing this, I knew this was the place for tonight. Let's dance, let's dance to hip-hop! Let's have fun!

My head is heavy, the world slows down, the dance moves half as fast against my head, something's not right, I think. Does this make sense? Where's the sense? Oh, not really me, I'm thinking too much, I'm not having enough fun. Footsteps carry me to the bar, fifty milliliters please, they give me, plus orange juice. I sat down, staring at the glass, at how it sways in my hand. A muddy mess. Will you drink with us? Strange teenagers are waking me up. I'll drink. Cheers!

Time to get back to the dance floor, time to find the girl, have fun with her. She didn't come here for me to ignore her. Not to pour alcohol into myself, it's enough that she's studying somewhere. I get there, a guy dances with her, hugs her. I have the juice in my hand, no, I don't have it anymore, the juice is pouring down the guy's head. He looks at me in surprise, no longer looks, I see a fist, a target – me, an attack is coming!

You see, it's like this: I'm drunk, he's probably drunk too, and you don't feel any pain. It's a funny situation. I once played a game on my Plyak – boxing. You see fists flying, but you don't feel anything. That's exactly what happened, holy shit! Lewis vs. Gołota! My pumpkin's response to the fist was, fajting first class! I remember lying in the glass and them, the security guards, were separating us, throwing me on the couch. Totally drunk, I totally don't understand how they ask for my name. If I don't understand, I tell them to piss off. That was the wrong answer, I didn't like it, so I had a free ride on the floor of a well-known Warsaw club, known for its hip-hop, its location in the city center, and the fact that 50 on Fridays is a 50. Kick me out of the club! I didn't have time to lie down because he was already waiting. It turned out he was black and six feet tall. I should add that I'm frail and not six feet tall. The girl is crying, I'm pretending to be tough. Luckily, I was only pretending for a moment, and security saved me, thank you for that!

They ask if I should call the police. I've sobered up, so I say no, that it's my fault, and that I'm actually sorry. The security men liked my attitude, and they started giving me advice: if they were me, they'd call a taxi because I'm not going to get out of here alive. Luckily, there are taxis waiting outside the clubs, and luckily I didn't spend my last tenner. I got into the Mercedes with the girl and said good evening. I explained the situation to the taxi driver: I have ten, take us to the bus stop where my beloved nightclub is. He said, "Okay."

That's right, not okay, because he dropped us off at the wrong place, at a different stop. "Don't panic," I told the girl, "we'll definitely get there, it's okay. Just change at the right place, it has to work!" It didn't work out, we reached the bus depot; we can't get back to the cottage in three hours at the earliest." It's cold because it's December, we're starting to freeze.

What should we do? What should we do? Various thoughts swirled in my head. There's a snowstorm overhead, we'll feel it soon. Don't worry, the snowstorm isn't anything, the worst part was the wind, minus temperatures plus the wind. I've had better times. The night doesn't always end as it begins, I thought. There were still dogs, an old Polonez, what did I have to lose? I approached them and said I wasn't from Warsaw, that I didn't know the city, that I only knew where to stay, but how to get there, we were lost! Please help, give me a lift? They looked at me with a sneer. One scratched his beard, the other sighed and said, "Well, we can't, but wait, we'll take a ride and come back, see what we can do." They left.

The girl started panicking, telling me, "They won't come back, they won't come back," and repeating this for several minutes. I tried to comfort her; there was nothing else I could do. It was getting colder and colder, we slowly started to feel like we were in Siberia. We couldn't last much longer, so I thought, we had to do something. I didn't have time to do anything because the policemen arrived and stood next to us: "Did you want a ride?" Yes, we did. Get in.

We got in, it was a nice atmosphere, like in movies from the communist era. The men were nice, it was a shock, they kept talking about where you were from, etc. So I had to improvise, and it worked until they shone a flashlight directly in my eyes. "Were you fighting?!?" That's their question, sudden silence, consternation. I was in shock, I didn't know what to say, thinking, man, thinking, you have to get out of this somehow, you don't need a sobering-up station and four-eight. I'm in! I've only just realized I have a busted nose and a black eye. How could I have forgotten that???

You know, we came to Warsaw and wanted to see how people party, so we went to a club. And you know, we were dancing, having fun, and at one point I got punched, I don't even know why! They looked at each other, and I could tell they were thinking hard. Still silence, only the sound of the Polonez's engine. Finally, one of them spoke up: "You see, it's such a shitty place here." He smiled and patted me on the shoulder

The Diary of Zuzanna S.

March 1st.

Everyone has many memories. Some they want to remember and some they'd rather forget. I want to write in this diary my story, which has brought me much pain and even more happiness.

My name is Zuzanna S. And this is my story...

March 2nd

. "Oh no, he's done it again. I've had enough. Łukasz! Why are you eating my sandwiches again?" I shouted, now seriously angry.

"Oh, I thought they were mine," said Łukasz. Łukasz is my colleague from work. He's tall, brunette, very handsome. Those thin glasses on his shapely nose add a lot to his charm. He's very intelligent, but you have to be patient with him because he's an individualist and has a somewhat difficult personality. We've been friends for three years, but in situations like this, I'm really surprised...

"You never have your own," I said.

"That's not true. I do sometimes," he said casually, and unable to resist, he sank his teeth into the tasty sandwich.

"Łukasz, damn it! It's my sandwich!" "I'm sorry ," I said, and like a lioness protecting her cubs, I rushed to save my sandwich.

"Ms. Susanna," I heard a voice coming from the doorway, just as I reached out the window, holding Łukasz's glasses and vowing to throw them away if he didn't give me mine.

That voice belonged to my boss... Terrified, I looked at him and immediately hid Łukasz's glasses behind me. It didn't make sense anyway, but people do strange things in moments of fear.

"Come see me," the boss said firmly, and left.

Łukasz looked at me sympathetically, still holding my sandwich. I was terrified; his voice was firm and didn't bode well.

"He'll probably drag me through the mud now," I thought, "and then he'll tell me that such things can't happen in his company because only serious people work here." After a moment of silence, he'll say, "We have to say goodbye, Mrs. Susanna," and what will I do then?

When we entered the office, the boss motioned me to a chair and sat down opposite me. He looked at me for a moment, picked up a pen, tapped it on the desk, and looked at me again.

"Don't panic, stay calm...everything will be fine...Oh my God, why is he looking like that? I can already see the situation. I'll call my mom tonight and say, 'Mom, I just lost my job at that newspaper that everyone knows, that has a huge reputation, and that I've been trying to get for over a year,' and my mom will say, 'Child, what a shame, but honestly, I knew you'd figure something out. Why do you have to be so scatterbrained, why do you always...blah, blah, blah.'"

At that moment, the boss tapped his pen louder on the desk, straightened up, then placed his hands on the desk and began,

"Ms. Zuzanna, why did you want to throw your friend's glasses out the window?" he asked.

"Because he took my sandwiches," I replied seriously, and immediately realized how stupid I was.

"He took your sandwiches, I see," the boss's voice said, a hint of amusement. "Are you taking anything else?" he asked.

"No, just the sandwiches," I replied, and I felt myself getting very small. I'm not helping myself at all. Instead of talking seriously to the boss and salvaging my situation, I'm making a fool of myself. Hmm... and by the way, the boss has quite beautiful eyes. When I noticed this, I really started to get nervous.

"If it's just about the sandwiches, maybe you were too harsh on him, huh?" he smiled.

"He does it every day," I replied, looking at the floor.

"Ms. Zuzanna, in my company, such situations can't happen, we only have adults, responsible, and serious people working here..."

Oh, I forgot about "responsible," I thought, and then said aloud:

"That's why we have to say goodbye, Mrs. Zuzanna.

" "Excuse me?

" "You want to fire me, right?

" "No way!" I just wanted to make a deal with you: Mrs. Kasia would buy Mr. Łukasz sandwiches every morning, and you wouldn't take your colleague's glasses.

I looked at him, surprised, and with a little indignation, I noticed that my boss was sitting in his chair, in a "lounge" position—legs on legs, hands on the backrest. He was looking at me with those pretty eyes of his and smiling mockingly. He was mocking me; the whole situation probably seemed childish to him. I started stammering,

"I'm sure this whole situation is funny to you, but...

" "No, not at all, I'm taking this quite seriously."

And that smile again. God help me, how can I get out of this without losing face?"

"But Łukasz took my sandwiches every day, and it really irritated me. He took them even when I asked him not to." IDIOT, stop talking about sandwiches, now get out of this conversation, hmm... intelligent ending, but how..." "I'm so sorry, sir, it won't happen again. Please forgive me, but I can't afford to have my things taken from me, and that's why..." Speak intelligently, you fake woman. "I'm sorry again, that was the first and last time." Great, contrition, lowered gaze, you could yawn discreetly, making your eyes look tearful, but the boss might notice the yawn, so a sad look will suffice.

The boss was still sitting in his "cool" position with that smile of his, but now it wasn't a mocking smile, but a smile of genuine amusement.

- Okay, Mrs. Zuzanna - he said, changing the "cool guy" position into the "boss" position, i.e. legs evenly and hands on the desk - end of story, Mr. Łukasz will get sandwiches in the morning, and your sandwiches will be safe.

"Oh my God, I didn't lose my job," I thought with joy. "I'll call my mom today and say, 'Mom, I'm still working at that newspaper that everyone knows... blah, blah, blah,' and she'll reply, 'I always believed in you, daughter, but... blah, blah, blah.'"

"Ms. Zuzanna, I want you to take over the fashion section of our magazine.

" "Oh no! Not only am I still working at this company, but I'm also getting promoted, unbelievable," I thought, and then stammered loudly, "How so?...mm, I mean...mm, I was working...that's, I don't know if...oh my God...

" "Let me tell you the details.

" "Yes, please.

" "Ms. Agata is leaving us, do you know about it?

" "Yes, I know, it's a great loss.

" "Well, not as great as it might seem. I want you to take her place.

" "Me?" I couldn't believe it. I've been interested in fashion for a long time, and working in the fashion section is like a dream come true."

"Yes, ma'am. You're young, you have excellent taste, you dress well, you're lively, cheerful, and temperamental. That's exactly the kind of person we need for this position." The longer he spoke, the bigger the smile spread across my face. "What do you think?

" "Me? Hmm, yes, of course I do. There's no one else in this room except you and me, he he. I'm very pleased that you think so of me, and that you've considered me. Of course, I agree, and I'll do my best to make you happy with me." I must admit, my answer was good, quite efficient, and intelligent.

"I'm very happy. When can you start?

" "Even right away, but... if I can, tomorrow, because I need to familiarize myself with fashion and other things, you know." I stood up and smiled that seductive smile of mine, which clearly had an effect on my boss, because he shook my hand firmly and looked me in the eye for a long time.

I left my boss's office surprised, happy, pleasantly flattered by his praise, more confident, and with a promotion!

I ran to tell everyone about it; maybe I'd manage to snag at least one more sandwich of my own.

March 4th

. I walked home, tired after a long day at work. My sandwiches were safe now, because indeed, Mrs. Kasia, our secretary, had bought sandwiches for Łukasz yesterday and today. Tytus, my Great Dane, my roommate, greeted me at the door. I call him that because he takes up almost as much space in our house as I do.

I dumped the groceries on the kitchen table and poured a huge package of dog food into the dog's large bowl.

"That's for starters, I'll make you something special in a moment." The dog raised his head and looked at me with eyes full of love. "Tytus, do you know what happened to me?" – I said to him, the dog raised his head again, as if waiting for what I would tell him – the day before yesterday I got a promotion, and today I got a compliment from the boss – I said and stroked Tytus's nose – nice, huh?

I made myself a cup of coffee, put on my pink pig-head slippers, and stretched out on the couch.

I started thinking about work and the promotion. Until then, I hadn't really considered why my boss had chosen me, but I was incredibly flattered. This opened up a brighter future for me—a more interesting job, a higher salary, better clothes—hmm, this looks promising.

With a satisfied smile, I went to the bathroom to apply a clay mask. These masks are a really good thing; even if they don't help, it's still good to know that you're doing something to look good.

With the mask on, I entered the room and wanted to lie down on the couch, but it was already occupied, so I settled comfortably on the soft carpet in front of it. I often wonder if I'm making a mistake by giving in to Tytus. I used to, yes, push him off the bed when I wanted to lie down, but he didn't weigh 75 kilos back then. I stopped arguing with him long ago, because any kind of persuasion wouldn't work, and carrying the dog was out of the question. Fortunately, this was the only problem I had. Tytus is a very intelligent dog, kind, affectionate, and very attached to me. I got him four years ago from a cousin whose parents forbade him from having a dog in the house. I immediately fell in love with this awkward little guy and didn't even ask what breed he was. I only realized this when Tytus's head reached my hip, and I'm not a short person.

However, we lived very comfortably. I inherited a three-room apartment from my grandmother. I turned one room into my bedroom (I'd always dreamed of having my own bedroom). The other room had a sofa, a television, a huge bookcase, and a chest of drawers, and the smallest room was occupied by Tytus and my wardrobe. I have no complaints about lack of space; I live on the ground floor and have a small garden under the balcony, so it's no problem for Tytus to go outside whenever he wanted. I love this dog and wouldn't get rid of him for anything in the world; I'd sooner look for a bigger apartment. More than once, friends offered to take Tytus in because they had a house in the country, or something else. But they didn't consider that the bond between me and this enormous dog was so strong that wherever he went, he wouldn't be happy, he'd miss him terribly, and he'd probably die of grief. Not to mention myself, I'd shed a sea of ​​tears and fall into a depression. That's why I flatly refused and rejected all such offers.

I looked at the dog lying on the couch, and he lifted his enormous head as if to ask, "What's wrong?" I pressed my face tightly to his head and kissed him on the nose. Unfortunately, I forgot that I was wearing a clay mask, and now Tytus was wearing one too. I laughed and immediately went to the bathroom for a tissue to wipe his nose when the doorbell rang.

"Who's he carrying?" I asked myself, and looked in horror at the mirror. "Jesus, a mask!" and I didn't know what to do first.

"Zuza, it's me, Łukasz. You don't have to wash off what's on your face, I already saw it through the window," a voice said from behind the door.

Embarrassed, I opened the door. Łukasz came in and looked at my face with a smile.

"We didn't all pool our resources," he said, taking off his shoes, "to buy you blinds for your birthday so you wouldn't even use them."

I looked at the window, terrified. In fact, I'd had new blinds for a few months and hadn't yet gotten used to them. I ran to the window and immediately closed them all.

"You live on the ground floor, girl. When you walk down the street, you can see everything you have in the house," Łukasz said, sitting down in an armchair.

"Okay," I smiled. "They're already closed, I have to get used to them.

" "Zuza, what's that mask you're wearing?" he asked, looking strangely at Tytus.

"Cleansing, for blackheads and pimples. What?

" "Does Tytus also have problems with blackheads?" Łukasz asked seriously.

I'd forgotten I'd messed up Tytus!

"No," I replied, "Tytus doesn't have problems with blackheads, he's just keeping me company.

" "Oh...

" "Coffee?" I asked my friend, who had settled comfortably in an armchair.

"Yes, please.

" "White coffee with sugar?

" "Do you remember correctly.

" "Did something happen?" I asked, sitting down next to Łukasz.

"No, why are you asking?

" "Because you haven't visited me in a while.

" "Come on, nothing happened. Because I haven't visited you in a while, I decided to come.

" "Łukasz...

" "Really, why do you think I should come to you when I need something?

" "Łukasz, I know you...

" "You know what, you offended me." Łukasz took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

"Łukasz...

" "What?

" "Tell me what's going on.

" "About Kaśka," he said, lowering his head.

"I knew it—I won't say I wasn't proud of myself. I've known this man for three years, and sometimes I feel like I know him better than he knows himself." I handed him the coffee and, with a look, encouraged him to tell me what was bothering him.

"She's cheating on me...

" "Oh my God," I threw myself on the couch.

"What?

" "Same again." I covered my eyes with my hand. I was tired of Łukasz's constant suspicions. He's a really nice guy, but terribly jealous and suspicious, and such behavior becomes very tiring in the long run.

"When I feel it," he said in a pathetic tone.

"Stop it! Because one day you'll go too far with these suspicions, and no one will believe you.

" "But Zuzia..."

"No buts. You keep saying the same thing, and I know, I'm sure, that she's not cheating on you...

" "But...

" "I'm saying okay?

" "Okay...

" "A relationship has to be based on trust. You've been together for a few months, and you still suspect her of cheating. Why can't you finally believe that you're a nice guy and that a woman who's with you doesn't need other men?"

"She goes out so often," Łukasz said sadly, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Because she has her own interests, her own things. She can't sit by your side all the time, petting your head, and telling you how much she adores you." I felt sorry for him, but at the same time, he was annoying me with his unfounded suspicions.

"Maybe you're right," Łukasz looked at me with a slight smile. "After all, I have my own things too, which I devote a lot of time to.

" "You see. You're tormenting yourself unnecessarily. Just be happy.

" "You know what?" I sometimes think about it, you always give such great advice, but I'm curious why you haven't found a man yet and aren't happy. You're not lacking anything, after all," Łukasz gave me a searching look.

"Thanks," I said, and somehow the urge to laugh, to give advice, or to talk about relationships and love in general vanished.

"What's the matter?" Łukasz looked me in the eye.

"Well, I still have time, I'm young, and besides, I'm fine the way I am," I always said when someone asked me why I was single. But the truth was, I didn't really believe it myself. Maybe I was single out of convenience, or maybe because I hadn't met a guy I wanted to be in a serious relationship with yet. Despite appearances, I thought about it often. I'm 27, I've lived alone for four years, and I go to all the parties alone. I sometimes meet guys, go on dates, but... it's not what I expect. I'd like to have someone I could tell over breakfast what I'm doing today, someone I could make dinner for, who wouldn't laugh at my pig-head slippers, who wouldn't grimace at the sight of me with a clay mask on. I'd like to finally fall in love...

- Zuzia!

- Yes?

- What are you thinking about?

- Just saying...

- Probably about some handsome man you have your eye on, huh?

- There isn't one - I wanted to burst into tears - I'm 27, and I don't even have a guy in mind - my despair was immense, and Łukasz noticed.

- Don't cry - he said. -

I'm not crying.

- But you'll be soon.

- How do you know?

- Because your chin is already trembling.

"Because I'm unhappy!" I screamed so loudly and so desperately that it even touched my dog. Tytus came out of the room, came over to me, and placed his big head on my lap, looking at me with those wise eyes of his. My heart sank even lower, and I hugged the dog tightly. I'm so bad that even the dog feels sorry for me.

Łukasz, seeing this situation, patted me on the shoulder and said,

"I see I have to act because things are bad for you. Do you have any plans for the evening?

" "No."

"It's Friday, and you don't have any plans for the evening? Things are really bad for you.

" "Łukasz, don't bring me down!

" "Oh, Jesus, it's good you have me," Łukasz said, clearly in a good mood. "Get dressed, we're going out.

" "Where?

" "To the party, I won't let you spend Friday night alone. Come on, come on, I'll give you 30 minutes.

" "Okay," I said. "Whatever, it's better than sitting at home with a bag of chips in front of the TV." I'm not kidding...this is how I spend my weekend evenings...scary, right?

We went to "our" club.

"Zuzka, nice to see you," Anka said, running up to me and kissing my cheek.

She was already quite tipsy. The oldest of our group, but probably the wildest. She was 31, still showing off her long, shapely legs in sexy miniskirts, alluring with a plunging neckline, but it was her long, auburn hair that caught the eye the most. At parties, she was the queen of the dance floor. She was also the person you could go to with any problem, and by turning everything into a joke, she lightened the mood and made you feel lighter.

"You look amazing," Anka said, looking at me intently.

I'm not sure I looked amazing, but it wasn't that bad...or so I thought. Brown trousers, a green blouse that exposed the shoulders, a deep neckline, gathered under the bust and falling slightly on the stomach, and lace around the neckline—my new purchase—was incredibly expensive, but I had to celebrate my promotion somehow.

"Thanks," I replied to Anka in response to her compliment.

"You just forgot something," Anka said.

"What?" I looked at myself in surprise.

"Breasts!!!" Anka exclaimed, laughing loudly.

"Oh yes, I decided to leave them at home today," I said with a smile. I'd gotten used to Anka's teasing about my small bust. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Anka's D cup was downright enormous compared to my paltry 75B. But oh well, not everyone is so generously endowed.

"Come join us," Jarek, Anka's husband, called out, waving at them.

There were already a lot of people sitting at the table. I enjoyed these gatherings. Everyone I work with was there. The fact that we were able to become friends made work a pleasure for us, because we all understood each other well and had a great affection for each other.

Łukasz sat next to his Kasia, hugged her, and must have whispered something lewd in her ear because she giggled and kissed him hungrily.

I looked at them with a smile. The fact that I had no one hurt me deeply, but I couldn't envy the happiness of my loved ones; I could rejoice for them. It was probably human instincts like these that kept me from going crazy.

"Hey Zuza," Jarek shouted, sitting down next to me, "I heard about your promotion.

" "The boss knew what he was doing; I'm the best," I said, lifting my head and smiling proudly.

"And very humble," Jarek added. We both laughed. "Oh, yes, speaking of our boss... look..." He nodded discreetly towards the table to the right.

"Oh Jesus," I whispered and laughed. "At the table Jarek indicated, the boss was sitting with a group of colleagues, probably quite tipsy, because he was talking and laughing so loudly." "Oh, come on, and I thought he'd grown into his suit," I said to Jarek.

The boss was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. He looked incredibly sexy in that outfit. I watched him explain something to his colleagues and laugh. Oh my God, what was happening to me? I couldn't stop looking at the man.

"Oh no, my dear," I thought to myself, "that's your boss, you can't do that... hmm, but he has a nice smile, BOSS, remember!!!... he doesn't have his hair done, like he usually does at work, he's better off like that." Hello, Earth, this is your employer, you earn your bread there, hmm... quite a nice employer, but that's it... oh my, he looked at me, waved, hello, hello... I hope he didn't see me staring at him – I immediately looked away.

"He almost caught you," I heard Łukasz's voice next to me.

"What?" I asked, pretending I didn't know what he was talking about.

"Don't pretend, you were staring at him so hard I'd think you liked him." Łukasz was smiling a little mockingly. "

You're stupid," I said curtly.

"Maybe stupid, but not blind – maybe ask the boss to come over, huh?" "Łukasz, stop it, okay?" "Admit it." "To what? " "To what?" "Okay." "What,

okay?" "Well, if 'what, okay' is what you're telling me to admit,

so I'll admit it. " "You admit it?" "Yes! " "You like it. " "Okay." "Okay! " "Okay!" "Okay ." "Okay." "Okay." "Okay." "Okay. " "Okay." "Okay." "Okay. " "Okay. " "Okay." "Okay!" ... I'd have to be blind not to notice a guy like that, but he's my boss. End of story. - So what, your boss? - End of story.

Okay, if you want, but I still think...

" "How's Kasia?" I changed the subject.

"Great, everything's fine. I just need to try to change things up a bit and it'll be okay," Łukasz replied, quickly forgetting what we'd been talking about earlier.

"Well, I'm glad, I told you. You look good together," I said, looking at my beaming friend. "I'm going to get you a drink," I said.

"I'll buy you one, sit down," Łukasz offered.

"No thanks, I'd feel guilty for tearing you away from your beloved. Go to her." Łukasz had been standing in front of me the whole time. "Go ahead!

" "You're a sweetheart, you know?" he asked, wrapping his arms around me tightly.

"I know," I replied, and deftly extricated myself from his embrace.

After making my way through the dancing crowd, I stood in front of the bar. A man was talking to the bartender, and I eyed him appreciatively. A slim, shapely, and muscular figure, slightly disheveled hair, but the mess only added to the charm of this wonderful phenomenon.

"He probably has a wife, or at least a fiancée," I thought ruefully. "It's impossible for a guy like that to be alone. Hmm, maybe I'll go over and chat; what's the harm? I'm alone anyway, and if I'm shy about it, I'll be lonely for the rest of my life.

" "Oh! Good evening!" The sexy man turned around before I could approach him. I recognized him as my boss...

I was so surprised and simultaneously terrified by this sudden greeting that I let out a strange gasp, then covered my mouth with my hand, feeling strangely foolish.

"Nice to see you too," he said, a little surprised. "Well, that gasp was probably a response to my greeting, right?" He smiled.

"Yes, that gasp was a sign of joy. I was happy to see you," I replied with a smile.

"And how are the preparations for your new position going?" he asked.

"In progress," I replied with a smile. "Thank you again for..."

"Ms. Zuzanna, let's not talk about work on Friday evening, okay?"

"Okay, but you started this conversation, I was just trying to be nice," I replied, taking a long sip of my drink.

My boss looked at me, surprised, but also amused by my answer. I thought so, because he was smiling so nicely.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked.

"Thank you, I just bought one." His question made me nervous. Why? I don't know, I'm like that when I lose my confidence, when someone proves bolder than me, I start to get nervous and immediately have trouble putting together a coherent sentence.

"Can I buy you another one?

" "Hmm, I don't know.

" "Why?

" "Because I don't know if I'll feel like having another one."

"Mhm, I understand. If you feel like having another one, you'll tell me, okay?

" "Okay, but this might be a little weird." I felt the drink starting to warm me up. The conversation with the boss had made me drink faster than usual, I just prayed I wouldn't start talking nonsense, as I often do after drinking. "He has beautiful eyes," I thought, very beautiful... stop... boss, boss, boss!"

"Why strange?" he asked.

"I'm not going to run to you when I run out of drink.

" "But you won't have to call me," he said, leaning in so his face was a few centimeters from mine. "If you'll let me, I'd like to keep you company," he said, and with a mischievous smile, he watched as I sheepishly tried to fish an olive out of my martini.

Silence fell... If I agree to him accompany me, I'll get drunk and talk nonsense and won't be able to look him in the face later, and if I refuse... what if I refuse?" I'm going to regret this. I finally found a guy I like, someone who caught my eye, as Łukasz said, but there was another problem... this guy is my boss.

"What do you think?" My boss looked at me expectantly.

"I don't know," I replied.

"You don't want to?" Why did I get the feeling there was regret in his voice? Maybe I was just imagining it.

"No, it's not that I don't want to, it's just that this is a bit embarrassing for me," I finally blurted out. They say alcohol gives you courage. At that moment, I felt like I could tell him so much, too much.

"Why embarrassing?" He leaned against the bar, looking so alluring... oh God. "Why

, why? You're my boss.

" "You can forget about it for the weekend."

"It's not that easy."

"Don't you see me as a human being? I am one, after all."

"I know you're a human being, but in your everyday life you're my boss, I earn my living with you, and that's a bit...

" "Awkward?

" "Degrading." I think that's what I really meant. I felt defenseless, poor, small around him...

" "Ms. Zuzanna, what are you saying? Why degrading?" He was truly outraged!

"Try to understand me," I said and sat down on a high stool at the bar. He did the same, looking at me seriously. "You're my superior, as they say now, you give me a job, thanks to you I have money to live on, that means you're above me, I'm dependent on you, I'm just your employee, someone who does some work for you, I do what you tell me...

" "You're not just any employee, and you're not doing "any" work, what you do is very important to my company and to me."

"I understand, and I'm glad you say that, but still...

" "I'm still the boss, right?

" "Yes! You're still my boss." I didn't know how to explain it anymore. Just bringing it up was embarrassing. For me, a boss was always a boss. I'd never considered any closer contact. I can't fully explain it. I can't tell this handsome man standing before me that I feel uncomfortable around him.

"Can I change it somehow?" he asked in a lower voice, and I felt my face heat up. God... what was happening to me then? I couldn't look at him, and I so desperately wanted to look into those black eyes again...

"No, you can't change it, I'm sorry," I said, getting up, and walking away. Why did I do that? I'm not entirely sure; I thought I was afraid the conversation would take a turn for the worse and our working relationship would deteriorate. I really like this job and don't want to lose it, and a bad relationship with my boss could be grounds for dismissal. But in reality, as I sat down at the table and lit a cigarette, it occurred to me that the reason was my fear that during a longer conversation, he'd get to know me better, realize I wasn't interesting, regret entrusting me with such a good position, and... he wouldn't look at me that way anymore. I hate these damn insecurities; they always make my life difficult.

"Besides, I'll say it again for the hundredth time, he's my boss... and contact with the boss should be limited to professional matters. End of story.

March 7th.

This morning was difficult. On Saturday, my mom came to visit me with her Labrador retriever, Sisi, with whom my Tytus is madly in love. My dad couldn't come because he was working, so my mom stayed with me all weekend. We had long conversations. I have great conversations with my mom; she's a very intelligent woman who's been through a lot in her life, but she's never lost her spirit." Even when my dad was cheating on her, it was hard for her, I know because she told me about it, but she never lost hope that everything would work out. She didn't throw tantrums, she didn't threaten my father with divorce, she waited. And when he came to his senses and came to her, she forgave him, and from then on, he began to adore her, even more than when he proposed. My mom always says, "I suffered, but it was worth it." I want to be like my mom in the future.

The weekend was a great success, but when Mom left yesterday, along with Sisi, Tytus was so distraught that he howled all night long, missing his friend. My pleas and begging were to no avail; the neighbors were banging on the walls and the floor, and I couldn't do anything to quiet the smitten dog. At four in the morning, Tytus suddenly fell silent and went to sleep, and I had to get up at five-thirty, so an hour and a half of sleep left me unconscious at work today. I mixed up documents in my folders, made countless mistakes in the articles I was writing, and couldn't distinguish the colors of clothes in the photos presented on the slides the company we work with sent.

Anka also works in the fashion department. Seeing what was happening to me, she helped me as much as she could, dear Anula. What would I do without her?

"How's work going?" I heard a voice behind me that paralyzed me. It was my boss.

I turned around, thinking he was talking to me, but they spoke to Natalia, who was working on a new fashion ad. He looked his usual workday: an elegant, expensive suit, a perfectly fitted shirt. I wondered who chose his shirts and ties like that, his wife, his girlfriend, or maybe...what did I care anyway?

I busied myself with my work; I didn't want him to think I was doing nothing. I looked up at him again, and he looked back at me. I'd often wondered what it would be like when we met after this incident, but I hadn't considered that possibility—the boss nodded and...sneered! I'd been the one puzzling over how to react the whole time. I felt embarrassed about the incident, and now I felt even worse. I took it seriously. Yes! I'll admit to myself, because I think self-deception is the worst thing, so I'll admit that something stirred in my heart when he leaned over me like that, whispering like that... well, he just whispered, and now I see how stupid I am. Maybe it's because I want someone so badly. Oh no! No more! I even had thoughts that he had feelings for me, how naive I am, and my mom always warns me like that... I have to stop thinking about it, or all my work on building my self-confidence will be ruined. Yes, I'm working on being more confident in my relationships and in life in general, because I've decided I'm too good and I let myself be manipulated. And feeling inferior to someone isn't all that pleasant.

March 8th, Women's Day

. Great... Women's Day, and I don't even have anyone to wish me well. I don't ask for anything more than wishes. Is that too much?

I was reluctant to go to work. I didn't want to look at my boss, especially not at his silly grins. But I have no choice, I have to work, well, that's life, no one said it would be easy.

Upon entering work, I was greeted with a pleasant surprise. I received a lovely little flower from the receptionist, along with, of course, best wishes. This brightened my mood considerably, and I entered the office with a faint smile. But that smile quickly vanished, specifically because my boss was standing in my office with Natalia, the one who works on the fashion department ad, and with whom I share the office. They were standing by the window, she was showing him something and chatting loudly, and he was nodding with a smile. I walked past them indifferently and went to my desk.

"Oh, Mrs. Zuzanna," the idiot feigned surprise, "how's your work going?

" "Good, great, absolutely wonderful!" I exclaimed, somewhat hysterically, and dug into my purse, as if searching for something important. I wanted them to resume their conversation, but they were looking at me with an angry look of surprise. What could I do? I had to explain my strange outburst. Next time, I'll think ten times before I speak. Anyway... I always tell myself that, and I always make the same mistake: I'm definitely too spontaneous. But I had to get out of it somehow, so I started:

"I'm sorry for that strange exclamation. Sometimes my tongue gets out of control and plays these 'tricks' on me." I smiled sheepishly and started rummaging through my bag again.

"But there has to be a reason for these 'tricks,' right?" he said, smiling at me. Not mockingly, nor maliciously, just normal, nice...beautiful. I wanted to run up to him and strangle him with that blue tie, then throw him out the door, for making me have such mood swings because of him. Because when I saw that smile, I forgot why I was in such a bad mood today. I was angry with myself for standing there staring at him like the proverbial magpie in a headlock. I stood there smiling until he said:

"Well, is there a reason?" I wanted to tell him, "Yes, you're the reason. I can't control my body's impulses around you," but of course I didn't. I just smiled and said,

"It's because today is Women's Day, and I... I received a beautiful flower from Mr. Henryk today, and I thought I wouldn't even get well wishes from anyone. It was very nice, it put me in a positive mood, and that's why I'm shouting so much," I said quickly.

The boss looked at me a little incredulously; my answer probably seemed ridiculous and trivial to him, but I thought I'd pulled it off well. Suddenly, he walked briskly toward me, took my hand, and pressed it to his lips. He stayed like that for a moment, then straightened up and said,

"I'm so sorry, ma'am, it's reprehensible to forget about Women's Day, but I have to admit that...

" "You forgot," I interrupted him with satisfaction. It made me laugh that he would now be running around buying flowers for all the women in the company, and there were 54 of us.

"Yes, I forgot...

" "It doesn't matter, we'll fix it in a moment," I said, seeing how embarrassed and frightened he looked. "Has anyone seen you at the office today?" I asked.

"No. Just Ms. Natalia and you.

" "That's fine, stay in our office and I'll run for the flowers, okay?

" "You're an angel, how can I repay you?"

"Don't leave here, I don't want our girls to feel bad that the boss treats them like... well, never mind. We deserve respect, even though we're just your employees."

My words clearly touched him, because he looked at me reproachfully, stood up quickly, and pressed three hundred zlotys into my hand.

"The girls from the bank had beautiful bouquets of gerberas," I said, still standing with my hand outstretched.

He pulled out another three hundred zlotys, handed it to me, and as he was leaving, he stood next to me and said seriously,

"I'll ask you to come to my office when you get back."

I went, bought flowers and doughnuts, and Natalia and I distributed them to all the women on behalf of the boss. They were very happy, and soon all the offices were decorated with colorful mugs and glasses filled with flowers.

Following the boss's orders... well, the boss's orders, correct wording, so following the boss's orders, after the flower drive, I went to his office. When I entered, he was standing by the mirrored window, watching the women, who were happily examining their elegant bouquets and feasting on doughnuts.

"They're happy, aren't they?" he stated more than asked.

"Of course they are, every woman is happy when she receives flowers," I replied.

"And did you buy any for yourself?

" "No, I didn't.

" "Why?

" "Because I didn't want...

" "You didn't want flowers from me?"

"That's not the point, I didn't want to buy flowers for myself, because that wouldn't make sense; it's like buying myself a birthday present."

"What annoys me about you is that everything seems pointless, strange, or embarrassing to you.

" "Not everything, only what it really is.

" "Ms. Zuzanna... you think of me as a boss who doesn't care about employees, treats them as objects, and only cares about his own interests, right?

" "Yes!" My answer surprised him. He looked at me with those alluring eyes and said,

"I try not to make my employees feel that way," he said. He was sad and seemed to mean it sincerely.

"Apparently, you're not trying hard enough, and besides, I'm not an expert in employer-employee relations, so I ask that we don't discuss this topic any further.

" "But I really want our relationship to be as close and as good as possible...

" "You mean 'ours'?"

"Mine and yours," he looked at me expectantly. I wanted to pause time so I could think of a response, but unfortunately, I don't have that option, and I deeply regret it. Instead, I said,

"Our relationship is good, at least I'm not complaining.

" "But I'd like it to be even better," he said, standing up and suddenly standing next to me.

"No problem," I replied quickly, "maybe we can start right away. Here's a doughnut for you, sir. I thought you might like it, and since I bought some for the girls, I thought of you too. Here," I pressed the doughnut into his hand. He must not have expected this, because his expression was very surprised.

"What, we've already gotten closer, haven't we?" I asked with a smile and left his office. When I closed the door, I burst into hysterical laughter.

March 10th.

Yesterday, my boss didn't speak to me at all, he walked past me and glared at me, while I grinned from ear to ear. I could see it was really irritating him, so I tried to smile even wider each time we met.

But today he couldn't take it anymore and was acting very pretentious towards me. Just as we greeted him, he demanded my receipt and the rest of the money he'd given me to buy flowers for Women's Day. There wouldn't have been anything offensive about it if I hadn't given him the money immediately after I got back, and if he hadn't said it in front of the colleagues I work with.

"I wanted to point out that I gave you both the receipt and the money after I got back from the flower shop," I said nervously.

"I don't remember," he said. He stood over my desk and brazenly watched me get flustered and glance at my colleagues.

"It's none of my business. I gave you the money and put it on my desk.

" "You must be doing something—oh no! That was too much. What was he thinking, the idiot.

" "Am I doing something?" Do you think I'd be capable of taking money that doesn't belong to me? My salary is enough for me to live on; I don't need to take anyone else's money, and I'm certainly not stupid or desperate enough to steal money from my BOSS!" I shouted, emphasizing the word BOSS.

I was furious and deeply hurt by these suspicions. I stood up and left, slamming the door behind me.

I quickly went to the restroom, needing to calm down. In fact, I felt like crying. This self-assured stiff had accused me of things I couldn't even fathom. No one had ever upset me like that. He did it in front of my friends, and it's so easy to change someone's mind. And who would want to hang out with someone who's dishonest and steals... yes, steals, because that's exactly what my boss had accused me of. Suddenly, I heard footsteps behind me.

"Ms. Zuzanna – yes, it was him. I didn't feel like talking to him and didn't stop. But he ran over and stood in front of me.

"Excuse me," he said in one breath. I didn't reply, so he continued: "I'm having a bad day, and that's probably why I attacked you like that.

" "Why me?

" "I don't know..."

"You insulted me in front of my friends and you can't explain why?

" "Well...yes," he replied. "Well, no! I wanted to jump him and scratch his eyes out.

"Do you remember that I gave the money back?

" "Yes...

" "I don't believe it" – that was the height of impudence – "and yet...

" "But Mrs. Zuzanna...

" "Don't bother. You knew perfectly well I gave the money back, and yet you accused me of stealing because you were having a bad day and I happened to be there. It's ridiculous.

" "But why stealing in the first place?"

"You accused me of not returning the money, and if not, then by simple, logical reasoning, if I didn't return it, then I took it, and the money wasn't mine. What conclusion can I draw from that? That I would be taking someone else's money, and that's THEFT!" I was far too nervous.

"Ms. Zuzanna, you're beautiful when you're angry," I choked. My emotions almost burst my throat, and he told me I was beautiful.

"Excuse me? You must be joking.

" "You're not very beautiful, and I'd like to invite you to dinner.

" "Did you create this whole situation to invite me to dinner?

" "Yes.

" "But why?

" "Because you're the kind of woman who, I'm one hundred percent sure, a simple invitation for a date wouldn't make the slightest impression on. Besides, I couldn't resist the sight. You're truly charming when you scream..."

I didn't know what to say, I stood there staring at him.

"So, shall we go?" he asked with a smile.

"Let's go," I replied, and felt a smile light up my face.

aili for keN

Someone said that human life is only a moment. So what's the life of a butterfly that enjoys its flight for only a few hours? From that perspective, it's good to be human. But sometimes I envy butterflies. Their flight is short, but life is beautiful.

My name is Kenji, and I've been working at a beauty salon for five years. I enjoy my job, even though I don't always like the clients. However, today my client was a shy girl. At first, she was a little shy and distant towards me. But over time, she relaxed. As I later learned, her name was Aili.

I wonder what the world looks like through a butterfly's eyes. Is it any different from ours? Maybe it sees it upside down, backwards, or from below. I suspect a butterfly is an observer. It knows it's about to leave, so it wants to see as much as possible. It notices details I don't.

Today I arrived at the salon a little later. I spent a good part of the day taking care of paperwork. After all the chaos, it was nice to see her again, waiting for her turn.

Do butterflies have feelings? I've never seen them cry. Or maybe they just don't like being seen like that—that's understandable. But why haven't I seen them happy either? Could the thought of the impending end be depressing them so much?

Last night I had to stay late at work. She stayed with me. I don't know how it happened, but as soon as the last employee left the factory, we were locked in a hellish embrace, proving our mutual desire. But first thing in the morning, she was gone, and I never saw her again.

Then something happened to me. I started crying. Salty drops, one by one, fell into the small glass coffin. I thought that once I cried all my tears and threw the container away, my sorrows would be gone. Yet, even though each one landed in the coffin, some might say it was empty. But I knew it was full of dry tears I was afraid to shed.

My butterfly flew away. But now, as the redness drained from me, I believed I would find it soon.

The sun was shining

The sun was shining. The curtains swayed gently in the summer breeze. The cheerful chirping of birds soothed the red-haired girl's tired soul. Her green eyes

sparkled with a strange light. She held a mug of cold tea in her hand. The green, lush grass caressed her aching feet. She rested her head on the wooden back of a garden chair, staring out the window of her house. She wasn't beautiful, nor was she ugly.

Just ordinary. Her hair stood out, which often led to unpleasant teasing from her peers, especially the opposite sex. She liked most things about herself except for her nose, which she considered too large. Of course, like her friends, she tried to stick to a diet, which wasn't very successful, considering that when she felt like it, she could eat an entire bar of milk chocolate. Later, she would experience terrible pangs of conscience and try to vomit the contents of her stomach into the toilet. She never succeeded. Although she had lost a lot of weight recently, it wasn't the result of any diet. Her grades were average. She had many friends, or rather, girlfriends, as she'd barely spoken to any boys for about three years (excluding those summers) for various reasons. I must emphasize that she wasn't a feminist. Quite the opposite. She believed that women who once fought for equal rights had made a fatal mistake, because if it weren't for them, she could have spent all day at home instead of going to school. She liked to think about many things. Simply sitting in a quiet corner and thinking about various things, or inventing interesting love stories involving herself. This particular girl was named Magda. She wasn't anyone special. She didn't stand out from the crowd of other teenagers. She didn't smoke. She didn't do drugs. She lived her dreams, which she couldn't keep to herself, and she always talked about them to her closest friends (and I'm not referring to her family). She often regretted keeping her mouth shut, which, incidentally, she wore braces. As you can see, she was truly an ordinary teenager, but the events that took place at the beginning of summer break and lasted less than two months meant she was no longer an ordinary seventeen-year-old. Her perspective and view of the world around her changed. Still staring out the window, she rested her head on her sun-baked hand. Her thoughts drifted back to the beginning of summer break…

"Great competition from Radio ZET!" the announcer exclaimed. Magda was painting her toenails. Summer break began today. Her first year of high school had ended. She felt wonderful!

"You've never had anything like this before! Just text 7698 to win an unforgettable trip for two. A luxury ship… the Caribbean Sea… But that's not all. Can you imagine the most glamorous stars of Hollywood aboard the Marine? Among them were Mel Gibson, Demi Moore, Salma Hayek, Tom Cruise, and many others?

You can spend an unforgettable week drinking champagne with the most famous faces in world cinema. Send text messages. You only have until tonight. We'll randomly select one from the submitted text messages and call the lucky winner around 8:30 PM. Only Radio ZET can provide you with such excitement! – a moment later, music played on the radio. Some new summer hit. Magda had probably heard it a thousand times, and at least for the fourth time today. Just like the announcements about this contest today. They'd been buzzing about it for about two weeks now. She could imagine how much money they must be making off these text messages. Although she didn't want to admit it to anyone, she sent two yesterday. She didn't believe she could win something like that, but she wanted to try. She always had a chance; it would be pretty cool to sail the Caribbean Sea while watching handsome actors. Especially since Orlando Bloom was supposed to be on that ship. No, that's it! – she said to herself. She'd long ago decided that Bloom was a thing of the past. But as often as she tried to forget him and stop acting like a stupid brat with a crush on someone she didn't even know, he kept popping into her mind at least three times an hour. Her friends thought Bloom was a complete faggot, and sometimes, even though she didn't tell them, she agreed with them, seeing the actor in his pink blouse, half-long curly hair, and fuzzy beard. But there were also photos that took her breath away. She loved looking at them and imagining being with him. Touching him, kissing him, and then making love to him in some quiet spot. That was just how she was, and although part of her mind told her she'd never meet him, never feel his touch, the other half believed that day would come, that her dream would come true. And now she sat quietly in the kitchen, painting her nails and losing herself in her thoughts again.

In a week, she was supposed to fly to New York, where she'd recently spent her vacation. Her brother and aunt lived there, so her parents sent her there, seeing no other way to spend her vacation. Don't think she was rich or anything. Her aunt, who had lived in the US for 25 years and owned her own jewelry store, where her brother worked, provided the tickets, accommodations, and meals. Magda's brother didn't work for her aunt. Honestly, she didn't want to go there for several reasons, which I won't mention because it would take up a significant portion of this story. However, she preferred it to staying home, where she'd probably do nothing but watch TV and eat ice cream. So, you could say that those text messages she sent last night before going to bed were meant to save her from summer boredom.

When the nail polish dried on her fingers, she got up and poured herself some cold water. She was alone in the house. Her parents had gone to work, and her other brother, who still lived with them, had gone out with his friends for a cold beer. So Magda could do what she most wanted to do: simply nothing. She went out into the garden, followed by her dog. She decided that this summer she would sunbathe a lot. With very fair skin and a smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks, tanning was difficult for her. Every summer, she spent at least three hours a day lying flat on a dirty New York beach, praying that the sun's rays would reach her pale skin. To no avail. After such a dose of sun, her complexion turned red, and then the top layer of skin peeled away painfully. Holding her Walkman, sunglasses, towel, and suntan oil, she shuffled out onto the green grass in her flip-flops. She spread out a towel and lay down comfortably. It was almost 12 p.m. Sunbathing was forbidden at this time, as the sun was very harmful, but she didn't care. She put on her favorite Meredith Brooks song, "Bitch," and took advantage of the beautiful weather. She spent about two hours doing nothing. At 4 p.m., she had an appointment with her friends at the pizzeria where they always said goodbye before vacation. At 3 p.m., she returned home, took a quick shower, and left.

All the girls were already there except Hania, who was always late.

"Hey," all five seventeen-year-olds greeted each other. "As usual, are we waiting for Hania?"

Magda asked.

"How could it be otherwise?" replied Ania, a petite brunette, Magda's best friend. They chatted for several minutes about their vacation plans while waiting for the latecomer. When Hania finally arrived, they ordered pizza and cold drinks.

"It's a shame Miśka and Balbina aren't with us," Ania muttered.

"Actually, why didn't we tell them we were coming here?" Zuzia asked.

"Why do we need them here?" Julka squealed. "We've always met as a group of six, and it should stay that way.

" "I always thought they should come here with us," Magda said. Lately, things hadn't been going well with Julka, and frankly, she would have preferred the company of the two absent girls.

"Exactly..." Hania joined the conversation. Silence fell. Only Estera sat quietly, not contributing to this trivial and uninteresting discussion.

Magda really disliked situations like this and tried desperately to keep the conversation going.

"Do you know about that Radio ZET competition?

" "Who wouldn't?" Ania said wearily.

"Did you send text messages?" Magda continued. "To be honest, I did..." She spilled the beans again, though she didn't want to tell anyone.

- Me too - Hania smiled at her - Come on, the chances of winning anything are zero anyway.

"I know... but Bloom... I had to send... the Caribbean...

" "Not that Bloom again!" Zuzia said in a resigned voice. "When will you finally get over it?

" "I guess never... And if I win, who's going with me?" Julka immediately yelled,

"ME!!! Of course I am!" Magda thought that if she were forced to be with her for a whole week, she would probably give up the trip altogether. Although everyone said those six girls were like inseparable lovebirds, something had long since started to go sour between them. In reality, Magda was only close to Ania, Hania, and Zuzia. Julka and Estera really annoyed her, but she didn't know why.

"Julka," Ania said, tempering her enthusiasm. "If Magda won, she'd take me." Magda smiled at her friend, who always knew what was on her mind.

To avoid looking artificial, she started laughing, treating it as a joke. In a more relaxed atmosphere, they ate the pizza served, chatting and laughing at Magda's vulgar jokes.

After returning home, Magda called Ania to discuss the meeting. They were supposed to meet tomorrow at Ania's house. They had been talking for exactly half an hour when she heard her mother's cries from downstairs, needing to use the phone. Magda ended the conversation, agreeing on a specific time. When she finally managed to say goodbye to her friend, she glanced at her watch. It was exactly 8:30 PM. She heard the faint sound of her cell phone ringing. A shiver of excitement ran through her. But that didn't mean anything… she said, reaching for the phone. She glanced at the screen. It was calling: an unknown number. With a trembling hand, she pressed the answer button.

"Hello?" she asked uncertainly.

"Good evening," said a male voice. "Did you send a text message during the Radio ZET competition?

" "Yes," she whispered. She realized that everyone listening to Radio ZET was hearing this conversation.

"You won the grand prize, a week's stay aboard a luxury cruise ship..." Magda didn't hear the rest of the words, lost in her own thoughts. She couldn't believe it. She: an ordinary seventeen-year-old... she won... She's dreaming... this can't be true! Only when she heard the fanfare did she snap out of her thoughts.

"Are you there?" the announcer asked.

"Yes... but I can't believe I won. "

"You have to. Congratulations. Thank you for talking with me.

" "Thank you too..." She was about to hang up when a woman's voice came on the line:

"Please don't hang up. We need your details." Magda guessed it was no longer on the air. She answered the woman's questions one by one, but she couldn't believe it all and later wondered if she'd given the correct answers. When the interview finally ended, Magda lay down on the bed and decided that maybe this vacation wouldn't be completely wasted after all...