I opened my eyes and glanced at the clock. 8:30
"Oh, damn," I said, and immediately froze. Who's saying "damn" today? I'm not paying attention again.
Lacking time, I postponed my thoughts on what I should say and moved on to something more interesting – what day is it today? The twelfth? The eleventh? Or is it, damn it, the thirteenth already?
Wiktor, my "equal partner, with whom I have a stable, unbiased and unrestricted relationship," threw away my calendar, claiming that a normal person in the 21st century doesn't hang such a normal thing as a calendar on their walls. He didn't say what to hang, so now there's a bright spot on the wall where the calendar was, and I'm still lying in bed wondering what day it is.
Okay, maybe I should think about what day of the week it is. Monday? Maybe. Tuesday? Why not. Wednesday? A day like any other. Until now, everything had been clear. My life was organized like eggs in a cardboard box. If I woke up and went to the bathroom with my legs spread wide, it meant it was Monday – on Sundays, Wiktor dragged me to the stables, claiming that riding skills would help me unearth hidden (looking at me, rather deeply) layers of my aristocratic ancestry. If my skin itched, it meant Tuesday. On Mondays, at Wiktor's behest, I went to the beauty salon, where all my cells were subjected to stretching, pressing, massaging, and patting until they began to whimper for mercy. When I woke up with a book under my head, it was Wednesday – after Tuesday's English, which I was supposed to learn faster thanks to a night of torment on a hardcover copy of English For Business. If I woke up and didn't know where I was or what I was doing, it was Thursday. On Wednesdays, we attended meetings of some philosophical-mystical discussion group that brainwashed me so effectively that I always tried to commit suicide on the way home, and in the morning I either remembered nothing or doubted everything and everyone. If I woke up and couldn't move my head, it was Friday. On Thursdays, I went to the hairdresser and slept all night with a roller under my neck so I'd still see something in the morning. If I woke up and everything hurt, it was Saturday, because I went to the gym on Fridays. If I woke up and everything hurt, and on top of that, I didn't know where I was or what I was doing, it was Sunday, after a Saturday night of partying.
The absence of any of the aforementioned symptoms reminded me that a few days ago, my previous habits had vanished like wrinkles in a cream ad. Wiktor had gone to Vienna on business, and I was disbelieving that no one was controlling me. I held on for the first day, a little less so on the second, and when on the third day I ate a chocolate bar and no one lectured me about the harmful effects of sweets and their impact on how others perceive me, I finally believed I was free. No more swimming pools, tanning salons, gyms, and the whole circus. Yes, but now I don't know what day of the week it is or whether I should go to work or not. Because if I do, I'm done.
I dragged myself out of bed and went to the neighbors', hoping they had a calendar, even a pocket one. Rumcajs with duck feet opened the door.
"Uh, is Iwonka there?
" "She's there, but she's still sleeping. Come in." I was going to wake her up anyway, because today we're doing Saturday cleaning.
"Saturday!" I almost shouted across the hallway. "No, maybe later, let him sleep. Goodnight, I mean, goodbye, thank you." The sight of Jędrek, two meters tall, dressed only in an apron, knocked me off balance, honed in training. How is that possible?
"Saturday!" I sang, opening the door. "So what first? Maybe some super unhealthy scrambled eggs in butter? Preferably with some country-style sausage. You can feel his muscles going. Yum.
And then? Maybe I'll go to the park? No. To see friends? That's in the evening. Maybe I'll visit my mom?
Since I moved to Wiktor's two years ago, I haven't been there once.
"But I called," I explained, searching for something human in the closet. Unfortunately. No stretched-out T-shirts, no jeans, nothing. Nothing a normal person would wear.
Oh well. I chose the least stiff thing in my opinion and left the house. And I wasn't taking the car. After two years of growing into my seat, I'd finally take a walk. Great. I'm going.
I'm not going anymore. I forgot it was on the other side of town. These shoes weren't exactly made for walking in either. Pressing the clutch or tapping on the office floor, sure, but on the sidewalks? It clearly didn't occur to them that someone who spent that much on shoes would actually want to walk around in them.
I walked up to the kiosk.
"Good morning. Ticket, please.
" "How much?" Between the cigarettes and the disposable hairspray, appeared, in sequence: a blonde perm, enormous cheeks, and finally, above the cheeks, something that looked like eyes.
"Uh, I don't know. A normal one, please.
" "What? Does he think I'm selling some weird stuff here? How much, I ask?
How am I supposed to know how much a ticket costs now? I knew two years ago.
"Well, the whole ticket, please..."
"They're all intact. Does she see any broken ones here?
Yes, I can see she's doing it on purpose. But why me? I'm always nice to everyone.
I won't give in to her; after all, that's not why I toiled through all those personality-building courses. I know!
Dazzled by her genius, flexing and strutting, I blurted out,
"Then I'll have the season ticket.
" "For how much? "
She killed me. She killed my entire developed, trained, and richly paid personality.
"Don't worry, miss. She's going through menstruation now, and that's why—" An elderly gentleman standing behind me patted my shoulder.
"Probably menstruation," I blurted out automatically, and immediately felt myself blushing. After so much training in controlling my emotions!
Two cores in the queue giggled, and a young man smiled to himself.
"Look at her, miss. Does she look like she can do anything else? She's going through menstruation, which means her tea is over."
"Menopause!" I shouted.
Two of the cores went wild. The boy's lips stretched into a silent smile. An older man patted his stomach, and another one said something amusedly to a friend, pointing at me.
In desperation, I missed Wiktor. If he were here, he'd know what to do. Except if he were here, I definitely wouldn't be standing in too-tight shoes in front of a bus stop kiosk, throwing menstruation and menopause into the air.
The thought of Wiktor reminded me of what he'd been putting into my head for the past two years, and that was the only thing stopping me from running home immediately. Repeating the wisdom I'd once heard: "Don't let the stallions eat you," I went to the next stop, where, unbelieving my luck, I found a kiosk with a sign listing the ticket prices stuck to the window.
I rode the bus, trying not to think about what had happened. After all, it wasn't the end of the world, just one embarrassing situation. The end of the world is coming soon, in my old neighborhood. You can't even say goodnight to the devil there.
I got off at a shabby gray high-rise and walked along the low concrete blocks, so shabby they weren't even gray anymore.
Just around the corner from my building, I bumped into Olek, with whom I went to elementary school and, as it happened, high school as well.
"Hi Olek! It's been ages. How's it going?
" "Great, the sheep are going back to their old haunts."
"What?" I felt several liters of hot, youthful blood begin to boil in my veins. "Rams? Rams, rams? And who else was putting letters together in sixth grade, huh? And who wrote on their Polish final exam that Jan Kielich played the dulcimer for Mr. Tadeusz at the wedding? And do you remember"—I took a quick breath so as not to waste the time allotted to me on a mental and verbal attack—"how Równia asked you about the formula for electric charge? I showed you the window because that formula was bullshit. Q = I x T Charge equals the current intensity times the time it flows. And what did you say? What? RAMA! !"
Olek looked at me strangely and pointed to an invisible point behind me.
Old Baran's sons, Marek and Waldek, were entering the staircase in the apartment building opposite.
I turned slowly.
"Rams were sentenced for burglary and something. They were gone for a year and a half," Olek drawled slowly, his gaze fixed on me.
"Olek, I... well, yeah, what about you?" After so many speeches, dozens of lectures I'd given and intelligent discussions every Wednesday, here in the old courtyard, I didn't know what to say.
"Nothing.
" "Uh, maybe we should go out for a beer somewhere, eh?
" "I can't. I'm allergic to hops. Have you forgotten?
" "Of course not." "Of course not." "How about some coffee with a cookie?" I desperately tried to erase the bad impression.
"I have high blood pressure. I can't eat sweets either, as you probably know.
Oh yes, I forgot that Olek was an orphan at school. Not only was my thinking not very good, but my health and sanity had also gone out of control.
"Only you, happy people, can do whatever you like. I can't," he emphasized the last words, looking at me with satisfaction. I saw it, I saw how much pleasure he had. He was deliberately tormenting me because he knew I felt incredibly stupid. God, how I longed to be with my mother.
"I have to be with my mother. Bye.
" And so I ran away. So naturally, cowardly, I ran away, for the second time today.
"Kasia!" my mother shouted at the sight of me, opening her vast arms.
When I looked as if I'd fallen out of a washing machine, she relaxed her grip. "Come in, child, come in. "
I was just setting foot over the threshold when my mother turned and, looking at me, froze.
"Uncle Edek is dead!" she screamed, bursting into tears.
I was a little surprised by the sudden shift from enthusiasm to utter despair, but the meaning of the news didn't let me dwell on it. We fell into each other's arms again, this time sobbing and furtively wiping our noses—she on my shoulder, I on hers.
Such a good man," Mom sniffed. "Such scoundrels walk the earth, and such an honest, decent, good man... Come on, Kasia, let's have some tea and talk." She pulled me into the kitchen, one hand gripping my wrist and the other smearing the black mascara smudges. "And when's the funeral?
" "Are you asking me?
" "Who? Anyway, it doesn't matter. You'll call Aunt Krysia later and find out. How are you?" She suddenly changed the subject. "Are you still with that, uh, Vicar?
" "Wiktor, Mom. You know perfectly well who a vicar is.
" "As similar as a person can remember. If he came here, maybe I would, but he's such a loner. Is he ashamed? Not only doesn't he visit me, but he forbids you, and that's not a good person if he condemns his future mother-in-law to loneliness.
" "Nobody forbids me from coming here, you know perfectly well." And besides, you're so lonely! How come every time I call you're not there because you're staying with the neighbors?
- Neighbors are different. Family has to be family. I know my own thing. Maybe if you had children...
- Mom, I groaned. Are all mothers the same?
- Don't tell me, you're too old. Remember, the clock is ticking.
- Mom, today's scientists believe that the working age has advanced and that you might as well...
- The working age was the previous one, the twentieth. Especially my time. Back then, everything was produced in Polish factories - from collars to aprons, to the pins comrades used to pin up pictures of the father of the nation...
- Yes, and after hours you produced children, even with the light bulb unscrewed, so it would last longer. You didn't meet the quota in light bulbs, you made up for it in children. And then I, as a baby boomer, had to fight for a place at university. Besides, I don't know if it was even possible to pin Stalin down with thumbtacks...
"Oh, don't nitpick on the details. I know what I'm talking about. And don't try to outsmart your own mother, you'll fail."
I noticed. I decided to sit quietly and listen to the same set of questions and complaints until the end.
"...and why don't I know that you're focusing on your career now, not your children? And then bang"—my mother clapped her hands so loudly that I jumped—"and tea's over. Too late for a husband, family, children, and you'll just be watering the plants on your desk, because that will give you the illusion that you care about someone and that someone is dependent on you.
Oh yes, that tea again. Second time today. For one day, that's quite enough." I started getting ready to go home.
"And call Aunt Krysia and ask about the funeral.
" "Why me?"
"But you said Uncle Edek is dead. You know the Edeks only talked to you. Krysia didn't call me, only you, so now find out when the funeral is.
" "Me? You were the one who, when you saw me, screamed, 'Uncle Edek is dead,' and clutched your heart. Oh, yes." I took a big swing and put my hand to my heart, imitating my mother. In the process, I knocked a small picture off the wall.
"I screamed because when I saw you, I immediately thought something had happened. If you wanted to talk, you would have called. You haven't been here for two years, are you surprised? What could have happened that I didn't know about? You don't look pregnant, it's just something with Uncle Edek, because you're the only one they've been in contact with since...
" "I know since when," I interrupted.
Too much for me. Too much. I lived in a beautiful, colorful world. I've taken every character-building course imaginable. What they taught me in one course, they cured in another. I changed everything about myself that could be changed, even a little. And what? It turns out that in the normal world, I don't even know what day of the week it is. My first attempt to get around town without my tiny, warm car ended in complete embarrassment. And people? Who are these hybrids I encounter every day, if I can't even get along with these people here? Get along? In this world, I can't even utter a single sentence that would be appropriate, right here and now.
Is this how Iwona Ercep feels? Or maybe he, artificial from top to bottom, is more adapted to life than I am? And if so, what the hell am I supposed to do? Not anymore – damn! Real, big, juicy damn!
I have to change everything, I have to change everything that's been drilled into me for the last two years. Does anyone know of a course that would do this? If so, please give me the number...
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