"""Nothing happens twice,
and it never will. For this reason,
we were born without practice
and will die without routine."
I woke up in a completely unfamiliar room. The white walls were glaring, and the peeling plaster was terrifying. Where was I?
I was lying in bed—it was terribly soft... maybe even too soft. I felt my tailbone tingle, and I couldn't move.
Next to my bed stood a small metal table loaded with a huge amount of cookies, cakes, and fruit. In the corner of the room was a white television, and beneath it some strange device.
On one wall was a huge window. Through it, I could only see the tops of skyscrapers and some taller apartment buildings. I would have liked to look through it more closely, but I couldn't get up.
I heard snatches of conversation, but I couldn't understand a word. They spoke very indistinctly—after a moment, a portly man entered my room with a notebook in his hand. When he saw my eyes open, he immediately laughed. "
Good morning, ma'am."
I waited silently for an explanation. I waited for this man to explain everything to me – I had too many questions to ask them all now.
“Mrs. Marta Lasocka, right?
” “Please?” I asked, pulling myself higher on the pillow.
“Marta Lasocka… lives in Krakow on Ko—”
“Me?” I said timidly, interrupting him. It was the first time I’d heard the name Lasocka, and it certainly wasn’t my name Marta. I brushed back my hair, which had fallen in front of my face.
“Who else?
” “I don’t know,” I replied stupidly.
“That’s your full name. Your name is Marta Lasocka.” He changed his address to “you.” “You had an accident. A very serious one.
My mind was completely blank – I couldn’t remember anything. I gripped the sheet tighter in terror.
“Your brain has been damaged,” the doctor said quietly. A moment later, a tall woman with sharp cheekbones entered the room. She had fierce blue eyes and thin lips. Her expression was stern at first, but when she flung herself onto the bed, grabbed my hand, and sat down on the hard stool, her face brightened. That fire in her eyes and the condescending set of her lips... A moment later, however, her eyebrows tensed, and even that condescending smile vanished.
"Martuś... tell me. Why did you do it?" Something glinted in her eye.
I didn't answer her.
I had no idea who she was.
Who she was, or what I'd done...
With horror in my eyes, I looked at the man in the white coat. Then she looked at him. He shook his head.
"However, our suspicions have been confirmed... the lobe of the brain that stores memories has been damaged... let's hope that short-term memory is intact."
The woman looked sadly at the doctor, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away. After a moment, the man left.
I felt terribly sad. I felt sorry for the woman.
"Sweetheart... do you remember me even a little?" she asked suddenly.
"And who are you? "
She swallowed hard.
"I'm your mother, Martusia." Tears were already streaming down her face. I hugged her. I didn't recognize her perfume, her touch, or the tone of her voice at all. I knew nothing about myself either. I didn't remember what music I listened to, whether I liked fruit, what books I read, what school I went to, or where I lived. My memory was one big hole.
"And dad?" I asked.
"Marta, you don't have a dad," she said quietly. I think she realized she'd have to teach me everything all over again. "He left us when you were two..."
"And how old am I now?" Her face reddened again.
"Seventeen."
Silence fell. She stared blankly at me, and I avoided her gaze.
The sun streaming through the window slowly began to dazzle me. There were no curtains, and in the sunlight, the room looked even more depressing.
"Marta, I have to go to work," she patted my hand, which I quickly snatched away. "Your friends will be coming over soon..."
She left.
And I was alone again. I had regained the use of my legs.
I started rummaging through a metal cabinet. I took out some cookies and ate the entire package myself. When I finished the last cookie, five people entered the room, and
I rolled my eyes. "Hi, honey," a petite blonde in a green sweater approached me. She hugged me gently. "How are you feeling?"
I said nothing again.
I slowly greeted everyone. A handsome guy with intelligent eyes, a slightly plump redhead, a tall bald guy, and a rather short brunette.
"I don't know what to say," I began. "I don't remember you... do you know I've lost my memory?"
The smiles also vanished from their faces.
"We know," they replied in unison. "
We'll have to reintroduce ourselves..." said the tall, bald boy, kissing me on the cheek. "So let's talk..."
The blonde began.
"Martuś... I'm Ania," she smiled. "As silly as it sounds... we've known each other almost since birth—I'm your best friend. I know you love the color blue and you love painting..."
Then the redhead sat down on the chair.
"Ruda, I'm your most annoying classmate. You locked me in the box before PE because I didn't have my uniform and Dziekański was giving me Fs... that would have been my third. I'd be screwed at home..."
"And I'm your other deskmate... not a pain in the ass." Everyone burst out laughing except me. This time it was the brunette who spoke. "My name is Wikta. I know you love math, but you hate Filarska, who teaches it... you're a member of the math club, and my dear, you recently won the provincial math competition..."
Then a bald guy sat down on a chair. The other one was leaning against the door, looking with a mocking smile at Ruda, who was figuring out how a coin-operated phone worked.
"And I'm Filip... your beloved, first, and only boyfriend. You love wandering around Krakow's Planty Park and drinking beer in the market square." He grabbed my hand. I didn't snatch it away—after all, he was my boyfriend. The first and only... how does that sound? The only problem was, I felt nothing for him now. Only indifference... I didn't like his appearance or the confident tone of his voice.
"And you?" I asked a handsome, clearly older boy standing by the door.
"Me? No, I'm Filip's brother. I just brought them here...
" "What's your name?" I asked mysteriously.
"Bartek."
He smiled beautifully, revealing even, white teeth.
"Divine," I thought.
Then all four of them reminded me of various facts from my life. Filip kept kissing my cheek or stroking my hand. I felt disgust, but I couldn't pull away... I dreamed of Bartek kissing and stroking me like that.
Anna brought me a box, but she told me to open it only after they left.
And when they did, I did open it.
Inside was an A5 notebook marked 2003/2004, a photo album, and a few loose photographs. Then I also found a few CDs, a CD player, and two books. It was all mine. I put the CD player in the CD player and opened the diary. After a moment, I yanked on my headphones.
Was I listening to something like this? Impossible...
Today is March 22nd, and the last entry was from the 19th.
"Everyone fears death, even me, but unlike others, I'm prepared for it... I can't live anymore. I can't stand lying to everyone. My friends... Filip... my mother. It's beyond me! I've decided – tomorrow I'll commit suicide. A razor blade, drugs, or a height – what's the last thing I'll remember?"
But what? Who ever heard of writing such pointless entries!?
I read the entire diary from the beginning – I learned nothing concrete.
I know I was in Zakopane with friends during winter break. That I loved Matallika's music – now, for me, it was just senseless roaring and banging drums...
I WAS DIFFERENT.
Even after leaving the hospital, my friends told me so.
More reserved, withdrawn, and independent. I couldn't find my place in my high school... the math and chemistry program. I, on the other hand, started to like Polish and history, although I had to learn everything from scratch after a break.
I loved going to Filip's house. There was always a chance I'd meet Bartek. Kissing Filip, I dreamed of Bartek's touch. Where were my eyes when I chose this Filip?
Now, to me, he was primitive; he didn't know the poetry of Stachura, Wojaczek, Poświatowska, or even Twardowski. He didn't read anything. A year after my suicide attempt, I probably read more books than in my entire life. I started making music.
Bartek was studying Polish studies. He wanted to teach high school students—like me.
One day, I met him in the city library. I was looking for King's "IT.
" "Oh, hi," I smiled.
"I see you're browsing. What are you looking for?" "
A thrill, I think... I'm looking for King's book. "IT."
"You know I have mine? I can lend you one. "
"Really?" I smiled, and he put a thick book back on the shelf.
"Sure. No problem... wouldn't you like to go out for coffee?"
I nodded. Inside, I was bursting with joy. We left the library and settled into a nice little restaurant.
"You know, you're different since..." he began searching for the right word.
"I know.
" "You're much prettier," he smiled, and I smiled back.
I felt myself blushing. Then suddenly we kissed, but he interrupted first.
"Sorry, I can't.
How can't? What can't?"
"What?"
"I'm Filip's brother," he said dryly.
But what does that have to do with anything? I'm a blank page now, waiting for a writer to fill my life with content. Why not him? Why Filip?
I felt like crying. I put my head in my hands and let my tears fall onto the black table.
Bartek sat and watched me. He did nothing.
"Listen, little one," he began. "You know perfectly well we're not for each other. I've always liked you, but never as a woman. I'm looking for "adventurous women," but you're too white for that role..."
He left.
Paying for the coffee and taking his beautiful scent with him.
I felt torn apart from the inside.
Why couldn't anything fall
into place? Why couldn't the world stop and then move from zero?
Yesterday I decided to kill myself.
Today I'm sitting on a bench in Planty Park. I watch passersby, completely absorbed in their own affairs, and in my wallet with a sun sticker—which I no longer like—sits a box of razor blades. Just bought at a newsstand.
In silence you are born, in silence you die."
I'm surrounded by birdsong, the faint murmur of the Vistula River, the chatter of passersby and tourists, and the distant roar of cars. But it's more or less quiet. There's an atmosphere. "If I die, it's only now."
I keep turning the small box of razor blades over and over in my hand. I wait for a surge of courage.
I pull out and roll up my sleeve.
No one's looking at me—no one's paying attention. I'm an anonymous suicide victim who longs for the kiss of death.
Why am I killing myself?
Certainly not on a whim. I can't live like this... after all, for some reason, I wanted to kill myself a few months ago. There's no chance in death—it will take me someday anyway. What difference does it make whether it's now or tomorrow
? What determined my decision?
Probably a conversation with Bartek in a café. It's strange how quickly a small flame can take over a person. Now I can confidently say I loved him, though I couldn't fully express it. During the day, I sent him tempting glances at every opportunity, and at night—in my dreams—we wandered the market square. Kissing, embracing, and looking at people...
If I'm not with him, I'll be with no one.
I shed my last tear.
I took out my razor blade. I might have taken the easy way out by choosing the "razor blade" option... but I think it's an effective method.
I ran the object across my wrist.
Longitudinally—no help. A red streak quickly appeared.
After a moment, I grew drowsy, lulled to final sleep by the sounds of "Autobiography," playing on some radio. What a romantic death.
No. This isn't death.
This is the end of life.
A few minutes later, a passerby noticed a girl sitting on a bench, a pool of blood around her. Beside her lay a short letter.
"My entire past has been erased from my life, let me erase my future myself."
A few minutes later, the postman delivered a letter addressed to Marta to Mrs. Lasocka's mailbox. The sender's black signature: Bartek was on the white envelope.
The message was short.
"I lied. Maybe we should try. No one can resist your lips..."
Brak komentarzy:
Prześlij komentarz