Girl in a red hat

 

Spring was in full swing. The boy threw another handful of crumbs to the pigeons crowding around his feet. She didn't like spring. She alone, of all the people he knew, didn't like spring. "It's too cheerful," she'd claimed. And he didn't understand how anything could be too cheerful. And he didn't understand how it could leave either. And he remembered.

It had been an exceptionally cold winter. People, if they even ventured out, scurried through the streets hunched over, bundled in layers of thick coats, swaying from side to side like little penguins weighed down by Christmas shopping. Everything was white. Exceptionally, this year, snow had fallen just before Christmas, as it should, and that didn't happen often. Round, gray balls. That's how he thought of people rushing somewhere, bumping into him every now and then. For some reason, everyone seemed to find it appropriate to wrap themselves in browns and grays for winter. A manifestation of winter lethargy? Or perhaps a desire to hide from the cold in warm earthy tones?

Then he saw her. She certainly didn't want to hide in anything, and if he were to read any kind of manifesto into her attire, it would surely be "look at me." First, a red hat loomed, sharply contrasting with the gray of the crowd. He quickened his pace, intrigued. A moment later, a full silhouette appeared, dressed in a red no less vibrant than the one adorning her headdress.

He followed her. Now he couldn't quite put his finger on why. Perhaps she simply caught his eye with her difference, or perhaps it was fate. But he didn't believe in fate. They passed one intersection, then another, until they finally found themselves in a neighborhood he didn't recognize.

Now he was just a step behind her. If he wanted to, he could touch her. And then she stopped. Without expecting it, he crashed headlong into her back. She spun around. Contrary to his expectations, she wasn't angry. What's more, she was laughing.

"Why are you following me?" A small, freckled face peeked out from under the wide, poppy-colored brim. Green eyes glared menacingly, and his small nose wrinkled in mock anger.

"I... you have a nice hat!" he blurted out pointlessly. The girl thought for a moment.

"If you really like it... Then keep it!" She pulled the hat off her head in one swift motion, letting her straight, red hair spill out, and pressed it against his head. "You'll give it back someday..." she added, glaring at him. Ignoring his utterly surprised expression, she spun on her heel and ran down the street. The boy blinked, as if the whole thing were a dream from which he would soon awaken. He stared for a moment longer, then set off on his way home. The task wasn't easy, as he had no idea where he was.

He arrived home well after 9 p.m. He dusted off his boots, leaving a small, rapidly melting mound of snow on the mat. As usual, the key wouldn't turn in the lock. And behind the door, he was greeted by the reproachful meowing of a hungry cat.

He carelessly tossed the bags into the corner and headed for the kitchen, careful not to harm the animal squirming beneath his feet. When you're alone, Christmas Eve is the saddest holiday of the year.

He took a liver from the fridge and slowly began cutting it into pieces, which caused a cat-like commotion somewhere near his feet. Why was he even planning to celebrate it? This day wouldn't be any different from any other anyway. Suddenly, he realized she was still wearing that red hat.

The red hat... Little Red Riding Hood. Yes, she definitely looked like Little Red Riding Hood. That small face, that childlike smile. And the completely incongruous red hair. Who with red hair wears bright red?! "You'll pay me back someday," she said. So there was supposed to be some "someday." For some reason, his heart beat faster at the thought.

For the next three days, he walked around the spot where he'd seen her before. Several times he thought he saw her, more than once he glimpsed something red in the crowd, but each time he was disappointed. Once it was a sewer worker in a helmet, once a haunted skier in a bobble hat, and twice a rather eccentric old woman—the same one each time.

Finally, on the fourth day, he realized that she didn't need several red hats. Perhaps this one was the only one, and since it was now his… He frowned.

It was Christmas Eve. The day when all the happy families sit down to a more or less lavish dinner. And all the lonely people could only stare glumly at the fire, which, to spite him, was also cheerful, expressing its joy through the dance of flames and the crackling of burning wood. Christmas Eve. The saddest day of the year.

He got up, dressed, and left. He didn't know why, but he headed toward the church. He pressed the brass doorknob and, pushing open the heavy door, slipped inside. It was empty, except for a few elderly women intently reciting the rosary. Two brightly lit Christmas trees stood by the altar. And to the right was a small manger. He stepped closer. "Petitions to the Infant Jesus," read a card, cut in the shape of a ribbon and attached to the manger. Beneath it, in a small basket, were already a number of requests, or perhaps thanksgivings, in the form of coins of varying denominations. He smiled. "If you exist, then I pray that I may meet her again," he thought. He dug a złoty out of his pocket and dropped it into the basket.

On his way home, he was surprised by a terrible snowstorm. The wind whipped at his coat and whirled the snow into his eyes. He turned up his collar and moved faster, or at least he tried, struggling to overcome the wind's resistance.

When he finally reached the door, he was surprised he'd managed it. He shook off the snow, but it didn't help—he was already soaked. Leaving small puddles behind him, he trudged up the stairs.

And when only one turn separated him from the apartment door—the promise of a warm blanket and a cup of hot tea—he stopped dead in his tracks, half-stepping, with one leg raised in the air. She was sitting

on the steps, as if nothing had happened. Her hair was in a bun, reading a book, and when she heard footsteps on the stairs, she looked up.

"I came for my hat," she said, as if nothing had happened, tilting her head to the side and looking at him playfully. "May I come in?"

"Sure..." He stammered, frantically searching his pockets for the key. He finally found it and, with a trembling hand, inserted it into the keyhole. Surprisingly, this time the door opened on the first try. "Come in..." He waved his hand, inviting her in. The girl smiled and passed him by. Before he could enter, he heard her soft cry. Surprise, or terror? He closed the door and looked where she was staring.

A cat lay on the carpet, looking very contented. Red shreds were scattered around it, and an accusing red bow dangled from its ear.

"I... I'm sorry about him... I'm sorry about that..." the boy groaned. "I'll pay, I'll buy it back for you, I didn't mean..." the girl put a finger to his lips.

"It doesn't matter." She smiled. "I didn't come here for him.

" "Not for him?" the boy was surprised. After all, she'd said she'd come for the hat..."

"No. For you." No one should be alone on Christmas Eve.

The boy didn't ask how she knew where he lived, that he was spending Christmas Eve alone, or how it all had even happened. That wasn't important.

What mattered was that when they spent New Year's Eve together, she was no longer the Strange Girl He Once Met on the Street, but His Girlfriend in the Red Hat.

And he hid the shreds of that hat in a box, along with photos of them together and other mementos.

He was happy. They were happy. That's why the note he found one morning pinned to the refrigerator brought him such great surprise and pain:

"I don't want to be your Girlfriend in the Red Hat anymore. I don't want to be your Girlfriend in Anything anymore. I want to start a new life. It didn't work out. It was an illusion."

And the caption. He didn't want to believe it. It was... It was impossible. Absolutely surreal. He grabbed his jacket and started to run out of the house, but then he noticed another note, this time attached to the door:

"Don't look for me. I've left the country."

Why she couldn't have written that on the previous note, he had no idea. He also had no idea why she'd had to go all the way abroad to escape him.

But she was simply like that. She didn't just dress spectacularly. She laughed spectacularly. She moved spectacularly. He recognized her—just as spectacularly. And apparently, she'd decided to leave spectacularly, too.

"Forget me," the note on the bathroom mirror read.

"It was just a dream," on the television.

How could he do that when she'd left traces of her presence everywhere?!

Then he spotted the box. The box that held all her mementos. All of her. He snatched it and poured its contents into the greedy flames still dancing joyfully in the fireplace, out of spite, out of spite, out of spite.

He sat down in the armchair. He sighed. He looked sadly at the fire, which, with its usual conscientiousness, devoured more photos, more smiles, their moments of happiness. And the shreds of that unfortunate red hat.

Now he sat on a bench, throwing bread to the stupid pigeons, who were practically killing each other for a few crumbs.

Children ran around, laughing mothers pushed strollers in front of them, and occasionally a couple snuggled up to him.

The boy pulled a notebook from his backpack. He licked his pen. Two years had passed…

"And perhaps you, too, are gliding somewhere now, pushing a stroller with a little one in front of you. And perhaps you, too, are gliding down a park alley, embraced, with a man. And I hope you're laughing now too.

I still don't understand why you left, my Girl in the Red Hat..."