I always dreamed of a house with an ocean view. And, of course, a white picket fence and a garden to tend to. But in those dreams, there was no one to watch the ocean with me. I didn't want anyone like that. Can you really be happy living like that? I've learned that life always gives us one more surprise than we expect. I got a lot of those surprises. Not all of them were good. In fact, the only good thing was that my father died.
What kind of person am I to be happy about my father's death? Well, not every dad goes after his daughter, wanting from her what a man might want from a woman. Those memories are just a scar now, and nothing will ever heal the wound, but the joy of knowing my biological father is lying in the ground is indescribable. When I learned that several of his friends, who are now in prison, killed him for the money Dad supposedly won in the lottery, I was the happiest person on Earth. Then I thought to myself: God, why did you make me wait so long for this wonderful moment? I arrived at the funeral in an outfit that outraged my entire family. They didn't recognize me at first, but I didn't care. I just wanted to see my father's face, which would never see the light of day again. Then something happened that I hadn't even considered. I burst into tears. Not because I missed him, but because he'd robbed me of so many years of the childhood I never had. I felt so damned sorry for those years and what followed them that I couldn't bear it anymore, and I left, never wanting to see the faces of any of my family members again. Then, as usual when I'm in a bad mood, I went on a drinking spree. That was the only thing that always made me feel better, because I didn't have to think about the things that hurt me. I hated crying. And the fact that I was crying because of my father made me furious.
I went to a friend's house who ran some lousy pub. I only went there because this friend often borrowed money from me. Back then, I was still working at a dating agency, spending my time matching hopeless people. "Middle-aged man with no addictions, meets a nice woman..." blah, blah, blah, and so on. I promised myself then that I would never let myself end up like those people. Shortly afterward, I was fired. Needless to say, for absolutely no reason. However, while I was sitting at my friend's bar, I still had my job, and I didn't have to worry about a nice man in a suit coming over to tell me I had a few days left to move out. Honestly, the apartment was fit for demolition. But did anyone care?
Sitting there, drinking some homemade drink made from God knows what, I thought about what had happened. The emotions from the funeral had subsided somewhat, but I was still depressed about my unhappy childhood. All the things that happened during that time had shaped my entire life. Of course, they didn't contribute to a single happy moment, which I had to earn through hard work. I didn't even think that after graduation, I wouldn't have to use all the things they taught us there. And I was studying… ha, how I love the irony of fate, psychology. But in the end, I had no way to pay for my studies. There was no help from anyone, because my grandparents, who had supported me financially, died that same year, and my mother, who looked up to my father as a role model, crossed me off her list. When I finally told someone about what my father had done, my mother threw me out, and that was all that remained of our family. So I had to smile at my old friends. They led a carefree life, partying at night and working in some poorly paid factory in the afternoon. It was always something. I finished my studies and started earning my own living. And psychology turned out to be completely unnecessary in the world I'd started living in. I'd sleep in the mornings, waiting for my hangover to subside, go to work in the afternoons, and in the evenings, I'd be back to nursing my twenty-first-century illness. This kind of life had turned me from a young woman into a wreck. I no longer cared about anything; it was a shame, because I had big plans.
I'd sit in that dark corner and drink to forget the day I'd become half-orphaned. And I'd seemed so intelligent and ambitious when I was a child. Now I looked nothing like an ambitious person, and certainly not an educated one.
I looked at all these people, wondering if they'd had a messed-up childhood too. I should have been angry with myself because I kept blaming everything on my parents. But once I went to a psychologist (I won't be self-medicating, after all), and he told me (the psychologist) that what we will be like in the future largely, or even sometimes entirely, depends on our parents. So I calmed my conscience and continued blaming my father. Even though he was probably burning in hell now. In fact, I never believed in hell. I imagined that this place everyone feared existed only for my father. I had never been afraid of death. For me, the loneliness I was experiencing now was worse.
"You look much worse today," said Robert, my friend, suddenly. Damn, thanks, I thought to myself. This is exactly what I needed.
"They murdered my father," I said indifferently, to which he shut up. I guess he hadn't expected such an answer. Why the hell did something sink into my stomach when I said that? I couldn't care less about that idiot who took everything I had.
"Can I buy you a drink?" The raspy voice of the guy who had just been talking to me snapped me out of my reverie. Why don't they just kill people like that right away and go to sleep somewhere?
"No, thanks. I'm leaving," I said, rising from my chair to actually leave the place. Then he grabbed my arm and forced me back into the chair. "What, no!" I pushed him away. He staggered and fell to the ground, cursing loudly. How I hate drunk men who curse and try to buy me a drink. I'll kill them with my own hands. I walked up to him and started screaming.
I don't even remember what he was screaming. Robert came over to me and told me to shut up. I told him the same thing. Some guy came up to us and told us both to shut up.
"What are you doing? Get out of here!" I shouted in his face. That drink I'd taken had an effect, and I started feeling dizzy. God, what did he use to make that happen?
"Shut up, Mina," Robert said. "My name isn't Mina, of course. It's short for Irmina. I don't know how anyone can call a child that, but what can I do? They're already frying my father.
" "Because what... are you going to do to me?" I wanted to laugh. I need the recipe for that drink.
" "Because he's the owner of this place." Robert pointed to the man who had arrived.
"Good morning," I said. "But I can't shut up because the guy lying here offended me and treated me rudely.
" "I don't give a damn about that," the owner replied. He was even more of a jerk than Robert had told me. "Get your slutty ass out of here and get out," he hissed in my face. I was so outraged I couldn't believe what I was feeling. Robert, I think, too.
"Excuse me, what did you say?"
"You go to the bar, people are waiting.
" "What do you think, you can just push anyone around?
" "Only those who deserve it. You know... just a little bit, like you."
Robert couldn't take it anymore; they were probably both on the ropes. He hit him with his left hook. But that was cool. Needless to say, the owner got up and hit Robert back. After that, everyone just started beating each other up. Funny how when two people fight, ten always join in. And that's how a fight broke out. My fight, because it was because of me. I sat down in a chair because my world was spinning. I shouldn't have started a second drink, because when I opened my eyes, the bar was gone, there was no fight, and I was sitting on a bench in a cell.
Oh my God, they arrested me for my fight, I thought to myself. I noticed I was still drunk. And again, I felt a complete downfall, because I thought to myself how empty and hopeless my life was. You're sitting there, having a drink, and suddenly you wake up locked in a cell like some criminal, some kind of idiot. I'm sorry, but I almost finished psychology and almost got a PhD... and a master's degree. And anyway, I was almost supposed to be happy, but it didn't quite work out. I started crying because nothing else came to mind except crying, and that would have been really stupid to start laughing. As I was crying, a man suddenly interrupted me. He was wearing a dark suit. I thought to myself that he was probably some bureaucrat, but what would he want from me?
He approached me a little hesitantly, and I felt like a leper: not only were we separated by bars, I was blurry, my blue eyes were glued together with glued-together lashes, and my once-beautiful, dark hair resembled hay, but I was also emitting carbon dioxide mixed with the smell of my drink with every breath. As he approached, he pulled out the keys and unlocked the cell. As I stepped out, something suddenly flashed through my mind, but it couldn't be true. The man reminded me of someone—God! My father has returned from beyond, and now he wants to destroy me. I followed him, completely sober. I couldn't say a word because my throat was dry, and I was thirsty. We finally reached a room where we could sit properly. I sat down first, not looking at him at all. When he sat down across from me, I looked up. "Write it, write it down, my father.
" "It's been a long time since you moved out," my father from beyond said sadly. We were silent for a moment. I was thinking hard about something. I moved out when I was seventeen. I was staying with friends who were always going out. Now I was almost twenty-eight. So it had been eleven years since I last saw… God, who I haven't seen so much.
"Damian…" I whispered. He just smiled.
"I thought you'd forgotten about your little brother," he smiled. But there was a lot of concern there. Damian Szadowski, a thirty-year-old man I barely knew, now shows up here as if nothing had happened. He's always been nice to me, in his own way.
"I thought you were in New York.
" "I was," he replied, and pulled out a cigarette. I lit one too, even though I don't usually smoke. But now I was so nervous I had to. "I had to come to my father's funeral; my mother really asked me to.
" "But I didn't see you there.
" "Because you were only there for a few minutes. I was a little late. They talked about you a lot.
" "I'm not surprised. Besides, that was my plan," I said happily.
- And do you intend to ruin your life?
Why is he suddenly changing the subject
? "What are you talking about?
" "I'm not here by accident. There was a complaint about you, and this person seems very stubborn to me.
" "Right. That guy from Robert's pub," I said, as if to myself.
"That guy from the pub," he said bitterly, approaching me as if it were some great secret, "accused you of starting a fight in his bar and disturbing the peace."
I was a little surprised, because I never thought anyone would accuse me of that.
"Right, but it's not a crime," I replied. "After all, it's the truth. You can be accused of it, all right, but I'm not going to jail for it."
"You haven't taken into account your previous… antics, have you?"
I gave him a look like, "What's your point?"
"What antics of mine," I asked.
"Irmina, you were always so calm, you wanted to be someone…
" "And now, who am I supposed to be?" I interrupted him. "Nobody?"
"That's not what I mean. I saw your records...
" "I have the records!?" I blurted out, interrupting him again. If I were him, I would have left already.
"Yes, you do. Do you really not remember all those tickets, complaints, a few fines that you didn't pay, and there was also a theft charge, but someone bailed you out.
Oh God, was there that much? So, am I a criminal? For all these things... it's nothing compared to all the crimes happening in the world right now. People kill people just because they don't like their garden, or their hair, or because they don't have hair. Total paranoia. And I have to worry about theft (of underwear, by the way), a few arguments, and some other nonsense that played no role in my life?
" "But so what?" I said, thinking about it.
My brother looked at me like I was crazy. What was he thinking? He didn't even know the hell I'd been through as a child. Everyone, everyone, was on my father's side. I didn't understand why at the time, but eventually I realized they were simply afraid of him. And I was a child who could have made it all up. Although, at ten, how could I have known what a man could do to a woman when they were in bed together? Hell, my life would be completely different now if it weren't for the fact that no one would believe me. The teacher couldn't do anything about it when I told her. She called my father and mother to school to talk to a psychologist and the police. Of course, I wasn't there for that conversation, so how could I have known that the woman I trusted back then had been taken by her parents, finished her education at a poorly paid elementary school, and started working elsewhere with a full wallet for the rest of her life? I suspect, however, that my mother knew everything. That's what I thought at the time, and since she never wanted to talk to me about it, I never found out if it was true. Besides, what did I care now? I was somehow coping with the thought of being so damaged by fate. What could I do about it? Nothing, so I wasn't going to get into a discussion with my brother about my ruined life, which was precisely because of my father, not me!
"You know what, I don't care what you think of me. I live my life the way I do, and there's nothing I can do about it," I said after a moment of silence, and he glanced at the table where My Files lay. He wouldn't meet my eyes; I knew what he was thinking.
"And I live this way," I finished, "because your father stripped me of any good qualities." I drawled.
"Irmina, stop it," he said in that stern, lawyerly tone of his. Even when I was a teenager and he was going to law school, he had this firm, confident tone. When he was angry with me, he spoke exactly like he did now.
"I won't stop, and don't even think you'll change anything about me with your speculations—oh, how I loved those wise words they taught me in psychology." "You can't suddenly come to me after a dozen years apart and tell me what's good and what's not for me," I said in one breath.
"I don't want that," he replied calmly, as if trying to calm the situation. I no longer knew if he was telling the truth or if this was just another legal maneuver.
"I don't know what tricks you're going to use, but—
" "They're not tricks," he interrupted brutally. "Actually, I'm not even talking about your… files." He nudged them as if they weren't really important. "I'm here for another reason.
Now I'm intrigued. What devil could have brought my brother here all the way from New York?"
"So why did you come? Because I can't believe you left everything for me," I said with a wry smile. I thought he'd answer just as beautifully, but I was wrong. It really must have been something important.
"It's about my father."
"Oh no," I whispered, furious that she'd even started listening to him. "You know perfectly well I don't want to talk about it." I almost stood up from my chair when he suddenly stopped me.
"Irmina, listen to me," he said firmly. I sat down, but I was about to leave anyway.
"I found out, everyone found out that..." His voice trailed off. I didn't like it.
"What did you find out?" I asked impatiently. I hoped they'd somehow found out what my father had done to me, but that was ridiculous.
"My father left you something. It really surprised us all..." he said with a look that showed he still couldn't believe it.
"Well, he left it, just so you know," I said, looking at the wall. "I have a scar from him that I'll never forget."
Damian shifted in his chair. Was he uncomfortable or something? Or maybe his conscience was bothering him?
"Stop it and listen to me seriously."
But no… he started his moral again.
"Okay, tell me," I said impatiently. "What did that asshole leave me?"
Damian grimaced when I said this.
"He left you an inheritance.
" At first, I didn't understand what he meant, what inheritance? He was as poor as a church mouse.
"What inheritance?" I asked. Instead of answering, he pulled some documents out of his briefcase and handed them to me. When I opened them, I was completely stunned. If you believe the papers, I received a million Polish złoty from my father…"
Brak komentarzy:
Prześlij komentarz