Wiktor finished work promptly at 3:00 PM. Today at the office was exceptionally boring. Papers, papers, and papers. He sorted through, shuffled, sorted, and discarded the old and unnecessary. He'd had enough! That's enough for today.
Outside, the sun blazed brightly, chasing away shadows from the deepest corners of the streets. It even penetrated people's thoughts, banishing the gloomy, gray ones from their minds. A gentle breeze caught all the dark colors of the day and carried them to the sky, helping the lady of the night adorn herself in her favorite robe.
Wiktor's office was on the top floor of a skyscraper that caught the warmest rays of the sun. He checked to make sure he had turned everything off and that he had all his belongings with him, and then left, locking the door. He got into the elevator, pressed the P button, and the cabin began its descent. The numbers 49… 48… 47… If he'd been staring at each one and counting them off in his head, he'd probably be asleep downstairs, so he didn't want to take any chances. He turned and faced the mirror on the back wall of the room.
He stared at himself. He was proud of what he saw. Well… it was just a mirror…
The elevator stopped, and the door opened, snapping the young man out of his delight. He exited the cabin and headed toward the exit. On the way, he said goodbye to Timonek, the building's security guard, or rather, the receptionist. They were all versatile now, fulfilling many roles simultaneously. However, Timonek wouldn't have been suited to be a security guard. Not his age, not his strength… but he was kind and good-natured.
He stepped outside.
The sun peeking through the office building window wasn't just an illusion. It was indeed very warm outside. He took off his coat and tucked it under his arm. He headed toward the parking lot where his BELOVED car was parked.
As the sun rose just above him and the shadow vanished, though he hadn't noticed, a soft, gentle, soothing melody reached his ears. He automatically glanced in the direction that now, subconsciously, seemed most important and interesting to his mind.
On the sidewalk running along the parking lot, a woman stood, singing, humming a melody. She didn't look particularly neat, nor was she particularly beautiful or young. Her clothes were somewhat worn, torn in places, and almost entirely wrinkled, as if she'd slept in them. Her hair was long and... golden, but it was clear she hadn't been washed in days. The hands she waved to the rhythm of the melody were thin and worn by time and the suffering she must have endured.
He didn't know why, but the woman caught his attention enough for him to approach her. He saw something familiar in her movements, though he didn't know WHAT it was.
"You sing beautifully," he said, pulling a pack of expensive cigarettes from his coat. He pulled one out of the box and lit it.
In front of the woman lay a small box, containing small coins.
"Is this your way of life?" he asked again, taking a drag on his cigarette and blowing the smoke toward the sun.
"I do what I like," she replied, briefly cutting off the melody but continuing to dance, as if the melody were flowing in her mind and she was merely reproducing it. "It's the only thing life has left me."
"Indeed..." he replied, smiling ironically. "You remind me of someone," he added after a moment. "That's why I approached."
"Many say so," she replied, returning to her melody and drifting in a dance as delicate as a gust of wind.
"I just don't know who..." he wondered, looking at this strange woman.
He liked meeting strangers... strange people. Then he liked to talk about them at work during his breaks. He amused the crowd with such stories, often adding a few of his own to the overall JOKE. Some of his colleagues found it amusing, others thought it wasn't entirely fair to profit from the misfortunes and misfortunes of others. He didn't care. This was life itself, after all—as he put it.
He stood there for a moment, searching for an answer to the question vibrating in his mind: WHO did this woman remind him of? Her movements? Her voice? The answer, however, didn't come to him, and the thought consumed him so much that he stopped all conversation with this LADY. He finally pulled the few change he usually used to buy coffee from the dispenser on his floor at work from his pocket and tossed it into the woman's basket. He turned and began walking toward his car, absorbed in his contemplation.
"Thank you," the woman cried.
He turned to return the smile, or rather, a grimace, when suddenly, the image he saw made him freeze… He knew who this poor woman reminded him of. Her movements, her voice, her dance were like Monica's... his first love. He laughed loudly and returned to the woman.
"I know who you remind me of!" he said. "Although it's stupid and ridiculous... You wouldn't believe it, but in those movements I see...
" "My first love?" she anticipated him.
He was speechless. The cigarette fell from his mouth. How did she know that?
"Yes... My first love... Monica," he replied gently, his voice radiating a pinch of love and pain. "Monica..." he repeated, looking at her face.
"How did you know that?" he asked curiously.
"It's not as difficult as it seems," she replied, pausing for a moment in her C. DANCE. "I saw it in your eyes. You're alone, aren't you?"
"No," he replied... "not at all. I have many women... different ones.
" "I'm not talking about that, sir. I'm asking if you're alone in love?" she explained.
He looked confused and pulled a second cigarette from the pack. He stamped on the one who fell with his shoe and extinguished it.
"Yes, I'm alone," he replied.
"And do you miss her?"
"Yes, I do. And you reminded me so much of her in what you did. She… I mean, Monika, had similar movements, similar swirls of her long hair, a similar tone of voice." His hands were shaking as he spoke. "
Or maybe it just seemed that way to you, out of longing? Do you long to see her everywhere?
" "No…" he replied. "Certainly not. I remember her every move, every gesture, every word she said to me when we were together. That's the only thing I'm certain of in this world. I remember her as if she were with me yesterday, and I constantly have the feeling that tomorrow she'll be with me again, because today I don't believe I could meet her…" he concluded sadly.
He didn't know why he was saying this to this woman. He didn't know her at all, and besides, she was NO ONE… Maybe he was doing it because he'd never had the chance to complain to anyone else? He wouldn't be telling his friends about it over a beer, or his girlfriends from those hot, intoxicating nights. He also had no real friends he could count on. Perhaps that was why he was shouting it out now, in front of her?
"If you loved her so much... and I resemble her even a little, then you can use it.
" "Use it?" he asked, not fully understanding what the woman meant.
"What would you like to regain from that love that's gone and will never return?"
The man thought for a moment. The woman stood silently, waiting for her to say something.
"I'd like to regain our kiss. The way it was when our lips first touched."
"I think it's possible," the woman replied. "We can try... if you want, of course."
Under the weight of the moment, his eyes closed. He pondered...
He desperately wanted to return to... those moments, but he slowly lost himself in what had happened. A return of thoughts about the person most dear to him in the world, like a gust of wind, swirled in his head and turned everything upside down. How could that be?" he thought. "Should I kiss this beggar woman, right here, right now?" And if anyone's still in the office, if anyone sees this, they'll laugh at me! he shouted to himself. Besides, this woman's beauty days were probably long gone. Her tired and sad face, though not ugly, didn't exactly invite a kiss. Besides, people walked by every now and then who might have seen it too. A man kissing a disheveled, dirty woman? What a shame, and a laugh!
But… he could regain something most precious to him. Their first kiss from years ago, when Monika was beside him, when he'd first tasted her. Now he could return to it, even if only for a moment, but it was so real. He just needed to trust, believe, close his eyes, and kiss… the beggar girl. Time would rewind for him, and the memories would be vivid again, albeit only for a fraction of an instant, but they would be the most precious memories his heart held. He always told himself he'd give anything to feel the taste of her lips again.
But come on! Did life always have to take his words literally! Didn't life ever understand and use metaphors?
He couldn't do that… here, now, with… HER. Of course… people would laugh at him! He wouldn't risk it… What a stupid day! He screamed and opened his eyes.
The woman was gone, and the sun was gone. The air grew cold. Stars shone in the sky, and the moon gleamed golden. Everything was quiet and peaceful. He didn't know what was happening. He looked around. The parking lot was completely empty. Only his BELOVED car was parked there.
And right in front of him lay a small basket of money. He bent down and examined the small coins, fading in the moonlight. He was deeply impressed by what had happened and wasn't entirely sure if it was a dream or a reality. The money convinced him… The box contained exactly the same amount as a coffee at his office building.
He gathered it up and tossed it into his coat pocket. He'd have enough for a beer. He always liked to watch a good movie with a cold beer in the evenings, when he wasn't behind on work. And after the movie, as he fell asleep, he always thought about Monica, what she was doing, where she was, and how her lips tasted now.
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