2

Zosia opened the door for him in her pajamas, which brought back a faint memory of Marzena, who had recently been screwed. "Get out! Get out of my way," Onan thought. And he already knew what had intrigued him about her to such an extent that a considerable amount of anxiety flooded his mental state. This was a person of divine origin, a supernatural phenomenon, an impossible being, a magnificent figment of someone's powerful imagination, a figure created for love, love incarnate.

Anatol fainted.

The smile of God blossomed over his face as he opened his eyes. He felt the Body of Christ in his mouth and its taste in the juiciest, holiest places. Slowly, he felt himself becoming God and absorbing the greatest love of his life. Piece by piece. And he felt himself being cleansed of Onan's dark powers and heard the sadly retreating footsteps of Ania and Gretel. And finally, he sat on the Heavenly Throne. And reigned.

"You know... for the first time...

" "Shhh. Me too." "

I love you."

"I love you."

Drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Jesus, Tolek, you have to go. Your parents will be back soon."

And God had to descend to earth.

It was already light, but everyone in the house was still asleep, so he lay down and fell asleep.

"Tolek, get up..." his mother's whisper woke him. "We have to slowly get ready.

Fucking Radom. Now!

Pain. Suffering. A raw desire to commit suicide. Hatred. And total emptiness." He felt as if every moment, even the smallest, spent in the company of people other than her, people who couldn't even hope to be her meager substitute, was draining something from him. That will to live and love, those only things inside him that truly mattered. And it had been so long. A few hours had passed, and he was increasingly exhausted, barely breathing. And yet, he could still miraculously summon up those meager moments thanks to a single thought: Zosia has family in Radom. What was that? Is it a coincidence?

But for now, they could only write to each other. And only when crying allowed.

The entire Tolek family was leaving alone; no one knew they were leaving, and why would they? Why torment innocent people (their only fault is knowing us) with our departure? Our satisfaction with long goodbyes is too trivial a reason. Enough of the pretense. Enough of people. Let them all disappear. Let me disappear for them. End this endless wave of hypocrisy. I must finally normalize all relationships, unlie myself. And now, when Tolek has perfectly understood the path to achieving this goal. Through complete unity with Zosia, by giving myself completely to each other. Forever. And remain that way for all eternity. Alone. But with each other. It's as if there were millions of them.

And right now.

Fucking Radom!

But wait, wait... You have to keep your cool. You have to try to think... After all, you just have to wait it out... wait it out and somehow get through it. Yes, everything has an end, this abnormal situation too, and then… then everything will be alright… we'll meet again, and no one will decide for me. Oh my God, to finally be independent, to cut myself off from that cursed umbilical cord, life-giving and deadly.

She'll come here for the holidays…

The 584 kilometers were almost entirely behind them. No one exchanged a word with anyone. Everyone felt strange, the parents' silly chatter vanished. Faced with the sadness that permeated the car, they seemed to see for the first time the stupidity and misery of those forced words. Only once did my father seem to want to say something like, "Pretty nice weather for a move," but when he heard his voice piercing the thick silence saturated with suffering, his words turned into a babble of incomprehensible words. And when my mother asked from behind the wheel, "What?" – he had to pretend to be asleep.

Radom greeted them at kilometer 584. Tolek opened his eyes and, through the dampness clinging to them, saw that this city was dying…

"Mom, this city is dying."

"It's good that it's not raining at least," his father finally finished his thought from the beginning of the journey.

The new apartment was very nice and, above all, larger than the one in Szczecin. Four rooms for three people was enough space to hide away and find happiness in solitude. Besides, it was so beautifully located that you could almost forget that Radom was a big city. Around it was a very large park, which surrounded all the buildings of the estate with its natural beauty. Well, truly charming… The perfect place for evening meetings with Zosia… ugh. Terrible. My hatred for this place was already growing.

The move and the general chaos surrounding it lasted three days. And they were three days of "happiness" for Anatol. All the bad thoughts, all the sadness, were driven away by the various foolish tasks he had to perform. He moved his desk, helped carry in the couch, then he had to clean up, and thus everyday life (well, condensed everyday life, because these responsibilities are usually spread out over a longer period of time) crushed his sensitivity and crushed him to the point that he seemed normal.

He wandered. He wandered ruthlessly. From corner to corner, because he didn't want to go outside: it was too nice there. He was waiting for school to start, which would finally occupy him, but unfortunately, it was only the beginning of July... So all he could do was wander. He felt the stuffiness, it was stuffy everywhere. All the windows were open, but it was still incredibly stuffy. His head would fall off his neck and unconsciously rest on his shoulder. First his left, then his right. It carried him away. He was terribly distressed. He felt some strange thing inside, slowly growing and growing, already beginning to beg to be released. Anatol feared an explosion and realized that the only thing that would save him was the promised letter, the one he deserved. A letter from Zosia.

Why wasn't there anything in the mailbox? Maybe she'd forgotten the address? Jesus...what if something had happened to her?...If I don't break the agreement, I won't be able to stand it. I have to write something...I simply have to...I have to...I have to.

He sat down at his desk, instantly a little happier, a little more invigorated. And he began to write...the first letter of his life. How was he supposed to know that the art of writing letters was so terribly difficult? So many thoughts swirled in his head, but none of them would be brought to light; they were all inscrutable, until finally, a final confusion ensued, in which Anatol completely lost his bearings and stopped distinguishing even the contours of his frantic thoughts. He had to straighten up in his chair abruptly and exhale loudly. Pffffffffffff… He calmed down slightly, and then immediately started to worry again. This time, it was because he couldn't get a word out to Zosia. Jesus, I have nothing to say to her. Jesus, I don't love her at all and never have. Oh yeah, and of course she knows all about it, which is why she doesn't write. Fuck, my fault, my, my, my fucking fault. My fucking fault. I always screw everything up. Fuck, fuck.

And then he ran out of the house.

He stepped outside for the first time since moving in. The air dazed him, splashing his mind with a cold but pleasant stream of sobriety. His body movements automatically slowed, normalized, adapting to the general shape of everyone moving. Yes, normality. Peace. Complete peace. Why hadn't I thought of this before? This was amazing. Just what I needed. He looked for a bench and found it. I'll sit down. I'll sit down and just think it all over. Who knows, maybe I'll gain some perspective? No, why?

Tolek sat down on a sunny bench in the center of the park. People slowly passed him by, no one in a hurry, everyone in a reflective mood, and only the dogs frolicked on the grass, paying little attention to what was completely uninteresting, pissing, shitting, eating, fucking, and no one blamed them. Anatol crossed his legs and wrapped his left arm around the back of the bench. People passing by saw a beaming boy sitting on a bench, as if waiting for someone, but in reality, this boy wasn't sitting alone and waiting for anyone. He was sitting with Zosia, his left arm around her, his right hand holding hers. And his thoughts sank deep, deep into the abyss of memories… imaginations… a reality that perhaps existed somewhere out there. And so Anatol and Zosia, embracing each other, reminisced. They shared glasses of Bull's Blood, all-night teas, having to stop at McDonald's to pee, a symbolic wedding in the Beech Forest, a shared Mass. And above all, those long conversations that just didn't want to end. And the fact that they could be together for such a short time. So cruelly short.

Happiness seemed to find its place again. In Tolek's pocket.

Dusk was slowly falling, and the first cold shivers ran through Anatol. Brrrr. Well, I guess I'll have to go home now. Now he could go even there, to that hotbed of apathy and inaction, meaninglessness and total deprivation. Now he had rediscovered the lost moments and knew what to write in the letter. The moment of shared immersion in the park began to take on its own form, until, in the early morning hours, the work was complete: he lacked nothing, and nothing was too much. The letter was perfect, and writing it made Tolek realize what he truly felt, and it was so profound that he marveled that such a young boy could contain so much.

For the first time since the move, he fell asleep peacefully, and three days later, he received what he had been waiting for:

"I just thought of you again,

so suddenly.

That's why I'm writing. A little too, because it's night, bed, silence, and time. I felt warm and light. I want to hug you; tightly and endlessly.

We've spent so little time together. Too little. I'd like to see you from time to time, drink tea, and talk for a long time. You'd get used to me, you'd start telling me those stories you've never been able to tell. We'd watch movies and feed the ducks. I'd give you a Christmas present. A shared pee at McDonald's and a Bull's Blood on a warm, foggy night.

Like now. It's dark, people are going to bed; I miss you. My parents' completely empty apartment, now miles away. Near me is the fountain and the church, which I love most of all the fountains and churches I know. Remember how I showed them

to you... Would you come over now? Would you bring some wine?

Let's get drunk, Tolek. Fine.

We're sitting in the cool twilight of my parents' room. You're here, sitting across from me, just like before. Wine in small glasses. It's hot, getting hotter inside. We talk about various things, some very funny story from yours, a bit of silence, long minutes of broad smiles. At one point I cry, and you want to cry too. I finally hug you. Tightly.

Where did you come from, Tolek?

Why are you gone? When will you come back?

We got married, you can't

disappear forever.

I know.

I know you're there. You take care of me so much; you don't even know how much you help me, how much I appreciate it.

I have so much warmth for you. That's why I only write about it, about desert Szczecin and lonely evenings.

I don't want to tell you what it's like. There won't be anything about life with my parents, about trams, buses, school, and prospects. I'm tired of it. I need a stop, a person, something that doesn't exist, that's why I imagine, that's why I write, that's why I don't sleep.

I'm really waiting for you. And I know we'll be drunk soon. But I can't come to terms with the feeling of separation, the permanent situation, the separated cities.

My stomach hurts. I'll take a pill, comb my wet hair because it'll dry unsightly, and I'll be back soon.

(…)

Inside this late blackness, I wait for the arrival of something other than day and night. There should be something third, something like a Transition. The day is beautiful, warm, with the glow of the sky flowing across a smooth, transparent surface. The night brings purification, lies down with stars, love, breathes deeply – cradled. I miss the time of long, peaceful rest, of being.

You are here whole.

That's why I'm not asleep yet. Consciousness is slipping away much slower today. Eyes open, a lamp. I'd like to tell you the whole world. Not necessarily with words – with myself. There is so much of it. A whole lot.

Now we are almost gone.

There are mountains, clouds, and astronauts above the sky. We are only a little, but when I see roads, millions of roads, we are more, there are many of us, you and me.

"barely visible under a thick blanket of fog

, and yet almost there."

And I feel hot as you descend through the air.

I want to cry. I miss you.

It happened so incredibly, us.

My head hurts, and the kitchen tap drips. This letter is very heavy for me. It's only for you to know, and to place a warm hand on your forehead, it brings relief. Close your eyes and imagine that I went out onto the balcony for a moment (do you have a balcony there?) to look at the fields, and then I'll lie down next to you again and we'll fall asleep.