Aga4

At school, she stopped being aggressive; that glass calmed her down every morning. She sat in class groggy, even falling asleep slightly, which greatly pleased the teachers, who said Aga had finally understood that school wasn't a boxing ring, or worse, a playing field. Oh yes! Teacher's authority! Teacher! What a wonderful guardian you are, guiding her through life. Who worries about whether she has topics in her journals. And who worries about her students. Those who prevent her from getting a promotion too quickly. Life's guide. Thank you! Her. For seeing her swaying in her seat when drunk. And for being happy. For calming down. And for not having problems because of her. But you can sleep peacefully now. A hundred. So much for the promotion. And for a wasted life. Her life. Wasted because of you! Because of you too...

She studied a little because she knew that if she failed a year, trouble would start, so she made it to fourth grade almost without any problems.

The holidays passed, but Aga found it hard to come to terms with her limited freedom again. The truancy began. Nobody cared anyway. The city guards avoided these neighborhoods; her mother was somewhere who knows where, and the teachers? They thanked God they'd have peace in class today. Mutual satisfaction. Bravo!

Most often, they ended up at Mr. Miecio's shop, but more and more often she popped into the train station—an ugly, gray building that so fit the gray reality of the city. Every city has its gray buildings—uninteresting, yet so fascinating. She watched the strange people dressed in black there, most often swaying to inaudible music, or injecting themselves—she knew who they were. She'd already met a few such people in her neighborhood. They were happy—or so they thought. Or maybe it wasn't just their imagination. Maybe they were happy in their own world of drugs, in their own world of personal experiences and sensations? You can't be happy on Earth. At least you can pretend to be. Just like them. Aga liked watching them. After two months of observing them from afar, she moved closer, taking a step closer with each day she skipped school, until she finally sat down next to them. Because that day Mr. Miecio had treated her to an exceptionally strong dose, she was brave. She wore a black sweatshirt and pants that day; they impressed her. She wanted to look like them, like them, to feel the invisible music and, like them, to sway to it. And to pretend. To pretend to be happy.

"What's your name?" one of them asked her.

"Aga."

"You've been watching us for so long. Listen to me, don't try, it's not worth it! Agnieszka, it's not worth it!"

She left, not returning there for the next few months. She didn't know what to do with herself. She started going to the park. "It's not worth it!" That one sentence echoed in her head. And he said to her, Agnieszka, not Aga... But...! Is there anything in this life that's worth it? Worth sacrifice, love, fighting?! It's not worth it! He said that... Why? Had he heard it from someone else when he tried it himself? Or perhaps he wanted to warn her... Yes, a warning from a drug addict. Because Aga knew who drug addicts were. She got to know them over those three months. She got to know them every day. The joy and freedom after the injection. And the wanderings in search of food or money for the next fix. And their eyes. The magnificent eyes of a junkie. Emptiness. A bottomless, endless surface.