Spring

Holy shit! I'm sick of these stupid cards, these hopeless meetings where nothing happens, we sit at a table, sip juice or beer, whichever you prefer, and play cards, just to kill time. Time? You can't kill it, you can't shorten it, even if you're sick of it! And I'm sick of it! I have a huge grudge against it. It's supposed to heal wounds, supposedly it even heals, but why did it forget mine? Does it have multiple sclerosis? I'd buy it a bilobil if it were material, but he's cunning!! You can't accuse him of anything, you can't catch him and slap his ass, scream in his face that he's cheating and unfair! Because time only has a face if I give it one in my imagination. In reality, it's just a concept. Can you blame something that's a concept created by man, meant to make the world more understandable, more orderly? No! That's the whole cleverness of time. Even if he doesn't heal the wounds, you can't hold a grudge against him for that. But whatever, I'm resentful, I still feel a great sense of guilt, and even theorizing that it's pointless doesn't help. My wound still bleeds. I have to blame someone. We were together for six months, long enough to fall in love and to build up an appetite for more... My stomach growls. I'm hungry for his words, his touch, his scent... His wisdom, intelligence, understanding, sense of humor, strength, self-confidence... His flaws: lateness, nervousness, hasty judgment and jumping to conclusions, conceit. He gave me too little to enjoy, and at the same time too much to want to live without. I don't want to, I have to, I don't understand. Why? Why did he come one day and say "it's over"? Why did she appear on his path? Why on earth was I a stopover in his fast-paced life, one of many, and not the final destination he was heading towards and dreaming of? I'd like him to fall out with his "beloved," who has enormous freckles, is as fat as brawn, and on top of that, her ears stick out like an elephant's! But... at the same time, I want him to be happy, for things to work out well for him. I don't really wish him ill, as someone I feel so strongly about, but does he have to live his life with her and not with me? Apparently so... I can't help it, neither can I, nor anyone else. Even my friend, who dragged me to this meeting of card addicts once again, said it was spring, and that I couldn't sit in front of the TV watching stupid TV shows or listening to romantic music—she calls it gloom—and stare at his picture for hours. We're playing poker. I don't feel like it, but I throw these cards, oh, I have a pair, but it's fun. And I lost. We're playing for prizes. Whoever wins the hand comes up with a task for whoever loses. Well... I have to sing something... So I howl, the host's dog hides, people snicker under their breath - stupid game... Finally, it's over! The cards are dealt again. Oooh, I have a big street, I don't think I'll lose this time. There it is!The blind girl, who's probably been to these meetings for the second time, lost. Oh, I feel sorry for her disability; I don't know how anyone can live with something like that. But she's alive. Well, yes, and does she have any other options? I don't even want to think about what I would do in her shoes... This is a highly abstract and unimaginable situation for me. Michał is currently pondering her punishment. He's handsome, but obviously not as good as my Misiek. The people in this group are generally great, but none of them are the ones who make my stomach growl. Why am I thinking about him again? Will this ever end?

"So, Basia, your task will be to show a few people that the world is beautiful. You can do it any way you want, and show it to whomever you want, as long as you do it convincingly, and now."

This task snaps me out of my reverie. I look at Michał, still a little dazed, and suddenly I understand. From what I understand, Barbara writes poetry, and apparently short stories too. At the previous meeting, Dorota, who brought her to us, mentioned this, and Basia, when asked to share even a small part of her work, refused. Michał probably wants to force her into it with the task; he's probably curious, since he's writing something himself. The writers have found their way! Meanwhile, Basia thinks for a moment, stands up from her chair, and there's complete silence. Everyone is surely wondering what she's going to do, whether she really wants to recite one of her poems about the charms of life? Or maybe she has it written down somewhere, carries that strange device that reads what she writes to her. But no... It seems she doesn't want to recite or read anything. She walks slowly to the window, everyone looking at her with interest. I wonder if she can feel their eyes on her, even though she can't see? I'd like to ask her about it someday, but I know I won't muster the courage; our contact was limited to shaking hands at this and the last meeting. So what, should I go up and ask: listen, what's it like not to see? And if I offend her with such a question, maybe only close friends should ask about such things? This time, the creak of the window opening snaps me out of my thoughts; I look in that direction. Basia, "She just opened the window. She wants to jump out to show people that life isn't all that beautiful?" a thought crosses my mind. It's a foolish thought, but it prompts me to turn my chair away from the table and sit facing the window. This way, I can see everything better, freely, without having to crane my neck, which is uncomfortable in the long run.

And suddenly... I feel a gust of wind, bringing with it the scent of spring, fresh grass, sunshine... The touch of that wind on my face, the chirping of birds, the rustle of trees outside the window, and the sudden cry of Basia, halfway out the window:

"Hey people! People! Damn people, life is beautiful!"

Her cry echoes, somewhere far away, yet somewhere very close at hand. This scream in the silence, completely spontaneous, unexpected—it's him—suddenly awakens me from my sleep. Him, and this spring. I rub my eyes in surprise and stare at the thought that stands before me like a fairy godmother. "Damn, life is beautiful." Why should I waste it on memories that will never return? A person, no matter how wonderful, belongs to the past; I can't feed on memories, because life is the present. It is spring, birdsong, the scent of reborn flowers, the sun, a game of cards, and every moment I experience..." Everyone is shocked by Basia's idea, and now they're laughing gleefully.

"Why aren't you laughing? Aren't you enjoying it?" my friend asks.

"No! I'm not! It simply fascinates and captivates me. From that moment on, even though I'm playing cards with people, I'm as if I'm not present. I'm still digesting the blind girl's words in my mind and confronting them with my reality.

After a while, everyone agrees they've had enough of card games and arranges another meeting, this time not at cards, but at a pub. Someone gives the signal to leave, because we know the host has some urgent studying due tomorrow. So people start gathering, saying goodbye, leaving. I'm still a bit stunned, I'm the last to say goodbye, and I open the door to the stairwell. Suddenly, on impulse, I quickly run down the fourth floor – it's a miracle I don't roll, though I almost do – I run out into the street, looking around with desperation in my eyes... there it is!... She's walking slowly with

Dorota, engaging in a heated discussion with her. I shout as I run,

"Wait!"

They stop... Dorota's face is etched with surprise.

I run up to the girls, put my hand on Basia's shoulder, and gasp.

"Thank you, Basia, for your idea, for... for saying that... You made me realize..." Oh, these stupid tears, I can't get my voice out of my increasingly constricting throat...

"Thank you, Gabi, for telling me about it. Thanks to you, I realize that my acting like an idiot made sense."

I smile, and so does she.

Dorota suddenly announces that they have to go now, because she has an important meeting and can't be late. She also suggests I go with them if I feel like it; after all, I only live a street over from Basia. I go! Along the way, we chat about various casual topics, and when we reach Basia's house, she suggests I drop by.

"Now?" I ask, surprised.

"Well, why not?"

I agree. I feel a great fondness for this girl, and I hear an inner voice, out of nowhere, repeating, "Accept the invitation." After an hour, I'm sitting comfortably in an armchair in her room and asking Basia everything I'm curious about. She said right from the start that I can freely ask questions, that it won't offend her, as she's used to such curiosity. After two hours in her company, I'm starting to open up to her. I tell her about my Miśek, about his choice, and tears are streaming down my cheeks. When I finish, I look at my newfound, already so close friend and see the sincere sympathy on her face, but also a twinkle of joy.

"Not this one, that one," she says with philosophical reflection. "I'm lonely there too, but I'm still looking for the right one. If you want, we'll look for it together."

"I want to...

And we're looking..."