Thread

The man sat on a bench, smoking a cigarette. He needed to calm down. He gazed blankly at the night sky filled with stars, at the bright crescent moon peeking out from behind the thin clouds. It seemed to him that these luminous points were alive, smiling, joking, putting on a brave face. They probably cared little for the fate of mortals, looking with pity on their everyday problems, simple feelings, meager successes in earthly life. And they didn't care what a man who had lost two years felt.

Two years... What were they to these bright objects in the sky? What were two periods of the Earth's revolution around the sun compared to the centuries and millennia they had witnessed? And they had seen everything there was to see. Wars and peace, births and deaths, ups and downs, moments of happiness and terror. They had seen people love and hate each other, betray each other, kill each other, hurt each other. They had seen hundreds of gray people sitting on a bench in the middle of the night, telling themselves how miserable they were. Maybe... Or maybe they weren't looking that way at all.

He felt the chilling air of approaching winter. He glanced at her bare, trembling hand, the cigarette smoldering red in its glow. He was so absorbed in the phone call that he ran out of the apartment without his jacket. It was terribly cold.

He could already imagine how, in a week or two, snow would cover the potholed street, the uneven sidewalk, the cars parked in the parking lot, how the children would go to school in the shoes their older brothers and sisters had worn.

Two years...

That's how long they'd been together. A feeling you don't get every day. He had long-term plans for the future, wanted to propose to her, move in with her in the new house he'd been saving up for, be with her for the rest of his life. How banal. Banal, yet beautiful. At least in his plans.

He heard her voice, distorted in the phone, drowned out by the sounds of club music, but the same, still warm and still full of energy. We can't be together anymore. Please don't ask why... Yes, I have someone.

That hit him hardest. How could she? Two years of love, evenings spent together, trips out of town, two years without a day when he didn't think of her. They argued, like everyone else. But could petty arguments ruin their relationship? No, definitely not. That's how he knew another man had entered her life.

He hadn't been able to contact her for days. She hadn't answered calls, hadn't responded to texts, hadn't even tried to lie about being busy. Until finally, she called herself. From the ladies' room. She had to be at the club with that guy. Who else could she be with?

Cold, terribly cold. His fingers moved with difficulty, and his ears and nose were slowly freezing.

How could she? How could she erase everything they had in common? It was... cruel. And cowardly. She hadn't even said it in private, hadn't tried to explain anything. And anyway... What was there to explain? It was all clear. She'd been cheating on him for a long time, toying with him. She'd probably returned to the dance floor right after they'd ended the conversation, dancing with her new lover. And he seemed to know her so well. He remembered when they were still together, when they'd met at the club, sometimes she'd step out for a moment to use the restroom and say she had to call. He didn't ask who. He trusted her. And now... How many were there like him?

Yes, he was one of many. But why had she deceived him for so long? Couldn't she say she didn't love him? Couldn't she admit it was just sex? Couldn't she interrupt him when he talked about his dream house near Warsaw?

True, she never promised anything. She simply listened and smiled. And he couldn't remember her ever saying "I love you." Not once. Maybe she didn't want to lie? How nice of her. And if he ever asked who she was talking to, she'd say "an acquaintance." That wouldn't be a lie either. I wonder if she'd told her new boyfriend that?

It was cold, very cold. The cigarette had long since gone out. A car had just pulled into the parking lot. A tall figure dressed in black stumbled out. She fell to the ground. It was a man. He was drunk. He could have killed someone on the road, he could have run over an innocent girl... No, innocent girls weren't walking the streets at this hour. But he could have left her orphaned. He could have run over a good father and husband who was returning home from a night shift. Or maybe he already had.

How could she?

Not this one, that other one, he always told his friends. How funny it seemed when HIM was touched by unrequited love. How vulgar and how... painful. How much he must have hurt his friends. He'd apologize to them someday. And he wouldn't be drowning in their company. He didn't want to listen to that song. He'd just go to his boss, ask for overtime, bury himself in work, and sit around poring over the hated paperwork.

Yes, that's what he'd do.

But something had chained him to the bench and held him in its grip. He wouldn't get over it that quickly. Sitting in the cold for a moment wasn't enough to overcome the pain. That would be too easy. And nothing in life was easy.

Some noise. A few guys were just taking someone's cell phone. It was his own fault. He shouldn't be walking around at this hour. And it was just a cell phone. What would he have done in their place? Would he have attacked them with his fists, even though he knew he wouldn't stand a chance? Perhaps. Or he could have just as easily given everything he had, gone upstairs and thrown in a few pennies for a beer. He'd have taken his jacket with him.

Did he feel anger, rage, or nervousness? Not anymore. He felt nothing.