З життя
Наприкінці зустрічі офіціантка оголосила, що бенкет сплачено закладом: несподівана щедрість на чималу суму
Коли ми навчалися в школі, накоїли чимало дурниць. Але, мабуть, це один із найкращих періодів у житті кожної людини, сповнений спогадів, відкриттів та розчарувань. Цього року минуло 20 років з того часу, як ми закінчили школу. Оскільки я була найбільш активною і підтримувала зв’язок із більшістю однокласників, організація зустрічі випала саме мені.
Клас у нас був невеликий, тому розіслати запрошення було нескладно. Деякі обіцяли прийти, дехто відмовився через проживання за кордоном, але більшість все ж погодилася. Єдиним, кого не вдалося знайти, був Андрій. Він зник відразу після випускного, і ніхто не знав, як склалася його доля.
У школі ми з Андрієм були друзями, сиділи за однією партою. Він допомагав мені з уроками, адже був відмінником, але це не врятувало його від знущань. Андрій походив із небагатої родини: батька не було, а мати працювала на скромній роботі, тому він часто носив старий одяг і ранець. Для мене це не мало значення, але для інших було приводом для глузувань.
Андрій ніколи не піддавався на провокації, уникав конфліктів. Я була єдиною, хто його захищав. Не дивно, що він швидко обірвав контакти з однокласниками і наше спілкування також припинилося.
Коли я вже втратила надію побачити старого друга, сталося диво. Я випадково зустріла матір Андрія. Василина Петрівна виглядала прекрасно, тому я не одразу її впізнала. Ми розговорилися, і вона розповіла, що Андрій живе в іншому місті. Я повідомила їй про заплановану зустріч, і вона дала мені його номер телефону. Того ж вечора я йому зателефонувала.
Андрій одразу впізнав мій голос і, здається, був радий мене чути. Ми довго розмовляли про життя і шкільні роки. Коли я пояснила причину дзвінка, Андрій несподівано погодився прийти. Виявляється, роки стерли з його пам’яті всі образи.
У визначений день ми зустрілися в відомому ресторані нашого міста. Багато хто змінився, але деякі залишилися собою. Однокласники розповідали про своє життя та досягнення, хто краще влаштувався. Більшість мали сім’ї та дітей, хоча були і такі, хто не поспішав.
Я почала хвилюватися, що Андрій не з’явиться, але саме тоді він увійшов до ресторану. Я одразу його не впізнала: високий, статний, в елегантному костюмі. Він випромінював впевненість і чарівність. Усі дівчата були в захваті. Протягом вечора Андрій вів себе гідно, а коли його запитали про життя, скромно сказав, що на життя вистачає. Він не затримався довго, адже поспішав на іншу зустріч. Ввічливо вибачившись, він покинув нашу компанію.
Наприкінці зустрічі я попросила рахунок. Офіціантка повідомила при всіх, що прийом організовано за рахунок закладу. Це була неочікувана щедрість, адже рахунок був чималим. Я хотіла дізнатися причину такої щедрості, і тоді офіціантка вразила всіх правдою:
– Так ви сиділи разом з Андрієм Олеговичем, нашим власником. Він наказав ні з кого не брати грошей за вечір.
Ото молодець, Андрійко! Зумів здивувати однокласників через стільки років.
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No One Left to Talk To: A Story “Mum, what are you saying? How can you say you’ve got no one to talk to? I call you twice a day,” her daughter asked wearily. “No, sweetheart, that’s not what I meant,” Nina Anderson sighed sadly. “I just don’t have any friends or acquaintances left who are my age. From my time.” “Mum, don’t talk nonsense. You still have your school friend Irene. And honestly, you’re so modern and you look much younger than you are. Oh, Mum, what’s wrong?” her daughter fretted. “You know Irene has asthma; when she talks on the phone she starts coughing. And she lives all the way on the other side of the city. There were three of us friends, remember I told you? But Mary’s been gone for a long time. Yesterday, Tanya from the flat next door popped in. I made her a cuppa—she’s a lovely woman, often drops by. She even brought over some buns she’d baked for her family. She told me about her children and grandchildren. She’s got grandchildren, even though she’s about fifteen years younger than me. But her childhood, her memories—they’re so different from mine. I just long for a chat with peers, people like me,” Nina Anderson explained, though she realised perfectly well that her daughter wouldn’t understand. She was still young. Her time wasn’t gone—it was just outside the window. She didn’t yet yearn for memories. Sveta was wonderful and caring; it wasn’t about her. “Mum, I got us tickets for a night of classic ballads on Tuesday. Remember you wanted to go? No more sulking—put on your burgundy dress, you look stunning in it!” “All right, darling, everything’s fine. I don’t know what came over me, good night, we’ll speak tomorrow. Go to bed early—you hardly get any sleep,” Nina changed the subject. “Yes, Mum, goodnight. Bye,” and Svetlana hung up. Nina Anderson gazed silently at the glittering evening lights outside… Year Eleven, also spring. So many plans. It seemed so recent. Her friend Irene fancied Simon Mallory from their class. But Simon liked Nina. He’d call her every evening, invite her out. But Nina thought of him as just a friend—why raise his hopes? Later Simon left for the army. He came back, married, lived in Irene’s old house. Back then everyone had a landline. The number… Nina Anderson dialled the number from memory. The tone didn’t come at once—then someone picked up, there was rustling and then a quiet man’s voice: “Hello, I’m listening.” Maybe it’s too late? Why did I call? Maybe Simon doesn’t even remember me, or maybe it’s not him at all! “Good evening,” Nina’s voice rasped a little with nerves. There was more static on the line, then suddenly she heard an astonished voice: “Nina? Is that really you? Of course it is. I’d know your voice anywhere. How did you find me? I’m only here by chance….” “Simon, you recognised me!” A wave of joyful memories swept over Nina Anderson. No one had called her by her name for ages—just “mum”, “granny”, or “Mrs Anderson”. Well, except Irene. But just “Nina” sounded so wonderful, so fresh—as if the years hadn’t passed at all. “Nina, how are you? I’m so glad to hear from you.” Those words made her ridiculously happy. She’d feared he wouldn’t recognise her, or her call would be out of place. “Do you remember Year Eleven? When Simon and Victor took you and Irene out in that rowing boat? He’d blistered his hands on the oars and tried to hide it. Then we ate ice cream on the riverside while the music played,” Simon’s voice was soft and wistful. “Of course I remember!” Nina laughed joyfully, “And that class camping trip? We couldn’t get the tins open, we were so hungry!” “Oh yes,” Simon chuckled, “Then Victor opened them and we sang songs by the campfire. Do you remember? After that, I decided to learn the guitar.” “And did you?” Nina’s voice rang with youthful delight at all these shared memories. It was like Simon was reviving their happy past, recalling detail after detail. “So, how are things now?” Simon asked, but immediately answered himself, “Actually, I can tell from your voice you’re happy. Children, grandchildren? You still writing poems? I remember: ‘To dissolve into the night and be reborn by morning!’ So full of hope! You always were like sunshine, Nina! You bring warmth to everyone, no one could be cold around you. Your family’s so lucky—to have a mum and granny like you is pure gold.” “Oh, come off it, Simon, I’m long past that. My time’s over, I—” He interrupted. “Come on, you give out so much energy I think my phone’s about to melt! Just kidding. I don’t believe you’ve lost your zest for life—not a bit. That means your time isn’t over yet, Nina. So live—and be happy. The sun shines for you. And the breeze chases clouds across the sky for you. And the birds sing for you!” “Simon, you’re still such a romantic. What about you? I’m going on and on about myself…” But suddenly there was a crackle and the call cut out. Nina sat there, phone in hand. She wanted to ring back, but it was late—better not. Another time. What a wonderful chat they’d had—so many memories! The sudden ringtone made Nina jump. Her granddaughter. “Yes, Daisy, hello, I’m still up. What did Mum say? No, my mood’s fine. I’m going to a concert with Mum. Are you coming over tomorrow? Wonderful, see you then. Bye.” In an unexpectedly good mood, Nina Anderson went to bed, head full of plans. As she drifted off, she found herself composing lines for a new poem… In the morning, Nina decided to visit Irene. Just a few stops on the tram—she wasn’t a creaky old nag yet. Irene was delighted: “At last! You’ve been promising for ages. Ooh, is that an apricot tart? My favourite! Well, spill, what’s brought this on?” Irene coughed, pressing her hand to her chest, then waved Nina’s concern away. “It’s all right, new inhaler—I’m better. Come on, let’s have tea. Nina, you look younger somehow—come on, tell me!” “I don’t know—my fifth youth!” Nina laughed as she sliced the tart. “Yesterday I rang Simon Mallory by accident… remember your crush in Year Eleven? We got to reminiscing—I’d forgotten half of it. What’s up, Irene? Not another asthma attack?” Irene sat pale and silent, then whispered: “Nina, you didn’t know? Simon passed away a year ago. He lived in another part of town—he moved from that old place ages ago.” “You must be joking! How? Who was I talking to? He remembered everything about our school days. My mood was terrible before talking to him. But after we spoke, I felt life was carrying on—that I still had strength, and joy for living… How could it be?” Nina couldn’t believe Simon was gone. “But I heard his voice. He said such beautiful things: ‘The sun shines for you. And the breeze chases clouds across the sky for you. And the birds sing for you!’” Irene shook her head, sceptical of her friend’s story. 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