З життя
Життя розбило мені серце, щоб подарувати нове
В молодості я завжди мріяв про красиве життя. У студентські роки, коли грошей ледве вистачало на гречку, я купував мило “Калина”. Хай і голодний, але пахнув, як герой українського фільму. Потім — запальничка Zippo, у 93-му вона коштувала чималі кошти, але звук її кришки нагадував світ Богдана Бенюка та Остапа Ступки. Далі — мобільний телефон останньої моделі, без якого в до-смартфонну еру ти був ніким. Я гнався за цією красою, як за мрією, і здавалося, що вже впіймав її.
Театральна академія залишилась позаду, і я став діджеєм на радіо “Хіт FM”, бажаним гостем модних клубів Києва. Згодом — арт-директором нічного клубу. Набирав танцівниць, ставив шоу, купався в морі світла, музики та грошей. Життя перетворилося на вечірку: вдень спав, вночі веселився сам і розважав інших. Усі довкола були красивими, веселими, сміялися до ранку. Я був королем цього світу. Але всередині щось нило. Порожнечу я заглушував новими святами.
Так я створив свою фірму — перетворив свято на бізнес. Корпоративи, весілля, вечірки — я вже був не просто гість, а їх бог. Шампанське лилося рікою, танці не стихали, і я відчував себе на вершині. Але прийшов 2005-й. Новий рік, що змінив усе. Донька захворіла. Спочатку кашель, потім лікарі, аналізи, і раптом — гострий лімфобластний лейкоз. Рак крові. Їй було трохи більше року.
Біла палата, катетер в крихітній ручці, хіміотерапія. Волосся випадало, вона набирала вагу від гормонів, їла без зупинки. Лиса голівка, сумні очі, стоматит. Ми з дружиною жили в лікарні півроку. Вона — поряд із донькою, я — у режимі “принеси-подай”. А ввечері — на корпоративи. Дружина в костюмі співала “Щедрик”, я жартував про “нове щастя”. Там — підбори, макіяж, Віктор Павлік. А потім — назад у лікарню, до дітей у масках, де посмішок не видно, лише очі, наповнені страхом.
Там було інше життя. Накрашені дами змінювалися мамами в спортивних костюмах, сміх — тишею, танці — шелестом крапельниць. Деякі діти виходили додому. Деякі — назавжди. Телефони мовчали, “друзі” зникли. Залишились лише ми й питання: за що? За що таким маленьким така біль? Я не знав відповіді, але знав одне — я вмію робити свята. І вирішив влаштувати його прямо там, у лікарні.
Ялинка в холі хіміотерапії. Друзі з “Театру мандрівних ляльок пана Петрика” виступили на славу, а я став Святим Миколаєм. Діти в стерильних масках сміялися, батьки посміхались крізь сльози. Вперше за роки я бачив тверезі очі — і вони були красивішими за будь-яку вечірку. Потім я йшов по палатах, куди дозволяли. Знав, що декотрі з цих дітей не вийдуть, і це рвало душу. Але в цю мить я зрозумів: ось воно, справжнє. Не клуби, не Zippo, не мило “Калина”. Це було свято життя — тихе, тепле, без порожнечі в серці.
Доньку виписали з інвалідністю. Ми ходили в реабілітаційний центр, і я знову став Святим Миколаєм для дітей, які не могли вийти з дому. Їхні батьки — справжні герої — навчили мене жити наново. Поруч із ними я відчував себе сліпим, глухим, паралізованим. Вони були красивими — не зовні, а всередині. І я зрозумів: мені самому потрібна була реабілітація. Ці діти стали моїми вчителями.
Минуло більше десяти років. Донька здорова, інвалідність зняли — вона красуня і відмінниця. У нас троє дітей, я актор кіно, люблячий чоловік. Дружина — “Місіс Київ”, вдома чекає не клуб, а сім’я. Запальничка пилиться десь у шухляді, телефон у мене кнопковий — батарея тримає тиждень. Але головне — я веду “Сузір’я героїв”, вручаю премію “Золоте Сонце” тим, хто пробивається крізь асфальт життя, як кульбаба.
Ті півроку в лікарні, той біль — вони зробили мене тим, ким я є. Я думав: “За що?” А тепер питаю: “Для чого?” Біль — як кишеня. Чим вона глибша, тим більше туди поміститься цукерок. Бог щедро наповнив мою кишеню — і я ділюся ними з іншими. Завтра, можливо, буде знову боляче. Але я знаю: чим міцніший асфальт, тим соковитіша кульбаба. І це знання — красивіше за все, за чим я колись гнався. Може, все почалося з мила “Калина”? А може, з тих сумних очей, які навчили мене бачити.
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