“It turned out interesting. I remember this moment,” a man in a hazy black cloak whispers in front of me.

He carefully examines the high entrance doors, which are the thickness of thousand-year-old wood. The door was not constructed from planks, but the tree was flattened, leaving the bark intact. With a nostalgic movement, he runs long, thin fingers, covered in white-gray skin, over four deep scratches wider than a human wrist, left by the claws of a giant beast. The streaks smoothly transition into gaping holes leading into a black abyss of gloom. He turns around. From under the hood, a sharp chin and a long nose on a gaunt gray face peek out. He looks at me with an experienced glance, as if I am a newcomer, offers a crooked smile, and enters the darkness beyond the door.

Behind the nostalgic one, a line of bony, long-limbed men and women in black cloaks forms. One after another, the silhouettes concealed by the haze disappear into the gloom. I observe the fall into the darkness from the bright side. From here, a radiance of pure light extends into the unlimited space behind. The soft light presses in, touching with pressure.

To be honest, I feel a little ashamed. I do not know where I am. I remember absolutely nothing. It is as if I drank a beverage that consumed all my memory. Meaningless, empty questions are in my head. I am wearing the same black, hazy cloak as the others. My body is elongated, my bony, thin arms lower than usual. A gray nose is clearly visible to my clearly seeing eyes. My turn comes. Without thinking, I dive into the gloom beyond the door scratched by an unseen beast.

Consciousness returns on a massive wooden bed. Instead of a mattress, there’s a gray-white sheet beneath me. Through the thin fibers, I can see the grain of that same black-brown wood. The air is steeped in oppressive gloom, hopelessness, despair, and resignation to an inevitable fate that seems known to everyone but me. Although, an inner feeling tells me nothing good awaits here.

To the right, behind the wall, a predator’s growl, tearing at flesh, rings out. A gut-wrenching human scream merges with it. Judging by the sounds and sensations, it’s not just the flesh, but the unfortunate soul being ripped apart. My soul, sympathizing, shrinks into a small ball, trying to hide in a dark corner of my dimming consciousness, which strives to soothe and conceal it from the inevitable reality.

A few heavy steps, and the growl, with its non-animalistic fury, repeats. Again, a terrifying human cry sounds. A different person screams, but the sound is identical in tone and feeling. The steps approach. I feel fear spreading through my body. My jaw clenches in terror, my teeth clamp down motionless, not even emitting a grind. Slowly and heavily, an enormous woman, resembling a small elephant, passes by my room, which lacks the entry wall where a door should be.

Her legs are like two thick stilts in stretched black shoes with short, wide heels. Her body looks like it was sculpted from clay by unskilled hands. Her facial features are doll-like, unreal. If I try to describe it, the face looks like something lifeless that has come alive. The color of her hair, sticking out like dry scrub, resembles the poisonous hue of clarified butter. Her thin mouth is stretched sideways. Her lips are no thicker than my fingers.

On her grim, forced smile are traces of the desperate scream and the torn flesh of those who perished behind the wall to the right. She walks past with the impassive expression of what people usually call a face. She passed by, meaning she’s not coming for me. The fear slightly subsides. She approaches the small window cut into the thick rock of the local walls.

“Cell one hundred thirty-nine is free,” she announces to the bars. “You can bring two more in.”

“Let two in,” a squeaky voice of a shadow behind the window relays the order to the doorman, whom I somehow didn’t notice when I entered. My consciousness shut down the moment I crossed the threshold.

The clay mountain walks toward me, heaving heavily from side to side. One of her arms is thicker than my entire body. I feel the hairs on my head move chaotically. Yes, she stops by the bed. I fall silent, awaiting the tearing of my flesh along with my soul.

“We were always the first violins. Remember?” she says with unexpected warmth, shifting her gaze from me to the rounded man and woman, both half her size and made of artistic clay, who have appeared by my cot from behind the wall.

“We always were and always will be the best,” the woman at my feet supports with a smile.

“I’ll never forget it,” the man says softly.

“Farewell, Hugo. You were a great friend,” they say simultaneously. I feel we are acquainted, intimately and warmly. They know my name, speak to me like an old, best friend, yet I don’t remember them. That’s not good of me.

“Sorry, Hugo, it has to be this way,” the huge woman whispers with regret in a husky voice. She instantly devours my body, enveloped in a deathly pale skin, starting from the feet, irreversibly moving toward the head. The pain is muffled by the crunching of bones, the chomping of flesh in the enormous, distorted mouth, and my own inhuman scream. Only the warm farewell of my friends acts as an anesthetic.

The ball of horror that had been collecting inside me until this moment bursts in my throat, emitting that very sound of a devoured soul. I didn’t have time to ask anything. Everything has vanished. Darkness and emptiness all around. Only my voice remains in my head. And questions I’d like to get answers to. Who are these people? Where do we know each other from? What first violins were they talking about? How did I end up here, and who was I anyway? Where am I now? Not a single answer rings out in my consciousness. How can I learn all the answers if there is no one to ask? With an effort of will, I force my consciousness to realize where I am.

“Almost the end,” my subconscious whispers in reply to my consciousness.

“What do you mean, almost the end?” I ask my own thoughts mentally.

“It’s simple. The end is the final end, which is to say, the absolute one. And the almost end is when there is a little time left to take the final steps toward the absolute end,” the subconscious explains, without revealing the purpose of the intermediate state.

“Why are these final steps needed?” I have to figure everything out myself.

“To realize that the end is inevitable. To understand who you were, why you existed, and that you will soon cease to be.”

“Cease to be?” I ask, stupidly surprised, although I long ago guessed where all this was heading.

“In a sense,” the conversationalist adds thoughtfully.

“In what sense?” I’m starting to get irritated by having to pull every word out of the uncommunicative, all-knowing subconscious.

“The old you will cease to exist.”

“Who will be in my place?” Not a single option, not one candidate, appears in my mind.

“The final steps will decide everything.”

“How so? What’s the connection?”

“It depends on how correctly you understand and realize yourself. What conclusions you draw, what you wish for.”

“My continued existence.”

“Or non-existence,” the subconscious interrupts.

“Or that,” I reluctantly agree, accepting even this possibility. “Does the future depend on my decision?”

“Rather, on your conclusions and the decision you make,” the subconscious corrects again.

“Everything depends on me?” I feel a surge of strength and confidence, realizing that everything is in my hands.

“You could say that,” a slight smile appears in the subconscious’s voice. It acknowledges my small victory in the argument. Of course, I won the argument. It’s my subconscious, which means I’m its master and I dictate the rules. “Don’t be so self-confident,” the subconscious sounds confident and elevated. “I am the subconscious, not the consciousness. If you can control the consciousness, the subconscious is almost beyond your power. So, from now on, I ask you to treat with more respect the one who is independent of you and knows more about you than you do.”

“I apologize,” I say calmly and submissively, so as not to anger my conversationalist in this shaky situation.

“That’s better,” a pleased smile can be heard in the subconscious’s voice.

“Please, tell me, where is this ‘almost end’ located? Honestly, I still don’t understand where I am or how to get out.”

“This place doesn’t exist. You cannot define where something that is not there is located.”

“How can it not exist? I’m here. And you are here. There are two of us in a non-existent place.”

“The place is non-material. It can change at any moment, move to any location or dimension. Therefore, no definition can be given to it. You might make a mistake. Why deliberately make mistakes?” the subconscious evades, giving weighty but abstract arguments.

“Fine, how do I get out of here?” I ask directly, before the next moments throw me so far away that I won’t be able to find a way out.

“It depends on where you want to go?” It creates the illusion that everything depends on me. I won’t believe it this time.

“And where can I go?” I realize that I’m foolishly starting a game with the subconscious. The winner is known in advance.

“Anywhere you want,” the answer sounds boundless and free.

“I want to know who I was before this ‘almost end’? What I did, how I lived, and who these people were? Or creatures I saw last?” It feels awkward to call them, perhaps, my best friends.

“Why do you need that?”

“I want to know. It’s hard for me to live in ignorance.”

“But you’re not living,” the conversationalist smirks.

“I don’t want to be ignorant.”

“How can you be, if you don’t exist?” the subconscious openly attacks.

“Then what will this knowledge lead to?”

“You’re so difficult. And why is consciousness always dumber than the subconscious? If you haven’t guessed yet, it leads to the absolute end.”

“Fine, let it be so,” I agree to the stated price for knowledge.

“Are you really ready for that?” the voice asks in surprise.

“An aware, quick absolute end is better than an eternal, unaware end in ignorance,” I convince myself of the correctness of the decision I’ve made.

“I understand,” the subconscious quietly agrees.

“What do I need to do for that?” the thirst for knowledge spurs me, and I spur it.

“Go back to your life.”

“And how do I do that? Is there an instruction manual?”

“Turn to your consciousness; it knows best. You just need to concentrate, and you’ll be able to do everything.”

“And you can’t tell me?”

“The answer has already been given, but you interpreted it slightly incorrectly.”

“Where did I go wrong?” I mentally review what was said.

“Ask your consciousness,” the conversationalist insists, unwilling to help.

“Please, give me a hint, I beg you.”

“No,” the subconscious is unyielding.

“Why? We’re in the same non-existent place. Help me out, like a neighbor.”

“I don’t want to,” it answers directly and harshly, leaving no options or hope.

“Please. I can’t manage on my own. If I could manage, I definitely wouldn’t have ended up here.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. The answer is still ‘no’.”

“But you’re my subconscious. You should be helping me.”

“Did you forget? The free subconscious,” it reminds me proudly. “You are not my master. If I’m free, then why should I carry out someone’s orders or requests? If I don’t want to do something, I will never do it. That’s the beauty of true freedom. I prefer to use this precious treasure for its intended purpose.”

“How do I get out of here without you?”

“Don’t underestimate your consciousness. It’s stronger than you think. And your strength depends on the strength you grant it.”

“Fine, I’ll manage. Can I ask one last question?”

“I don’t promise to answer, but you may ask. I’m being too kind to you today.”

“Please tell me, how will I know that the absolute end has come?”

“Your consciousness will tell you. You’ll know at the decisive moment. A feeling inside will confirm it.”

“Thank you,” I express my gratitude not for the vague answers, but for the time of the free subconscious.

“You’re welcome,” the conversationalist replies with a laugh. “Farewell. Or until we meet again, we’ll see.”

“I hope to meet again.”

“Uh-huh,” the fading answer of the disappearing subconscious echoes briefly.

Well, let’s begin the journey to the absolute end. And how do I take these final steps? The subconscious says I need to understand the life I lived and draw conclusions. How? Oh, right. Consciousness will tell me! A bit of light and ease enters my soul. The small spark of hope fades upon realization. I don’t have a clue how to contact my consciousness. Maybe this voice that’s sounding in my head right now is my consciousness.

I never thought I had such a harmful subconscious. I never acknowledged it or troubled it, and now, at a moment like this, it abandons me to be devoured by my own thoughts and this uncertain situation. I managed somehow without it before, and I’ll manage alone now. If I’m lucky, Consciousness will help. It’s always been nearby, even if I didn’t listen to it before. All right, Consciousness, let’s begin.

“Where am I?” I ask mentally.

“We’ve almost figured it out. There’s no point in going deeper. And when we go deeper, everything will end for us,” the voice in my thoughts replies.

“I’d rather everything end than not know how it all began. We have to get out. How do I learn about my life?”

“You have to go back to it,” Consciousness answers reluctantly, unwilling to cooperate in a matter that inevitably leads to the absolute end.

“How do I do that?” There’s little difference between my consciousness and my subconscious. Every time, I have to pull each word out of them.

“The main thing is not to overcomplicate it. Just take it and go back.”

“All right. I’ll try. Wait, which moment?” I clarify, not knowing when the path to darkness began.

“That very one,” Consciousness answers enigmatically.

“Which one exactly, if I can’t remember any?”

“You need to feel the most important moment, when you realized your future fate was being decided.”

“And what is the most important moment in my life?” I tensely dig through the empty black boxes of memory.

“The one when you found yourself and realized who you want to be and what you want to do. When you decided how to live your life. That exact moment defines a person and their future.”

“Fine. Let’s go.”

I try to recall the feeling of defining yourself in life. The problem is that right now, I feel nothing at all but emptiness where emotions should be. Okay, I need to try harder, listen to myself. I imagine myself. Let it be the image of an ordinary man. I don’t know his face. Everyone looks the same in front of a scratched door. Good. I’ll imagine him from the back. Average build; I’ll make the proportions correct, I suppose. I don’t want to be somehow crooked, and if there is crookedness, let it be natural.

If I was more handsome, becoming average won’t be scary. And if I was ugly, an average appearance will be desirable beauty. So that’s what I’ll do. I’ll become an average man of the age I was when pursuing the feeling of certainty. And so, I determine who I want to be and what I want to do. It’s an interesting feeling. Self-doubt and a state of being suspended gradually give way to confidence and all-consuming joy of the soul. Consciousness exults. It feels as if I’ve reached the peak of enlightenment. The radiance is not only in my consciousness. The gloom of the conversation with the Subconscious is replaced by the light of being.

“Where am I?” I don’t recognize this new place.

“Home,” Consciousness quietly prompts.

“And where is my home?”

“Where it is warm, peaceful, and cozy for your soul. Look closely.”

“If the street is my home, I’m a little disappointed.”

“A home isn’t always a building confined by walls and electric light. If you’re comfortable in your soul, you find comfort and coziness in any corner of the planet. Maybe even beyond, if you end up there,” Consciousness explains kindly.

“I get it. When you know what you want and where you’re going, you feel good and comfortable everywhere. When you define yourself in life, you gain a peaceful coziness and warmth in your soul. It’s an accompanying effect of self-determination.”

“Yes, that’s right. A bit wordy, though. You can express yourself more briefly in the real world, where time is more precious than the darkness that leads nowhere.”

“Don’t forget, I still have everything to learn. What about my body?” I look myself over. “Exactly as I imagined. Wow, I guessed right.”

“Not entirely,” Consciousness responds gently. “A person looks like they feel.”

“Everything’s in place. I’m comfortable. It’s my body,” I fall in love with this new body instead of the elongated skeleton with gray skin under a hazy shroud. “Where am I?” I ask more vibrantly.

“Learn not to immediately ask questions, but to figure things out for yourself first. You won’t always find someone to help you at any moment. Look around and you’ll understand,” Consciousness teaches me self-reliance. This is unpleasant. And at the same time, I understand it has to be this way.

“There’s something familiar about this street. I don’t know exactly what I have in common with it.”

“Oh!” A surprised, familiar voice sounds behind me. “There you are!” A girl says with a laugh, taking my arm.

“We’re looking everywhere for him, and he’s calmly taking a stroll,” a guy takes my arm from the other side.

“You found me,” I play along uncertainly, looking at them in turn. These are the same man and woman who stood by me when the clay-elephant woman devoured me. Only they are young and thin. The guy is slightly taller than me, and the girl is a little shorter.

“You found him!” a pleasant voice shouts joyfully. Running in front of us, she runs a hand through my hair. It’s the very girl who was the giantess that ate me. Young, pretty, slender, and tall. I feel a special warmth looking at her. My eyes are almost teary; my soul is pleasantly stirred inside. I feel as if I’m in love with her. And that light touch of my hair. My heart pleasantly squeezes and sighs, as if enchanted by the warmth of her existence. “Why are you acting so strange?” the special girl asks, looking at me. “You look a bit unwell,” she touches my forehead with a gentle palm.

“I’m fine,” I reply, regaining my composure. I avert my gaze so as not to be overwhelmed by her stirring image.

“Are you sure?” asks the second girl, the one holding my arm.

“Why are you bothering him?” the guy on the right complains jokingly. “Guys are always fine. It’s you girls who always have something wrong.”

“Well, too bad!” the girl drops my arm in mock offense and catches up with the tall, caring beauty. She takes her arm, and they walk at a quick, steady pace to talk about their own things. Girlish giggles reach us on the wind.

“Are you okay?” the guy asks seriously, slowing me down. I feel complete trust. It seems he is my best friend.

“Yeah,” I say uncertainly and quietly, trying not to reveal the imprint of my recent conversations with my subconscious and consciousness. “Everything’s normal.”

“Another love-heart impulse?” he jokes, making an unusual diagnosis while looking at the tall girl.

“Looks like it,” I confess, feeling a little embarrassed.

“I get it, she’s great. But no better or worse than mine,” he smiles dreamily, turning his gaze to the girl who just held my arm.

“Do you love her?” I ask, realizing I don’t know the names of my best friends and my beloved.

“Tailynn?” he puts a sea of tenderness into every letter of his beloved’s name.

“Yes, Tailynn,” I repeat uncertainly, understanding everything without an answer.

“Head over heels,” my friend answers defencelessly. “And I don’t need to ask you. It’s immediately obvious that Stacey owns all of you, long since and irrevocably. She safely hid your heart in her hands and won’t let go.”

“You hit the nail on the head,” I agree, not hiding the truth. “Stacey,” I whisper quietly, almost mentally, the name of the girl walking ahead, as if she were stepping on the keys of a loving soul. “She’s so beautiful.”

“I know,” my unfamiliar friend supports me. He melts, looking at Tailynn. “When you fall in love with a person, their name becomes your most beloved word, caressing your ear and enveloping your heart with the sweet nectar of feeling,” he says, as if he’s about to melt and flow toward her across the warm asphalt to her slender feet and be absorbed by her completely.

“Is Tailynn aware of your feelings?” I want to know the situation so I don’t accidentally say something out of turn. It’s not good when people learn about feelings from someone else.

“Are you kidding me?” he instantly sobers up from his intoxication.

“What?” I’m genuinely surprised.

“You act so brave, as if you told Stacey your feelings yourself,” he says with a slight mockery. He doesn’t overdo the derisive teasing because he’s in the same situation. I remain silent, not knowing what I said or did.

We walk along, mesmerized, following our loved ones, while they are absorbed in their girlish conversations, lost in their own thoughts. Stacey unexpectedly turns around and looks into my eyes with a playful gaze. A pleasant shiver runs through my body, mixed with a chill, as if I’ve been caught. I manage a short inhale, and my breath catches in my chest. My eyes widen, and my lips spread into a slight smile. Stacey smiles, then returns to her conversation with Tailynn. Then Tailynn also turns around. She looks intently at my friend and slightly raises an eyebrow. She abruptly turns away. I covertly look at him. There is so much miserable, lovelorn suffering in his expression.

“Don’t worry, girls like to play with guys’ feelings when they know they’re hopelessly in love with them.”

“That coldness is still a little unpleasant,” he says, looking at the two pigtails that stroke Tailynn’s back like two golden pendulums.

“Try not to react so strongly. She definitely loves you,” I try to console the panic and sadness in my friend.

“Then why did she look at me like that? Like I’m an empty space.”

“You don’t look at an empty space. A girl will never look at someone she’s not interested in. And you didn’t notice what I saw in her eyes. Your vision is blurred by the love haze cast by this girl.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he sighs heavily, wanting to believe it.

“Hugo, tell Tyron he’s a fool,” Tailynn jokes without turning around.

I look at my friend in confusion, who is now filled with even greater suffering in his gaze and sigh. They called me Hugo, which means my friend’s name is Tyron. Now I know. I feel a little easier. The feeling of shame in front of them is dulled. Of course, I didn’t relay the message. Tyron looks into my eyes as if to say, “See?” I’m a little indignant about this situation.

“Allow me to ask,” I attack confidently, seeking clarification. “Where did that conclusion come from?”

“There’s only one week left until the graduation concert. Not only might our joint studies end, but he hasn’t done anything to preserve the other side of our creative connection,” Tailynn says importantly.

“You speak circuitously and a bit enigmatically,” I can’t show that this is the first I’ve heard of a graduation concert. “But I understand what you mean. I’ll try to explain it to Tyron.”

“Thanks, Hugo. You’re our last hope. Ah, if only your friend was as quick-witted,” she sighs heavily, smoothly gliding her gaze over the guy’s face.

“What’s she talking about?” my clueless friend asks in a whisper.

“She says you’re a slowpoke,” I reply, barely holding back a laugh.

“In what sense?” he clarifies with confusion in his voice, not offense at such a phrase. Of course, I didn’t mean to offend. The words perfectly describe Tailynn’s main idea. Directness saves a ton of time on explanations.

“Your beloved means that the graduation concert is coming soon. Your joint sessions will end. You might not see each other again, and you’re not doing anything to continue your relationship on a different level.”

“On a different level?” he repeats with a silly look on his face.

“Are you mocking me?” I ask, thinking he’s joking. Then, looking into his meaningless gaze, I realize he seriously doesn’t understand. “Falling in love completely takes away your common sense, my friend. Tailynn means it’s time for you to become a couple.”

“A couple?” the guy asks again, surprised by the new word.

“A couple,” I repeat patiently, understanding that for a teenager, this is a serious step.

“So, she likes me too?” A spark of happiness lights up in Tyron’s eyes.

“I think more than just likes you,” I suppose, observing the girl’s behavior.

“And she wants us to date?” he concludes, not believing his own happiness.

“Well, there you go, I see your brain is starting to engage; that’s good.”

“Date. Be a couple,” my friend whispers dreamily.

“Just don’t be a slowpoke,” I remind him of Tailynn’s main point.

“But what should I do?” he asks, flustered.

“The first step. You have to start somewhere. And you have to be the one to do something first. Though, the initiative is certainly not in your hands.”

“And how is that done?” It’s strange; Tyron is a decent guy and handsome, but he has no experience with girls at all.

“Oh, you budding lady’s man,” it’s strange that I’m so calm.

“What?! How am I supposed to know how that’s done!” the guy complains sheepishly and modestly, lowering his tone.

“There are two main options,” I say more quietly so that my friend’s plans remain a small surprise for Tailynn.

“Which ones?” Tyron asks impatiently.

“First: you wait for the right moment and propose.”

“You mean get married?” the guy’s voice trembles with fright.

“Why jump straight to marriage? It’s enough to suggest dating, and from there, it’s not far to marriage. Don’t rush; you’ll get there.”

“And the second option?”

“You wait for the right moment and kiss her. I think this option is better. It’s less formal and more pleasant.”

“What if someone sees?”

“I told you, you need the right moment, when no one sees. You have to be alone with her.”

“And how long do I have to wait for that moment?”

“Sometimes it takes a lifetime. So, it’s better to create that moment yourself.”

“And how do I do that?” If it weren’t for my secret knowledge, I wouldn’t be able to say.

“You think about where and how you can be alone. You make those places and times coincide. The main condition will be your private meeting without unnecessary witnesses. Believe me, in your case, it doesn’t matter if anyone sees you. Tailynn will agree.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” he looks at the girl with a tense gaze, preparing for failure. He doesn’t realize that, regardless of the outcome, their personal life is determined.

“Don’t worry so much! I’ll figure out what’s what a little, and we’ll come up with a way to do it. We have a whole week for this!”

“Figure out what?” Tyron looks at me with a surprised question in his eyes.

“Just figure things out in general,” I turn my gaze to Stacey’s back. My heart gives in for a moment and releases an uncontrollable breath.

“Alright,” my friend sighs again. “And have you kissed Stacey? Are you two together?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper, forgetting the formalities. The status of my life’s affairs is unknown to me.

“How can you not know? Did you try to kiss her, and she didn’t respond?” Tyron guesses.

“I haven’t tried,” it’s better to cheer up my friend by having the same predicament.

“So, we both need the right situations!” the guy is happy that he isn’t alone in his difficulty.

“Yes, friend, we both need to come up with something,” I pat his shoulder with a heavy hand.

“Awesome!” he visibly cheers up.

“Bye, boys!” Tailynn and Stacey say almost in unison, turning left between the houses.

“Bye,” I hide the weakness in my lovestruck voice as my eyes meet Stacey’s.

“Bye,” Tyron hisses rather than speaks. “Are you ready for the graduation concert?”

“The concert?” I ask distractedly.

“I get it, me neither,” the mournful Tyron supports.

“What do I need to prepare?” I ask plainly. My future life depends on this, if I’ve ended up here.

“Now’s not the time for jokes, Hugo,” he changes before my eyes. He transforms from a gentle lover into a stern man.

“Yes, you’re right, it’s not the time,” I agree, understanding that the matter is serious.

“Alright, I go this way. See you tomorrow,” we shake hands. My friend turns right, crosses the street, and disappears between the houses.

“See you tomorrow,” I say goodbye, stopping in confusion.

Where do I go? A feeling suggests: straight ahead. Straight ahead it is. With a heavy sigh, the intuitive road home begins. What concert? And how am I related to it? What do I need to prepare? Only questions are in my mind and not a single answer. Consciousness is silent. After about seven minutes of lonely walking, a familiar house appears on the corner. My friends turned into the alleys between the houses. I guess I should go into the courtyard too. I follow my thoughts. Turning past the corner house, I find myself in a square courtyard formed by four identical two-story houses. Which one is mine? I spin around for a couple of minutes, trying to feel it. Unsuccessfully.

“Hugo!” I am called from the window of one of the houses. The voice is so familiar and pleasant, and most importantly, loving. I turn around.

“Mom?” I say confidently, hiding the questioning intonation.

“Why are you spinning around out there? Come in quickly, lunch is getting cold.”

“I’m coming, Mom,” an unfamiliar phrase. It’s pleasant to be called in for a meal. I walk up the low steps to the porch. I open the slightly creaking door. Mom is waiting for me with the table set. Something tells me I should wash my hands with soap. It’s customary in most homes. And Mom’s look confirms the absence of other options. I go into the bathroom, meticulously washing my hands with soap.

“Well, I’ll be!” Mom laughs.

“What’s wrong?” I ask cautiously, rinsing off the soap.

“Usually, I have to remind you at least three times to wash your hands. And here you are doing it yourself, and with soap, too!”

“I just decided to freshen up,” I wash my face, playing along with myself.

“Oh, my!” Mom is still delighted, looking at me.

“Let’s go eat. I’m hungry as a predator!” I want to escape her suspicious gaze.

“Yes, of course, let’s go,” she returns to her usual routine. She goes to the kitchen with a ladle in her hand, wearing a knee-length calico apron. “How was school?”

“Fine, they just assigned a lot of homework,” I answer with a standard phrase, guessing.

“Homework?” Mom asks in surprise. “I thought they didn’t assign homework after graduation. And at the music school, there’s no homework before the concert. You even leave your instruments there.”

“Yes, right,” I agree uncertainly. “They told us to think about our performance.”

“So they included you in the program after all!” Mom rejoices. My eyes open wide. I shift my gaze to the soup so as not to show my confusion.

“Yes, of course. How would they manage without the best one,” and why do I say that?

“Well, I’ll be. But just yesterday you flunked the audition.”

“Everyone thought so, but it was a joke.”

“I didn’t think the director had a sense of humor. He said you didn’t measure up.”

“I measured up,” I have to stick to the line of invented defense.

“Good for you, what a clever boy!” Mom can’t contain her joy. My appetite wakes up with the unexpected good news.

We eat heartily. Under the pretense of preparing for the concert, I go to my room. At first, I mistakenly go into a utility closet. I immediately correct myself, guessing the right door on the second attempt. I tell my smiling and slightly surprised Mom that I’m fooling around. Stepping into my room, I press my ear against the door. She goes downstairs. I can relax. I sit on the bed. I exhale the tension. It smells like its own, homey smell. It smells like me. Strange, I never thought about it. Apparently, I forgot my own scent.

It feels like an eternity since I was here. It’s as if I’m in this room for the very first time. I look around at the large posters of concert halls and antique instruments covering the walls. The poster seams are covered all around the perimeter with photographs. Everywhere there are the four of us with my best friends. It’s so nice to have friends. Especially when you love one of them. If it’s mutual, the happiness breaks the bar of seven heavens.

Instead of a writing desk, there’s a wide windowsill. I could sleep with my legs stretched out. A couple of fantasy books with colorful covers, a couple of notebooks, and an open graduation album lie there. It’s good that I appeared after graduation. Nothing good could have happened before it. I sit on the windowsill and look out the window. The view is of the blank wall of the neighboring house and the bushes between the houses. I shift my gaze back into the room. Model cars stand on the shelves against the backdrop of some certificates. I stand up to see what these certificates are for. The phone rings. At first, I am startled. I find it under the blanket by the sound. It’s Stacey. What should I do? I have to answer.

“Hello,” I say in a serious voice.

“Did something happen?” Stacey asks anxiously.

“Why do you think that?” I realize I went too far.

“Your voice sounds strange,” she says, listening closely.

“You imagined it,” I answer much more softly.

“Okay. What are you doing?”

“Preparing,” if I’m going to lie, I have to be consistent with everyone.

“For what?” the girl wonders.

“For our concert.”

“Our concert?” she repeats, even more surprised.

“Well, yeah. What’s so strange about that?”

“But you’re not participating,” she reminds me, sounding sympathetic.

“What do you mean, I’m not participating?” My emotions and thoughts get mixed up.

“They expelled you last week,” she reports the shocking news.

“How did they expel me?” Everything inside me turns cold.

“They just expelled you. Your story is still buzzing around the music school.”

“What story?” It’s better to appear like an idiot with memory loss than not to know what kind of story happened.

“Are you joking? It’s not funny. I was genuinely upset that you were kicked out, and you’re joking.”

“Seriously, what story?”

“Wait, let’s meet instead. I’m starting to worry about you.”

“Let’s,” I agree, sensing difficulties ahead.

“In ten minutes, near my turn-off.”

“Alright,” we hang up the phones.

That’s quite the news. I rub my hands across my forehead and run them through my hair. Expelled. I feel so ashamed. And I told Mom I was one of the best. A liar. That’s why I don’t have an instrument, and yet I said we leave them there. Right, I need to go to Stacey; I’ll find out everything from her. I get ready and go out. I tell Mom I’m going to discuss the details of the concert. A hopeless liar. I reach the spot in seven minutes. I wait. Stacey emerges, and my breath catches with one strong beat of my heart. I need to get my feelings under control somehow.

“Let’s go for a walk,” the serious girl suggests.

“Let’s go,” I quietly agree, gazing at her gently bright face, which warms my soul. How beautiful she is. And almost a head taller than me.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks worriedly.

“I don’t know myself,” I shrug.

“You’re acting strange today. You’re barely breathing, and you’re looking at me with those eyes. Did you forget that they kicked you out of the music school? Did it really bother you that much? You never even liked it there.”

“Please, don’t ask unnecessary questions. Just tell me, why did they kick me out?”

“You had a big argument with the teacher when he called you talentless. He said you didn’t even smell of talent. And you threw a bow at him, leaving a scratch on his bald head. It’s a good thing he ducked, or he would’ve lost an eye.”

“Quite an incident. You can’t argue with that kind of justification for expulsion.”

“You don’t remember any of it?” the girl asks in surprise.

“Something like that.”

“How is that possible?”

“I don’t know, I must’ve hit my head somewhere and it knocked out my memory.”

“I read that psychological trauma can sometimes cause similar effects. You must have been incredibly stressed out about it.”

“Stressed out,” agreeing is the safest option now.

“How did your mom react?”

“I think I haven’t told her.”

“What, you haven’t told her?” Stacey stops.

“I chickened out,” I explain, not knowing what really happened.

“I understand. Your mom will be very upset.”

“Yeah. Especially since I told her I’m performing in the concert. As one of the best.”

“How could you say that? The teacher is wrong; you do have talent. But you need to practice a lot to get into the concert. And you were kicked out, on top of that.”

“I’ve already figured all that out. What should I do?” I want clear suggestions.

“Rehearse a lot and try to get us to take you back.”

“Given the situation, I don’t think that’ll work.”

“Well, don’t think about it, just rehearse and try to return. You’ll apologize. We’ll also try to persuade the teacher. Maybe he can involve you in the concert somehow.”

“Thank you,” I want to hug her as a sign of gratitude. I don’t know what stage our relationship is at.

“You’re welcome,” she lightly brushes my arm with her fingertips.

My breath completely stops, and a warm, pleasant shiver rushes through me. When Stacey’s fingers are near mine, I take her hand. I look into her eyes, waiting for a reaction. She also looks at me silently. I smoothly go up on my tiptoes and kiss her flushed lips, barely touching them. I feel like my heart is going to burst out of my chest. I don’t know how I’m still alive after that peak of emotion. I definitely love this girl!

We close our eyes as we kiss. How wonderful this is. So my right moment has arrived, even though I didn’t try to find it. We kiss under the pointed willow leaves that hang above us like branching streams of rain on windows. I don’t want to stop, but that’s enough for a first kiss. Besides, my heart is about to rip itself from my chest, jump into her hands, and beg to stay together forever.

I open my eyes, running my other palm over her arm. We return from the world of the first real kiss of love back under the willow. We don’t say anything. Everything is clear without words. It’s indescribable. A tornado of emotions and feelings rages and swirls inside me at an incredible speed, shattering my former world. If only I knew what Stacey is feeling. We smile timidly at each other. We walk on in silence, holding hands tightly.

We stop, startled by the unexpected. Right in front of us, Tyron is kissing his beloved, Tailynn. Well, the guy’s got nerve! And he pretended to be shy. Although, Tailynn probably made the first move. I wonder who advised whom, Stacey to Tailynn or vice versa. But what difference does it make? In any case, I’m happy that Stacey made the first move. Now she’s my Stacey. We exchange glances, quietly happy for our friends in love. We’re the same way. We at least hid under the willow, having stumbled upon it accidentally, but these bold ones are kissing right in the middle of a park in an open picnic area. Tyron is a smart guy; he found the perfect moment. There’s no one else around but us. I’m ecstatic in my thoughts. I’m incredibly happy. We walk toward our friends.

“You two rascals!” Stacey playfully chides the lovers when they stop kissing.

“Who, us?” Tyron flinches. He tries to let go of Tailynn’s hand. The girl won’t allow it.

“You, you,” I confirm with a smile.

“Look who’s talking!” the satisfied Tailynn retorts, with reddish rings around her slightly swollen lips. They must have been kissing hard; they put their whole hearts into it.

“What about us?” Stacey says playfully. “Everything’s fine with us!”

“I see,” Tailynn points to our hands. The girls giggle happily.

I kiss Stacey on the cheek, releasing her hand so she can discuss the latest events with her best friend. I walk over to the bewildered Tyron. It’s as if Tailynn has sucked all the life out of him, like a black widow. Her grip alone is something. I thought she’d crush him, clinging greedily, as if afraid someone would take her beloved away. Good for the girl, she got what she wanted. Tailynn gives Tyron a juicy kiss on the lips and runs over to Stacey. They walk ahead again, giggling. Tyron walks silently, staring at his beloved without blinking. After a while, his face thaws, and a mischievous little smile appears. It’s the first time I’ve seen my friend so content. I’ve only known him for a couple of hours, but I feel like this is the first time he’s felt this way. When his voice returns, he speaks quietly and cautiously.

“That was something,” he whispers in a barely recovered voice.

“You did great! I’m proud of you!” I’m truly happy for my friend.

“How about you two?” he asks cautiously. The experience overwhelmed the guy so much that he didn’t even see us approach.

“We’re fine. Stacey didn’t try to eat me, of course, but we kissed too.”

“Get out of here!” he playfully shoves me.

“You should’ve seen yourself,” I try not to laugh.

“What was wrong with me?”

“Both your lips are red.”

“I’m not surprised,” Tyron runs a hand across his mouth, laughing.

“Friend,” I address him seriously when our laughter dies down.

“What now?” he prepares for new teasing.

“I need your help,” I say seriously, leaving no room for doubt.

“What is it?” Tyron asks seriously.

“I was expelled.”

“Yeah, I know. So?” He’s completely unsurprised. I understand why.

“I lied to Mom. I told her I’m going to perform, as one of the best. What do I do now?”

“Become the best,” the guy answers immediately. He may be a fool in matters of love, but he’s serious and smart in matters of life.

“How do I do that? Especially if I’ve been expelled?” I voice the main problem.

“We’ll rehearse every day. And as for the teacher, we’ll figure something out.”

“When do we start?” Tyron infects me with an incurable self-confidence about the situation.

“Right now!” he answers decisively.

“Alright,” I’m not going to argue with my helper; he knows best. The best part of the day has already happened; now it’s time to get down to business.

“Girls!” he shouts to our beloveds. They turn around.

“We’re going to run some errands,” I say seriously, asking Stacey for permission with my eyes.

“Alright, I’ll call you,” she is visibly disappointed. Smiling, she says with the sparkle in her eyes: “We’re together.”

“Together,” I reply with a look, smiling too.

“Go already!” Tailynn turns away, leading Stacey further into the park.

We hold our gaze on their lovely silhouettes for a moment. We sigh and go about our business. Tyron is unrecognizable. He immerses himself in thoughts about how to help me get out of this situation. And I keep remembering my touches with Stacey. How pleasant it was; I want to repeat it so much. In silence, we approach Tyron’s house. He lifts the garage door, and behind it is a whole store of musical instruments.

“Why do you have all this? Do you play every single one of them?” I examine the glossy colors of the new instruments.

“I’m having déjà vu,” the guy smiles calmly. He moves some of the treasures outside, making room for us.

“In what sense?” I thought strange things only happened to me.

“You’re asking me that for the second time,” he reminds me, grinning.

“Sorry, my memory is really bad,” a standard phrase for all occasions.

“It’s nothing. I make them to order. The ones people refuse stay with me for open sale.”

“That many?! Who would ever refuse something like this?”

“Many have managed to refuse over four years.”

“Four years?” I can’t hide my surprise that a teenager creates such masterpieces.

“You said that last time too,” my friend laughs.

“I don’t change,” I acknowledge my main flaw.

“That’s for sure!” We laugh at my forgetfulness and unchangeability.

“Yours, in case you haven’t forgotten,” Tyron hands me a violin.

“A violin?” I’m surprised, even though I heard the story about the bow and the teacher’s bald spot.

“What did you think, you’d leave a violin with me for storage and pick up a saxophone?”

“I’m silent,” I examine the instrument quietly.

“Don’t be silent, create music,” he hands me a new bow. “Just please don’t throw my bow at people.”

“Okay, I won’t,” I agree, accepting the gift with a smile. “Where’s my old one?”

“You definitely have memory problems. The teacher broke it when you were expelled.”

“That’s serious,” I realize I won’t be allowed back to the school, even as a janitor, let alone a participant in the graduation concert.

Be that as it may, we start rehearsing. Tyron becomes my conductor. Surprisingly, I hold the violin correctly. The melody is not bad, but judging by Tyron’s reaction, it’s not the one I need. Again and again, I try to correctly understand the notes in front of me on the music stand. Where do I know that word from? The more I strain, the less I understand. I try to relax and trust the years of training at the music school. Two hours of rehearsal are seriously exhausting, as I’m out of practice. The girls arrive just in time. My breath is knocked out again at the sight of Stacey. Is it going to be like this every time she appears?

“What are you two doing here?” Tailynn asks, peering into the shadow of the garage. The sun is shining brightly outside, and the boundary between the garage and the street is clearly visible. It beckons us to step into the cool shade. The girl’s light clothing blends with the sun’s rays; it seems like there’s a head in the garage but no body. I don’t think Tyron notices this.

“We’re rehearsing,” I reply, walking over to Stacey.

“Great,” she is approvingly happy for me. We lightly and tenderly touch lips.

“Do you want something to drink?” Tyron takes cans of drinks from the garage refrigerator.

I am no less happy than the girls. A pleasant coolness rushes through my weary insides and comes out as freshness all over my body. The haze in my vision dissipates. I see Stacey more clearly. They sit down on a small sofa to the right of the gate, amidst the guitars. They are just as slender. Stacey looks like an exclusive, unique musical instrument; every look, every movement is music to my heart. Everyone forgets about the rehearsal. I’ve completely come to terms with the expulsion. If I were the teacher, I would never forgive such a thing. I just need to figure out what to tell Mom. She’ll definitely be upset. Why did I lie? Idiot. I’ll have to talk to her when I get home.

We chat and laugh, hiding from the hot sun in the shade of the garage, with cans of cold drinks. Tyron calls Tailynn to his room to show her his comic book collection. I wonder if he has one? Stacey and I are left alone. I sit next to Stacey. It’s hot right now, so we can’t hug much, but I want to. We touch hands and kiss. The hour on the couch flies by unnoticed in conversation. Where do I get the words to sustain the conversation? It’s as if we are talking for the first time, as if we just met, but the feeling is that I’ve known her my whole life and want to spend all my future years together.

The sun weakens the heat of its rays, sinking lower. I partially close the garage door. A few minutes later, a black SUV pulls up to the garage door. Tyron runs up right behind it. Tailynn returns to the garage, wiping her lips. We stand up, unsure of what to do. The garage door opens. Tyron’s father gives us a sharp look. We are all silent like lambs before a wolf.

“Hello, kids,” the man’s serious face changes into a welcoming smile. It’s obvious he’s tired. But he still tries to be friendly.

“Hello!” We greet him almost in unison, hiding our awkwardness.

“Having fun?” Tyron’s father grins.

“We’re rehearsing,” his son answers for all of us.

“Good for you; you’ve got a whole orchestra gathered, at least. Well, alright, I won’t distract you; tell me when you’re done.”

“Okay, Dad,” a tense Tyron says responsibly.

“Bye, everyone,” he says goodbye, smiling. Tiredness returns to his face, hiding his smile.

“See you later,” we say goodbye in a quiet chorus.

“Maybe we should go?” Stacey asks.

“Your father seems really tired; he needs support,” I state my observation.

“Yeah, probably,” Tyron agrees.

“See you tomorrow,” Tailynn kisses the guy on the lips and is the first to leave.

“Thanks for the help, Ty,” I say goodbye, walking out of the garage.

“We’ll continue tomorrow,” he says, a little dejected.

“Yeah, we’ll continue.” The garage door closes.