He walked persistently, without thinking, along the generally accepted path toward goals not set by them. Gradually, as he passed step by step, fewer and fewer people remained around and beside him. Many couldn’t withstand the burden of life’s trials that had fallen upon them. Others simply lacked the desire and patience. A third group, realizing they wanted absolutely nothing in this life, slowly settled at the bottom, silently watching the continuous flow of events pass them by, choking on circumstances they couldn’t influence.
He passed the stages created by society one after another. With each new step, he became more successful. Kindergarten, school, institute, first job. He excelled everywhere. Many might envy such a life path, but for him, it’s meaningless and pointless. That’s not how he wants to live this life. Not he, but the surrounding society, wanted all this. Eventually, the inevitable day of a deep re-evaluation of values arrives. Or, rather, of their devaluation.
Thousands of thoughts and ideas about how everything should be, accumulated over many years and imposed by his environment, are erased in an instant. Emptiness comes. No trace remains of the former scheme. The world he’s been creating all his life collapses. He realizes how hateful the job is—a job many dream of. A strong desire to quit arises, but common sense, or the fear of starvation in a mercantile society, forces him to continue dragging the tiresome burden, which grows heavier and heavier.
A whole night passes in contemplation. In the morning, as usual, he goes to work. But his thoughts remain where the imposed concepts and the unwillingness to continue living by society’s unwritten rules are fighting. While doing his routine office tasks, he abruptly shifts from the crisis of his established life to a state of weightlessness, where the question rings out: “What do I want to do?” the answer hasn’t come yet. It’s frightening that it might never come. It’s frightening, generally, that he might live his whole life doing something that not only brings him no pleasure but also causes resistance within him.
Performing actions automated by years of work, he thinks about what he doesn’t have but wants. Colleagues surreptitiously glance over, noticing their working friend’s uncharacteristic state. When there is no time for a personal life and no friends are around, co-workers become the only friends and confidantes. They don’t just have something in common. Work occupies most of their lives. It turns out they live one common working life. Who better understands and feels what’s going on in a person’s soul than those who are next to them every workday? They live and die together. But do they live? Rather, they just die, slowly and meaninglessly. These grim thoughts make his heart even heavier and darker.
“No! That’s it! Enough! I quit!” the thought loudly echoes in the guy’s head. Coldly, he pulls a blinding white, disgustingly familiar A4 sheet from the drawer under the fluorescent light. He picks up a cheap blue pen with a corporate name, smelling offensively of low-quality ink. He’d never used it. He writes his resignation. His colleagues keep glancing at their slightly reddened, tense friend. He writes briefly and to the point. In short, “By my own will.” He remembers that payday is only a week away. This sweet thought holds most people like a butterfly stuck with its paws in honey. Only the honey is, in fact, sugar eaten away by ants. That amount is only enough to glue one’s paws together. People like the mere thought of a salary. He feels slightly sad, but he can’t be stopped now.
He finishes writing, puts down the pen. He hesitates for a second. He picks up the pen again and walks to the manager’s office, sectioned off by thin plasterboard walls. The walls don’t protect from anything or hide much, but they create the necessary effect. Thanks to the thin barrier, everyone knows who’s in charge here. Nothing at work demonstrates who you are as much as your workplace. You run around the city in old sneakers with a courier bag, or you sit, leaning back in the soft back of a luxurious leather chair, looking out the window of the skyscraper’s top floor, enjoying the title of director, honestly—or dishonestly—earned over forty years.
He pushes back the cheap, wobbly chair. It bumps into the back of the employee sitting behind him. There’s always not enough room. He apologizes, as usual, confidently stands up, and walks with a tense gait across the cheap office toward the boss’s shack, accompanied by the bewildered stares of his office friends. His breathing is heavy, intermittent; he fights the last doubts. A determined, resolute gaze fixes on the office doorknob. The cold sweat evaporates, the tremor leaves his confident body. He approaches, looks at his colleagues, and takes a deep breath.
“May I?” he says on the exhale, knocking on the flimsy office door.
“You may,” a quiet, heavy consent is heard. Contempt and a careless attitude toward subordinates are almost always present in the boss’s rough voice.
“I’ll only be a second,” he enters the office.
“You don’t have any more than that,” the boss harshly reminds him.
“And I don’t need any more than that,” the employee bravely says, savoring the moment of quitting. He places the statement on the table.
“What’s this?” the boss squints. He can’t read without his glasses. The glasses are on the other end of the desk, and he’s too lazy to reach for them.
“A letter of resignation,” the employee solemnly announces.
“Resignation?” he asks again, slightly surprised and skeptical.
“Yes,” he confirms briefly, smiling contentedly.
“Remind me of your name? I seem to have forgotten.”
“You never knew my name,” the guy grins easily.
“Doesn’t matter. Tell me your name,” the boss’s voice tightens, he’s a little nervous. A wave of anger passes. A moment later, he submits to a cold professional tone.
“Tim,” the almost-former employee answers confidently.
“Why have you decided to quit, Tim?” the boss asks directly.
“I don’t see the point in this job,” he answers honestly, looking him in the eye.
“And what kind of point do you need?” the boss tries to read the statement.
“A worthy one. I want to live a life that matters, without regretting lost time.”
“And now you regret it? You’re living in vain?” he looks with contempt.
“I didn’t think about it before, but now I understand. I’m living meaninglessly.”
“Are you saying the job gives you nothing?” the boss smirks.
“Something like that,” Tim calmly replies, confident in his decision.
“I wonder how you’d survive without this job? Food, housing, how would you pay the bills?”
“That’s exactly what I want to find out,” the guy insists.
“Find out?” the boss wipes his perpetually sweating upper lip. “In that case, you get a wonderful opportunity to live the life of the majority.”
“In what sense?” Tim doesn’t quite understand.
“You think work is hard? Try surviving without it. I’ve seen some brave ones,” a mocking smirk appears on the boss’s face.
“I will definitely try,” Tim smiles sincerely.
“Just remember, I won’t take you back,” the boss warns, threateningly.
“I considered that when I wrote the statement,” the guy says calmly.
“Well then,” the boss pulls the skin of his right eyelid. He aims and signs the resignation letter. “Here’s your ticket to the country of survival.”
“Thank you!” a joyful Tim abruptly stands up from the cheap office chair. He extends his hand to his former manager.
“You’ll still be begging me to take you back later,” the boss of the remaining workers shakes his hand, repeating the sneer.
“We’ll see,” Tim leaves, closing the door. The office shudders.
The office friends meet the guy with one collective questioning glance, to which Tim responds with a light and free smile. He walks over to his desk. He collects his personal belongings. He hasn’t accumulated as many as the others. His former colleagues come up with two radical guesses: he quit or he’s transferring to another department with a promotion. They realize it’s quitting from his free and contented smile. They quietly envy him. Tim carefully inspects his former workplace, checks the drawers. Nothing is left. He spins the wobbly chair, waves his hand. He joyfully says goodbye to everyone: “Farewell, friends!”
A buzz rises in the office, which immediately dies down when the displeased boss appears from the separate-office mock-up. The office door automatically closes behind Tim. The free man doesn’t look back once. Some employees secretly make their way to the windows. They watch him leave, sincerely wishing him good luck. They want to rush after him. No, not to stop him. To also leave the hateful workplace, to break the societal script. “Lucky guy,” the main thought of his office friends reaches Tim. Life according to the societal script ends. The old life has ended, and the new one hasn’t begun yet. Weightlessness descends.
He walked persistently, without thinking, along the generally accepted path toward goals not set by them. Gradually, as he passed step by step, fewer and fewer people remained around and beside him. Many couldn’t withstand the burden of life’s trials that had fallen upon them. Others simply lacked the desire and patience. A third group, realizing they wanted absolutely nothing in this life, slowly settled at the bottom, silently watching the continuous flow of events pass them by, choking on circumstances they couldn’t influence.
He passed the stages created by society one after another. With each new step, he became more successful. Kindergarten, school, institute, first job. He excelled everywhere. Many might envy such a life path, but for him, it’s meaningless and pointless. That’s not how he wants to live this life. Not he, but the surrounding society, wanted all this. Eventually, the inevitable day of a deep re-evaluation of values arrives. Or, rather, of their devaluation.
Thousands of thoughts and ideas about how everything should be, accumulated over many years and imposed by his environment, are erased in an instant. Emptiness comes. No trace remains of the former scheme. The world he’s been creating all his life collapses. He realizes how hateful the job is—a job many dream of. A strong desire to quit arises, but common sense, or the fear of starvation in a mercantile society, forces him to continue dragging the tiresome burden, which grows heavier and heavier.
A whole night passes in contemplation. In the morning, as usual, he goes to work. But his thoughts remain where the imposed concepts and the unwillingness to continue living by society’s unwritten rules are fighting. While doing his routine office tasks, he abruptly shifts from the crisis of his established life to a state of weightlessness, where the question rings out: “What do I want to do?” the answer hasn’t come yet. It’s frightening that it might never come. It’s frightening, generally, that he might live his whole life doing something that not only brings him no pleasure but also causes resistance within him.
Performing actions automated by years of work, he thinks about what he doesn’t have but wants. Colleagues surreptitiously glance over, noticing their working friend’s uncharacteristic state. When there is no time for a personal life and no friends are around, co-workers become the only friends and confidantes. They don’t just have something in common. Work occupies most of their lives. It turns out they live one common working life. Who better understands and feels what’s going on in a person’s soul than those who are next to them every workday? They live and die together. But do they live? Rather, they just die, slowly and meaninglessly. These grim thoughts make his heart even heavier and darker.
“No! That’s it! Enough! I quit!” the thought loudly echoes in the guy’s head. Coldly, he pulls a blinding white, disgustingly familiar A4 sheet from the drawer under the fluorescent light. He picks up a cheap blue pen with a corporate name, smelling offensively of low-quality ink. He’d never used it. He writes his resignation. His colleagues keep glancing at their slightly reddened, tense friend. He writes briefly and to the point. In short, “By my own will.” He remembers that payday is only a week away. This sweet thought holds most people like a butterfly stuck with its paws in honey. Only the honey is, in fact, sugar eaten away by ants. That amount is only enough to glue one’s paws together. People like the mere thought of a salary. He feels slightly sad, but he can’t be stopped now.
He finishes writing, puts down the pen. He hesitates for a second. He picks up the pen again and walks to the manager’s office, sectioned off by thin plasterboard walls. The walls don’t protect from anything or hide much, but they create the necessary effect. Thanks to the thin barrier, everyone knows who’s in charge here. Nothing at work demonstrates who you are as much as your workplace. You run around the city in old sneakers with a courier bag, or you sit, leaning back in the soft back of a luxurious leather chair, looking out the window of the skyscraper’s top floor, enjoying the title of director, honestly—or dishonestly—earned over forty years.
He pushes back the cheap, wobbly chair. It bumps into the back of the employee sitting behind him. There’s always not enough room. He apologizes, as usual, confidently stands up, and walks with a tense gait across the cheap office toward the boss’s shack, accompanied by the bewildered stares of his office friends. His breathing is heavy, intermittent; he fights the last doubts. A determined, resolute gaze fixes on the office doorknob. The cold sweat evaporates, the tremor leaves his confident body. He approaches, looks at his colleagues, and takes a deep breath.
“May I?” he says on the exhale, knocking on the flimsy office door.
“You may,” a quiet, heavy consent is heard. Contempt and a careless attitude toward subordinates are almost always present in the boss’s rough voice.
“I’ll only be a second,” he enters the office.
“You don’t have any more than that,” the boss harshly reminds him.
“And I don’t need any more than that,” the employee bravely says, savoring the moment of quitting. He places the statement on the table.
“What’s this?” the boss squints. He can’t read without his glasses. The glasses are on the other end of the desk, and he’s too lazy to reach for them.
“A letter of resignation,” the employee solemnly announces.
“Resignation?” he asks again, slightly surprised and skeptical.
“Yes,” he confirms briefly, smiling contentedly.
“Remind me of your name? I seem to have forgotten.”
“You never knew my name,” the guy grins easily.
“Doesn’t matter. Tell me your name,” the boss’s voice tightens, he’s a little nervous. A wave of anger passes. A moment later, he submits to a cold professional tone.
“Tim,” the almost-former employee answers confidently.
“Why have you decided to quit, Tim?” the boss asks directly.
“I don’t see the point in this job,” he answers honestly, looking him in the eye.
“And what kind of point do you need?” the boss tries to read the statement.
“A worthy one. I want to live a life that matters, without regretting lost time.”
“And now you regret it? You’re living in vain?” he looks with contempt.
“I didn’t think about it before, but now I understand. I’m living meaninglessly.”
“Are you saying the job gives you nothing?” the boss smirks.
“Something like that,” Tim calmly replies, confident in his decision.
“I wonder how you’d survive without this job? Food, housing, how would you pay the bills?”
“That’s exactly what I want to find out,” the guy insists.
“Find out?” the boss wipes his perpetually sweating upper lip. “In that case, you get a wonderful opportunity to live the life of the majority.”
“In what sense?” Tim doesn’t quite understand.
“You think work is hard? Try surviving without it. I’ve seen some brave ones,” a mocking smirk appears on the boss’s face.
“I will definitely try,” Tim smiles sincerely.
“Just remember, I won’t take you back,” the boss warns, threateningly.
“I considered that when I wrote the statement,” the guy says calmly.
“Well then,” the boss pulls the skin of his right eyelid. He aims and signs the resignation letter. “Here’s your ticket to the country of survival.”
“Thank you!” a joyful Tim abruptly stands up from the cheap office chair. He extends his hand to his former manager.
“You’ll still be begging me to take you back later,” the boss of the remaining workers shakes his hand, repeating the sneer.
“We’ll see,” Tim leaves, closing the door. The office shudders.
The office friends meet the guy with one collective questioning glance, to which Tim responds with a light and free smile. He walks over to his desk. He collects his personal belongings. He hasn’t accumulated as many as the others. His former colleagues come up with two radical guesses: he quit or he’s transferring to another department with a promotion. They realize it’s quitting from his free and contented smile. They quietly envy him. Tim carefully inspects his former workplace, checks the drawers. Nothing is left. He spins the wobbly chair, waves his hand. He joyfully says goodbye to everyone: “Farewell, friends!”
A buzz rises in the office, which immediately dies down when the displeased boss appears from the separate-office mock-up. The office door automatically closes behind Tim. The free man doesn’t look back once. Some employees secretly make their way to the windows. They watch him leave, sincerely wishing him good luck. They want to rush after him. No, not to stop him. To also leave the hateful workplace, to break the societal script. “Lucky guy,” the main thought of his office friends reaches Tim. Life according to the societal script ends. The old life has ended, and the new one hasn’t begun yet. Weightlessness descends.
He couldn’t even find a box for his things. And he doesn’t need one. All his personal items fit into a small paper bag. He arrives at the bus stop and places the bag on the bench. He lights a cigarette while no one is nearby. He’s wanted one for a long time. He was chased away during work hours, but now he can. He’ll finish this one and quit. Thanks to the prohibitions at work, where he spent most of his life, the habit is no longer compulsive. A bus pulls up. As always, just as he lights up. He lets it go. He has plenty of time, he can wait for the next one. Several more pass, all going in the right direction. He finishes the second one. In the distance, another carrier is visible.
He holds out his hand. A taxi pulls out of the traffic. He tosses the extinguished butt into the garbage container and gets into the back seat. He names the address. They drive away before the bus arrives. Glancing back at the stop, he notices his paper bag on the bench. He doesn’t stop the driver. He watches it indifferently through the dusty window until they turn the corner. It’s good that everything stayed there. Mostly, the contents were gifts from office friends that would remind him of work every time he looked at them. He absolutely can’t allow that. If he wants to forget the past and start a new future, he has to get rid of all the small things.
He arrives at his rented apartment. He pays by the meter. He gets out lightly and freely. A bluish cloud of smoke flies out of the exhaust pipe. With the roar of an old engine, the taxi cleverly disappears around a sharp city bend. He looks at the door of the apartment building, which includes his entrance door. He smiles grimly, walking down the street, looking at his feet. He shuffles his soles along the asphalt. Today, he can afford to ruin his shoes. Before, he took care of them for work, as he only owns one pair of good, expensive shoes. Now, the shoes are useless.
His gaze slides along the gray asphalt path to a pair of red patent leather pumps. They are definitely more expensive than Tim’s work shoes. He slowly lifts his head, following the line of the body of the girl in front of him. He doesn’t rush to lift his gaze. He examines her, trying to memorize her, in case they never see each other again. His eyes float over the graceful and shapely figure in a red skirt and white blouse, rising to her sad, shining eyes. Her long lashes greet the guy with a flutter. Her thick, straight dark hair, a little below her shoulder, floats in a smooth wave on a fleeting gust of wind.
Something inside clenches; his breath catches. A hot sun burns in his chest. The girl’s breath also vanishes. Silence reigns in the air between them, and the sound of hearts beating in the stillness of thoughts. They freeze, looking into each other’s eyes, unsure what’s happening or how to react. The girl in the red shoes is the first to come to. She flutters her lashes, clearing the veil of the moment from her eyes. Tim returns to himself when the eye contact is broken for fractions of a second and then instantly restored.
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, thinking he accidentally bumped into the girl in the red skirt.
“You must forgive me,” the girl smiles, looking at him timidly.
“For what?” Tim asks, thoughtfully surprised.
“I took the liberty of following you across the entire city.”
“Following me?” he feels a slight tension due to the lack of understanding.
“I noticed you left your bag at the bus stop. I drove up right after the bus, took your things, and followed the taxi all the way to your building. Then I walked, trying to catch up. You didn’t notice how I got ahead of you.”
“I didn’t notice,” Tim agrees, turning around.
“It’s a little strange, since I’m wearing heels,” the girl smiles. “You should’ve heard the tap of the heels on the asphalt.”
“Yes. How could I have missed that,” Tim smiles shyly, stroking his chin.
“Were you thinking about something serious?” the girl suggests.
“I don’t even know,” the guy stumbles. “I don’t remember what I was thinking about anymore.”
“Then it’s good that you forgot,” she smiles slightly, genuinely happy for the guy.
“So why were you following me?” Tim asks seriously.
“If I understood correctly, this is yours,” she hands him the paper bag with the office items.
“Yes, it’s mine,” Tim carefully takes the bag and smiles strangely.
“You’re not happy to see it?” the benefactress asks, disappointed.
“I am happy, because it’s from your hands,” the guy looks at her with tenderness.
“In what sense?” the girl slightly blushes.
“Now, the bag is more valuable than its contents,” he empties the office friends’ gifts onto the lawn.
“What are you doing?” the girl asks, watching the process in surprise.
“I’m freeing the precious item from the junk,” he carefully folds the bag into a small square and puts it in his pants pocket.
“But what about these things?” she looks with pity at the pile of souvenirs on the lawn. “They’re expensive.”
“Let those who appreciate them take them.”
“Where did they come from?” the girl asks curiously.
“From my former job,” Tim smiles happily, pleasantly remembering that he quit an hour ago. “I’m sorry I made you drive so far after me. You spent quite a bit of time.”
“It’s nothing; I have a lot of time now,” the girl smiles similarly.
“In what sense?” he wrinkles his brow, thinking.
“I quit, too,” she shows her joy with a light smile.
“When?” he’s a little lost by the coincidence.
“A couple of hours ago. I was driving from my former office when I saw your bag.”
“Then you have time for my gratitude,” Tim brightens up.
“It seems so. It’s unusual. Though there’s nothing to thank me for.”
“You gave me a valuable thing,” the guy assures her.
“Are you talking about the bag?” the girl smiles again.
“No,” Tim gestures for the girl to walk forward.
“Then what are you talking about?” the stranger asks, accepting the invitation.
“Maybe I’ll tell you someday, in secret,” Tim whispers mysteriously.
“That’s not fair!” she protests like a capricious little girl.
“I can’t reveal secrets to girls whose name I don’t know.”
“Kate!” the girl immediately introduces herself, expecting the secret to be revealed.
“Tim. Nice to meet you,” he smiles and looks ahead.
“What’s the secret?” Kate asks again.
“I can’t tell you,” Tim says seriously.
“You said you don’t reveal secrets to unfamiliar girls,” she reminds him seriously. “Now we know each other.”
“We haven’t even had coffee together yet,” the guy looks at her seriously.
“What does coffee have to do with it?” Kate protests whimsically.
“What do you mean, ‘what does it have to do with it’? Do you often trust secrets to people you haven’t even had coffee with?” the question sounds rhetorical.
“Take me quickly! Where’s your coffee?” the girl impatiently urges.
“We’re here,” Tim opens the glass door, smiling lightly.
“Thank you,” Kate enters, casting a suspicious, interested look at Tim.
“It’s my honor,” he nods, looking at her with a pure, innocent gaze.
“We’ll see about that,” she looks away, confidently walking into the cafe. She sits down at a table she likes. There are practically no visitors at this time. Everyone is at work now; they don’t have time to drink good coffee and enjoy a relaxed conversation. The waiter approaches at the same time as Tim.
“Coffee?” Tim offers.
“A large latte with foam and a chocolate muffin, please,” Kate smiles as she places her order with the young waiter who, unlike them, is working. This thought affects both of them for a second, then passes.
“An Americano, please,” Tim orders.
“A large latte with foam and a chocolate muffin for the young woman. An Americano for the young man,” the waiter announces, looking at Tim, who confirms the order with a nod.
“He’s taking a long time,” Kate smiles nervously.
“Only a minute has passed,” Tim laughs quietly.
“Here you are,” the waiter places the cups of coffee and the muffin on the table.
“Thank you,” Kate quickly takes a sip, which slightly burns her.
“What’s the rush?” Tim smiles. “You said you have plenty of time,” he reminds her of the good news.
“We know each other now, and we’ve had coffee together. Tell me what the secret is!”
“What about the muffin?” he looks at the chocolate muffin on the white saucer.
“The muffin?” Kate starts to get nervous. She looks at him with interest and mock anger.
“How can I entrust a secret to someone who hasn’t even tried the muffin?” Tim is enjoying watching his companion’s reaction.
“There!” Kate grabs the muffin, takes a big bite. “Tell me!” Crumbs fly with every other word.
“What about a walk?” Tim wipes the crumbs from the girl’s cheeks with a napkin.
“What about a walk?” Kate asks, chewing.
“We need to take a walk to build trust,” Tim sips his coffee. He prefers it slightly cooled.
“We did walk!” Kate protests with a smile.
“That wasn’t a walk,” Tim smiles cunningly.
“Then what was it?” the girl clarifies, not understanding.
“We were walking with a purpose. A walk is when you walk aimlessly, enjoying the walk itself, and it doesn’t matter where you are or what’s happening at the time.”
“Let’s go for a walk!” Kate takes a bite of the muffin, sips her latte, and heads for the exit.
“Let’s go,” Tim pays the bill and opens the door for Kate.
They walk along the street. Just like that, to nowhere. They are lucky with the weather. Today isn’t as hot as it gets in mid-June. The tree crowns carefully and generously shield the couple from the sun. A barely noticeable breeze blows. Kate takes Tim’s arm. It’s easier to walk this way. Although the heels aren’t high, walking isn’t as easy as in sneakers. She didn’t have to move much in the office. The guy is happy; he can’t contain a slight smile. A pleasant touch from a pleasant person. He hasn’t felt this in a long time.
They reach a deserted area of the city. A construction company was planning to build its main office and several auxiliary facilities here. Within a short period, they bought up all the residential and non-residential buildings in the area, mostly two- and three-story ones. The construction never started. They didn’t even manage to demolish the buildings. It turned out the firm’s owner was laundering money this way. He was caught in the act. He managed to leave the country. The firm collapsed, and the area remained deserted.
“Tell me your secret,” Kate pulls Tim’s arm. “We’re walking now.”
“Is that enough?” Tim grins.
“Why did you bring me here?” Kate looks around the street with mud stains.
“To trust you, I need to share a part of my life.”
“Okay, is it here?” she points to a white two-story house with peeling paint.
“How did you guess?” Tim is genuinely surprised.
“You’re drawn on that wall,” the girl points to a faded children’s chalk drawing under a canopy.
“That’s not me!” Tim exclaims cheerfully. “That’s my brother, Matt. But you almost guessed. I drew him when I was five. He was nine then.”
“Where is he now?” Kate asks carefully.
“When they sold the house, he moved to another city with our parents.”
“Why didn’t you stay with them?”
“Our parents are elderly; they need care. Matt is older and more responsible, so they took him.
“And why didn’t you go with them?”
“I had just graduated from the institute then. I was offered a job placement. It’s hard to find a position without experience, so I took the only chance I had.”
“So why did you quit?”
“I don’t know myself,” Tim admits honestly, realizing how unexpected the decision was even for him. “I just didn’t see the point in the work.”
“And did life gain meaning without the job?”
“I’m still looking for it,” Tim smiles distractedly.
“Me too,” Kate supports him.
“Then we’ll look together,” the guy suggests happily.
“It’s a deal,” the girl is glad she isn’t alone.
“Do you want to come inside my house?” Tim asks seriously.
“This is private property,” the girl reminds him cautiously.
“The one whose drawing is on the wall owns the house,” Tim pulls a spare key from under a stone near the front door.
The lock yields after a few turns of the key. The door opens with a dry sound. The owner enters first, clearing away cobwebs. Spiders managed to spin their hunting webs in the doorway. Kate follows, holding Tim’s hand tightly. The guy looks at her, trying to calm her with a smile. It doesn’t work well. Gradually, the girl’s grip loosens. Sunlight breaks through the windowpanes, which are clouded with age. No furniture is left. Everything was sold before they moved.
“My brother and I rarely stayed in the house. We spent most of our time in the yard. Our neighborhood friends—Chris, Mason, Tom, and Kyle—would come over,” Tim says with a smile. “We were friends until the area was sold. And we all moved away almost simultaneously.”
“Where are they now?” Kate asks.
“In the rush, no one thought to get future addresses. So we lost touch.”
“That’s sad,” the girl strokes Tim’s hand.
“They were my only friends. We even hung out together at the school graduation party, even though we were all in different graduating classes.”
“When did you sell the house?” she runs her finger along the dusty windowsill.
“Right after I graduated from the institute.”
“And when was that?” Kate specifies.
“Five years ago,” Tim points to the wall where his diploma briefly hung.
“So we’re the same age?” the girl is happy about the coincidence.
“The same age,” the guy smiles.
“We graduated from the institute at the same time. And we quit our jobs on the same day,” Kate sincerely admires this turn of events.
“I wonder how much of this is a coincidence?” Tim muses.
“In what sense?” Kate looks closely at the guy.
“Don’t worry about it; just thinking aloud,” Tim reassures her.
“What’s that?” the girl asks fearfully, looking at the wall.
“Judging by the sound, a horde of termites is eating my house,” Tim says calmly. “Let’s go outside,” he suggests, walking out.
“Yes, of course, let’s go!” Kate immediately agrees, running out after him.
“It’s not a home anymore,” Tim says sadly.
“Why?”
“Didn’t you notice?”
“What?” Kate turns around, trying to understand.
“No one lives in it. A building can’t be a home without residents. Even a cardboard box becomes a home when a person or a cat settles in it.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Kate sadly agrees.
“And where is your actual home?” Tim asks, trying to smile.
“I don’t even have a box left,” she gets upset at the memory.
“How so?”
“Our house burned down. I barely escaped.”
“No one else was saved?” Tim asks quietly and cautiously.
“There was no one else. I lived alone. My parents passed away by that time.”
“I’m sorry,” Tim gently squeezes Kate’s hand.
“Thank you,” the girl says quietly. “Now will you tell me your secret?”
“Sorry, but even a minute of revelation isn’t enough for trust,” Tim replies with a mischievous smile, shrugging his shoulders.
“What else do I need for you to tell me?” Kate smiles eagerly.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Tim replies playfully. “Let me walk you to your car. It’s getting dark. I don’t want you driving in the dark. We’ll see each other tomorrow and continue our trust therapy.”
“Oh, you’re a sly one,” Kate pinches Tim’s side.
“And gentle!” the guy exclaims with a smile.
“Fine, walk me to the car, or I’ll get lost in your neighborhood. I’ll disappear without ever learning the secret.”
They walk back the same way they came. Kate, of course, doesn’t remember the route. She wasn’t paying close attention. It’s much more interesting to watch Tim and listen to his stories. The air noticeably cools as evening approaches, making it even more comfortable. People walk along the streets, returning after their workday. Tim and Kate look at them with mixed feelings of joy from their newfound freedom and uncertainty.
“It’s about an hour until dark. You should make it,” Tim worries.
“I’ll make it,” Kate assures him. “It’s a forty-minute drive. I live near where you left the bag.”
“Imagine that. So we’ve been this close the whole time. I have an idea of where you live,” Tim smiles.
“Yes, you do,” Kate smiles back. “Still, it’s better if I drive up so you don’t have to look for me. The sooner I arrive, the sooner I’ll find out the secret.”
“All right. Until tomorrow, my heroine and bag savior,” he kisses Kate on the cheek. He opens the car door.
“Until tomorrow, keeper of the secret,” the girl smiles as she gets behind the wheel. Tim carefully closes the door and returns to the sidewalk.
The car, with its blinking turn signal, smoothly pulls away from the apartment building. Tim stands on the sidewalk for a long time, watching Kate’s silver car drive away. He comes to himself when a passerby complains that he’s blocking the way. The guy takes a deep breath and walks toward the building. He enters the communal front door. He goes up to his rented apartment.
It’s stuffy and cramped, especially after the family home he visited today for the first time since he moved. He only has enough energy left for a shower and sleep. It’s good that he doesn’t have to work in his sleep. He takes a shower and goes to bed. His hand pauses for a second as he turns off the lamp next to the bed. In the lamplight, he looks at the paper bag in his pants pocket. In his thoughts, he sees Kate’s face. He smiles, wishes her good night, looking out the window. He turns off the light. He falls into a deep sleep with thoughts of her.
Tim wakes up at six in the morning, as he has his entire life. He gets ready to jump out of bed and rush to work. He remembers just in time that he has nowhere to hurry to now. He stays in bed. He has a warm feeling in his heart, as if something good has happened. He remembers yesterday’s meeting with Kate. Imagine that—one day and two such important events. Thanks to the girl, the morning is good for the first time. It’s nice to just lie in bed early in the morning and think about pleasant things. Even a slight feeling of hunger isn’t strong enough to make Tim get out of bed. He hears a car’s short honk outside the house. He looks at the clock. Seven. It’s still early for car horns. He goes to see who the impatient person is. He wants to shout at the morning hooligan.
His windows face the road. Looking out, he immediately sees the noisy hooligan, or rather, hooliganette. Kate stands next to a car in a white T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. She waves energetically, smiling. Of course, how could she not make fun of his morning appearance? Tim waves back. He turns from the window and walks into the room. After a second’s thought, he rushes to the bathroom. He somehow tidies himself up. He finds the only clean T-shirt. He pulls a pair of jeans from the top shelf of the narrow closet. The last time he wore them was in college. He transfers the paper bag with Kate’s touch from his trousers to the jeans.
He doesn’t have much of a choice of shoes: the same expensive work shoes and sneakers that are the same age as his jeans. He quickly wipes the sneakers, puts them on, and runs out of the apartment. After the first five steps on the stairs, he remembers he forgot to lock the door. He returns, glances into the apartment. Everything is fine. He locks the door. He runs down the stairs to the morning hooliganette. Kate greets Tim with a joyful smile bordering on mockery—a kind, familiar mockery.
“What took you so long?” Kate grins.
“Does it matter that it’s still morning?” Tim replies with a smile.
“It doesn’t. I woke up at six out of habit and couldn’t fall back asleep.”
“I understand completely,” the guy closes his eyes with irony in his voice.
“Did you wake up early, too?”
“At the same time.”
“I wonder when this habit will leave us?” Kate muses.
“I wish I knew,” Tim sighs deeply.
“What do I have to do to find out the secret?” the girl wastes no time.
“To earn trust, we need to cooperate.”
“And what will we cooperate on?” Kate asks curiously.
“Remember we agreed yesterday to look for a new meaning in life together?”
“I remember,” the unemployed girl smiles.
“That’s what we’ll do,” he takes her hand. He leads her across the street.
Talking about nonsense, they reach a small public garden. Tim looks for a free bench. Almost all are free, but one stands under the lush, dark-green foliage of an old oak tree and further away from the others. The sun will rise higher, it will get hot everywhere, but they’ll be comfortable. When people start coming to stroll, no one will be able to bother them.
He brushes the night’s stardust from the bench. They sit down closer to each other. Birds almost drown out their words and thoughts. A fresh morning breeze rustles the leaves on all the trees in the public garden. The morning freshness still lingers in the air. The smell of fresh pastries wafts from somewhere. Tim looks around. A bakery is very close. He kisses Kate on the cheek and runs off. He returns a minute later with croissants and coffee: a large latte with foam and an Americano.
“That’s a great idea!” the girl approves, visibly pleased.
“I didn’t have time for breakfast,” Tim smiles. “I’m always late for work; I don’t even have time to drink coffee.”
“And I didn’t have breakfast before work out of habit.”
“Perfect! Today we’re having a French breakfast. Which one do you want?” Tim asks, opening the bag.
“Do you have one with strawberry jam?” Kate peers into the paper bag of croissants like a little girl looking into a bag of candy.
“Those two,” Tim points to the two on the left.
“Are you having that one, too?” she looks up, her eyes shining with delight.
“Yes, I love the ones with strawberry jam.”
“What other kinds did you get?” she asks, handing him a croissant.
“Blackcurrant and raspberry.”
“You’re amazing!” Kate exclaims happily.
“Since I didn’t know your taste, I got my favorites.”
“Excellent choice,” the girl compliments.
“Yes, I like it, too,” Tim smiles.
Kate deeply inhales the aroma of the hot croissant and her favorite coffee. Her eyes close in pleasure, only opening after the second inhale. Tim was doing exactly the same without noticing it. Next, they eat the blackcurrant ones, and finally, they devour the raspberry ones. They wash them down with still-warm coffee. They lean back against the bench’s backrest.
They’ve eaten so much that they don’t have the energy to talk. They sit and watch the pigeons eat the croissant crumbs. They rest after their heavy breakfast. Tim tells stories in fragments, and Kate listens, chuckling. It’s not the stories that are funny, but Tim’s manner of telling them. He plays with his intonation and facial expressions so much that it seems like several people are sitting next to them at once.
“Where do we start?” Kate asks when the breakfast has settled peacefully.
“Let’s dream,” Tim suggests.
“Let’s,” the girl agrees. “About what?”
“Tell me what you want.”
“In general or specifically?” Kate clarifies.
“In general.”
“I want to live in a house in the country, with a husband and children. I want to be happy and free from the world’s conventions. And what do you want?” she asks, looking at Tim.
“The same thing, only with a wife,” Tim smiles. “What do you want to do for work?”
“I don’t know, the main thing is that I like it.”
“And what do you like to do?”
“When I was little, I did embroidery, then I played the violin, then I painted.”
“I rarely meet people who know what they like.”
“There’s a subtle point.”
“What is it?” the guy asks.
“All of those things were imposed on me. I tried to get into those activities; I convinced myself that I liked them so I wouldn’t suffer.”
“Interesting,” Tim considers. “And what do you really want to do?”
“I always dreamed of being an actress or a ballerina.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Those professions don’t combine well with a quiet family life in a country house.”
“You’re right. Training, concerts, and filming take up almost your entire life,” Tim agrees, thinking out loud. “Do you have any other preferences?”
“When my parents read me fairy tales before bed, I didn’t want to be a princess, like all the other girls listening to fairy tales.”
“Then what did you want to be? A wicked witch?” the guy laughs.
“No,” Kate smiles. “I wanted to write my own fairy tales, so that other parents would tell them to their children all over the world.”
“What stopped you?” he asks seriously.
“I forgot about that desire when my parents stopped reading fairy tales.”
“That’s sad. And what’s stopping you now?”
“I was studying and working all the time. I didn’t have enough time for the rest of my life. I had no time to think about fairy tales.”
“But now you have a sea of time,” Tim reminds her.
“But what will we live on? And how will I earn money for a country house?”
“Don’t worry about that for now,” Tim says mysteriously.
“Okay,” Kate obediently agrees. “And what do you want to do?”
“I always knew I wanted to write books,” the guy answers confidently.
“Why specifically that?” the girl asks in surprise.
“When I read as a child, I never agreed with what was happening. I always wanted to make the stories better, more interesting.”
“What kind of books did you want to write?”
“All of them,” Tim replies immediately.
“All of them?” Kate is even more surprised. “Why all of them?”
“I didn’t like any of the books,” the guy explains.
“Now I understand,” the girl laughs loudly. “Maybe you just don’t like reading?”
“Maybe,” Tim also laughs after a moment of embarrassment. “It’s decided!”
“What’s decided?” Kate clarifies.
“We’ll be writers.”
“What kind of writers?” the girl asks seriously.
“Free and happy ones, in our country house with children. You’ll write fairy tales, and I’ll write whatever I want.”
“But what about talent?” Kate modestly reminds him.
“Who said you don’t have it?” the guy asks seriously.
“I wasn’t talking about myself,” the girl laughs.
“Good answer!” Tim appreciates the joke. “We’ll find out who the talent is.”
“All right. You still haven’t answered how we’ll earn money for the country house,” Kate reminds him. “Writers aren’t the richest people on the planet.”
“We aren’t ordinary writers!”
“Then what are we?”
“We’re free and happy writers!”
“Well, if that’s the case,” a note of sarcasm sounds in Kate’s intonation.
“Exactly so, and no other way!” the guy insists.
“Where do we start?”
“We’ll move to the countryside and start writing books!” Tim declares decisively.
“Have you already bought a house?” Kate grins.
“The money I pay for apartment rent can be used to rent a house in the suburbs, and there will still be money left over. It’s even more profitable. Why wait? We need to start living in a country house, enjoying the fresh air and clean nature. Children will come later.”
“I don’t want to be a bore,” Kate says seriously. “What will we live on? Neither you nor I have a job anymore.”
“I’ve saved enough for both of us to live comfortably for a couple of years. If it’s not enough, I’ll find a job.”
“You’re thrifty. How did you manage to save up?” Kate is surprised.
“I didn’t spend,” Tim explains. “I only paid for the apartment and food.”
“So that’s why you’re so thin!” Kate laughs loudly.
“That seems to be why,” he laughs too. “Do you agree?” he looks intently, holding his breath.
“I agree!” Kate replies joyfully, anticipating the difficulties.
“Excellent!” Tim is genuinely happy. He hugs and kisses the girl.
“When are we moving?” Kate asks curiously.
“Tomorrow!” Tim answers immediately.
“Wow, you’ve decided our lives quickly,” the girl remarks with a smile, opening her eyes wider.
“We decided together, if you didn’t notice,” Tim grins.
“All right, together,” the girl agrees with a smile.
“Our first joint decision.” Tim hugs Kate contentedly.
“Tell me your secret.”
“It’s too early,” the guy replies seriously.
“Hey!” Kate protests. “When will you start trusting me?”
“We’ll see once we live together.”
“Fine,” Kate gives him a mysterious look.
The sun is approaching its zenith. The air isn’t as fresh now as it was in the morning. Even the crown of the old oak above them doesn’t keep out the heat. A sultry wind blows through the area. Seeking shady spots, the couple makes their way toward the exit of the open public garden. Kate insists on having lunch at her place. The modest guy agrees. As if he has a choice. They drive in her car. It’s a good thing they have air conditioning, or they would be fried. Today is an surprisingly hot day. It seems like the people on the street are about to melt like ice sculptures.
On the way, they stop at a supermarket. Tim doesn’t understand what they’re buying. He silently holds the basket, looking at the colorful shelves. Finally, they reach Kate’s apartment. It’s cool and fresh here. The spacious apartment is tastefully furnished and spotless. Tim feels awkward about his small, dirty apartment. The phrase “make yourself at home“ doesn’t convince the guy to relax. He gets used to it in time, of course, but he still doesn’t feel comfortable.
“Now I understand why you can’t save money,” Tim says, glancing across the immense area of the apartment.
“What are you talking about?” Kate asks, preparing lunch.
“My salary wouldn’t be enough to rent this apartment.”
“Mine wouldn’t either,” the girl smiles. “I don’t pay. It’s a corporate apartment. Most of my salary goes to the car and clothes. I had to look the part. And walking to work isn’t respectable.”
“Why are you still living here if the apartment is corporate?”
“My former boss is my biological uncle. He let me stay here for another week until they find my replacement.”
“Why did you quit if your boss is your uncle? You must have had it easy.”
“I did. But I got tired of it. The job was completely boring.”
“What did you do?”
“I was an economic analyst. And what were you?”
“A senior economist. Although, judging by the salary, I hadn’t even reached the level of a junior intern.”
“So your firm isn’t big,” Kate suggests.
“The firm is big. The attitude toward the employees is small.”
“I understand,” Kate laughs, setting the table on the bar counter. “It’s a French-style salad. I won’t tell you the name; I didn’t catch it myself.”
“It looks appetizing,” Tim remarks, looking at the salad.
“I hope it tastes appetizing, too.”
“We’ll find out now,” the guy smiles.
“To freedom from work and the beginning of a new life,” Kate says, raising a sweating glass of cold orange juice.
“To freedom and a new life,” Tim seconds.
They take a sip of the refreshing juice. They enjoy the light, juicy salad made of summer vegetables and fruits. It tastes even better than it looks. Together, they clear the table and wash the dishes. They pour more juice and settle down on the white leather sofa in the living room. Kate opens her thin computer, which attracts his gaze with its elegant design. Tim has never worked on one like it. They have cheap computers at work, and he has an old laptop.
They type into the search bar: “Long-term country house rental.” A very attractive ad appears on the first line. They decide not to look far, and they look at this one first. The website is decently designed, and the pictures are bright; their houses are so beautiful it makes their eyes water. They enter the approximate location, the number of floors, and the number of rooms in the search parameters. They don’t set a price; they are interested in all the options.
The results come up as about a hundred options. The prices are so varied that there’s simply no point in looking through everything. They narrow the price down to what they can afford. The site search returns only two options. The two-story house with beige walls and a red roof has just been taken. One remains. It seems even better. They hurry so as not to miss this option either. Tim dials the number. A girl answers. After a short conversation to clarify a few points, they agree to rent it tomorrow without a preliminary viewing. The realtor girl is slightly surprised, but it doesn’t stop her. She gladly agrees to prepare the contract today so they can move in tomorrow.
Tim doesn’t have many belongings, so he doesn’t rush to his rented apartment to pack them. Kate has a problem with this. Three wardrobes, a chest of drawers, and two shelves of shoes. They organize a street sale. They find a small corner nearby. They move almost all her things. Kate keeps a few things for herself. Designer clothes are sold off the hangers for almost nothing. Some even still have the store tags. It’s hard to part with such beautiful items. It would be even harder to haul everything to the country house. They don’t want to clutter up their new home with old things.
By evening, Tim walks the girl home with money and empty hangers. He takes the bus to his place to pack. He arrives tired and satisfied. Only a slight feeling of anxiety about the future bothers him a little. After all, it’s reckless to change one’s life so drastically in a couple of days. He never allowed himself to do such a thing before. The time has come to allow it.
He packs his things into a small bag with the institute’s emblem and places it near the front door. He takes a shower and gets into bed. He puts the paper bag under his pillow. The main thing is not to forget to take it later. He turns off the lamp. He falls soundly asleep with pleasant memories of Kate’s sweet smile.
It’s unclear why, but he wakes up in the middle of the night. He looks around in the darkness. There’s nothing unusual in the room. A faint streetlamp shines through the white curtain of the single window. He gets out of bed and walks closer to the light source. He looks out at the street. He looks down at his floor level. Then he notices a silhouette below. A familiar car. Kate is standing next to it with her head bowed. He quickly throws on a few things that come to hand. He runs out to her.
“What are you doing here?” he approaches the girl anxiously. “What happened?”
“It’s good that you came out,” Kate says quietly, leaning against him.
“What happened?” he repeats the question insistently.
“I suddenly felt sad and lonely for some reason. You’re the only person I wanted to see.”
“It’s good that you came. I missed you too,” he presses Kate closer.
“Did I wake you up?” the girl asks anxiously.
“No. I woke up on my own. It turns out I felt you. Have you been standing here long?”
“I don’t know, about seven minutes,” she murmurs, burying her face in his neck.
“I was slow to wake up,” Tim regrets, putting his hoodie over Kate’s shoulders.
“Just in time,” the girl whispers. “I had time to think during that time.”
“About what?” the guy asks cautiously.
“How much I want to be near you,” Kate’s eyes, moist from unshed tears, glitter under the streetlight. “Am I being too pushy?”
“I want you to always be like this,” Tim smiles. He kisses her soft lips. “And I realized I don’t want to let you go for a second. To be honest, I was scared at first when I saw you outside my house.”
“Why?” Kate looks up.
“I thought you came to say you changed your mind about moving to the country house with me,” horror flashed in Tim’s eyes.
“How could you think that?” Kate protests. “This is the best offer that could have been made. I don’t doubt the idea for a second. I can’t wait for morning to leave.”
“We need to wait for the right moment so that everything happens on time.”
“We’ll have to wait,” Kate agrees, sighing sadly.
“If you want, come up to my place. You can sleep in my bed, and I’ll take the armchair.”
“I don’t want to sleep at all,” Kate looks at Tim with the same look children give their parents when it’s bedtime and they don’t want to.
“I don’t either,” Tim agrees. “Shall we walk around the city? This might be our last meeting with it.”
“Let’s go. I love late-night walks,” they walk along the deserted night streets, holding hands tightly. “Do you think we’ll succeed?” Kate asks uncertainly, looking at her feet.
“Are you confident that I will succeed?” Tim asks seriously.
“I am,” Kate answers firmly.
“And I’m confident that you will succeed. That means we’ll both succeed.”
“Good, if that’s the case,” Kate smiles sadly.
“It can’t be any other way,” he calmly kisses the girl on the cheek.
They arrive at the same public garden where they had breakfast. Tim shows her a secluded spot. Among the trees, there’s a place where a maple used to grow. Autumn lightning burned it down. The roots were grubbed up, and a small clearing was made in its place. They take off their shoes and walk on the soft, young green grass. They lie down side-by-side. The stars twinkle, one brighter than the next, as if trying to attract their attention. They all deserve admiring glances from the only pair of spectators.
Gently holding hands, they enjoy the cool freshness of the night and each other. All sounds are peacefully asleep. Only the crickets interrupt the night silence. Never before have they lain like this at night with a person they want to be with forever. Kate falls asleep without realizing it. Tim lovingly hugs her to keep her warm, gently kisses her, and falls asleep.
They are doing well right now. You could even say perfectly. They have pleasant dreams, in which they are also together and everything is fine. In his sleep, Tim pulls Kate even closer. The first rays of the sun wake the guy. He looks at the peacefully sleeping Kate. He doesn’t want to wake her. He waits until she wakes up on her own at her usual six in the morning. That’s exactly what happens. The girl wakes up as if by an alarm clock.
He can’t help but notice her surprise at the unexpected place they are lying. A minute of memory helps her recall and relax. It’s still a long time until the bakery opens. They go to Tim’s place. They make coffee. It’s a shame he can’t treat Kate to a latte. The girl isn’t too upset about this. She happily drinks plain black coffee. She just adds more sugar. They snack on cookies that Tim usually took to work.
Kate helps carry the things out of the apartment. On the way, he settles up with the landlady. He hands over the keys to the small rented apartment where he lived for five years. It can’t be said that the elderly woman is either very happy or saddened by Tim’s eviction. After so many years of living in the building, she has stopped distinguishing people. For her, only rooms exist. Empty ones and occupied ones. That’s where the circle of her interests ends.
They toss the student bag and the bag with the shoes that don’t fit into the bag into the car’s trunk. The roads are empty; everyone is still at home, getting ready for work, but their day is already in full swing. They drive to Kate’s apartment. She has three times as many bags. They barely fit, even though they’re medium-sized. It’s a good thing they fit. They set off. The country house awaits the potentially happy writers. On the way, they stop to drop off the keys to the corporate apartment.
“Well, look who came to see me—my niece!” he hugs Kate paternalistically.
“Meet my uncle, Frank Athems,” the girl introduces him. “And this is my boyfriend, Tim.”
“Pleased to meet you. Frank,” he shakes Tim’s hand firmly with respect. He knows how difficult it is to get this close to his niece. One must be a worthy person. Stronger than her or equal. The look of the serious man in his late fifties conveys this.
“I’m pleased to meet you too, sir,” Tim is pleased to receive such a quiet compliment from a serious and wise man, which is how he sees Frank.
“Now I understand why my niece suddenly decided to quit her job and leave the city so abruptly,” the uncle looks at the couple knowingly.
“Uncle, stop it,” Kate tugs on Frank’s jacket. “It just happened.”
“Pure coincidence,” Tim adds with a smile.
“All right, I’ll believe you,” Frank smiles. “Let me give you some money,” he offers, pulling out a checkbook.
“Stop it, Uncle, don’t embarrass us,” Kate protests.
“How will you live there without money?” Frank asks in surprise.
“We have enough for the house rent,” the girl answers calmly.
“You’re even going to rent a house!” Frank exclaims. “That’s a fortune; it won’t last you long.”
“It will be enough,” the girl starts to get a little angry.
“Well, at least allow me to give you a couple of thousand for the first little while,” Frank pleads. The girl looks at Tim.
“You don’t need to, sir, we’ll manage,” the guy replies calmly.
“Okay, Uncle, we have to go,” Kate kisses Frank.
“All the best, sir,” Tim says goodbye.
“If anything happens, contact me anytime; I’ll help,” Frank shakes Tim’s hand, seeing the couple off to their risky, independent life.
The sun rises rapidly, illuminating the sky. They need to move in before the heat hits. They leave the city limits at half-past seven. The roads are just coming to life. The winding curves of nature’s imagination replace the straight lines of the city. Kate tries not to speed, though she’s eager to reach the new place where happiness awaits. The asphalt gradually heats up and becomes softer.
They listen to Kate’s music, which hasn’t been updated since the day Uncle Frank gave her the car for her college graduation. Exactly five years have passed. The engine is worn out. It makes more noise than it should. This doesn’t bother the driver. She listens to her favorite songs and drives where she wants, with whom she wants. If the car falls apart immediately upon arrival and never drives again, Kate won’t be too upset; the main thing is to get there.
The wide highway ends. The signs of the big city end with it. A narrow, winding road leads the couple to the house itself. Only a few kilometers remain until their destination. On the way, they encounter locals on two old tractors with trailers and a new combine harvester. It’s the first time the couple sees a real combine. The men politely move over, letting the car pass.
In the distance, a line of two-story houses on one side and single-story houses on the other is visible. From their condition and appearance, one can tell that the simple single-story homes belong to the surviving local residents, while the new and well-maintained two-story ones are occupied by city-noise escapees, just like Tim and Kate, who can afford to live in a nice house.
As expected, the noise in the engine peaks, stopping the car’s wheels. They break down about a kilometer short of their destination. Tim pulls the car to the roadside. If the edge of a wheat field can be called a roadside. They leave all their things in place. They only take the documents and the money. They walk in the rising heat. They find the right house. It’s two stories, white with a dark blue roof and blue shutters. The couple is met by a woman in her mid-thirties with a wide, though fake, smile. She offers cold lemonade, which they definitely wouldn’t refuse after the trip.
“Welcome to our small and cozy town. We’re happy for every new resident,” the girl says without removing the smile from her face, while the lemonade cools the bodies of the newcomers.
“Thank you,” Kate answers with a genuine smile. She doesn’t know how to smile falsely.
“We weren’t too late, were we?” Tim asks out of politeness.
“No, not at all!” the realtor says, as if apologizing. “What’s half an hour these days,” a spark of anger flashes in her eyes after the tiring wait.
“I apologize,” Tim says. “We left later than we planned.”
“It’s nothing,” the anger in her voice subsides a little. “Let me show you the house.”
“We’d love to see it,” Tim obediently follows the women.
They carefully inspect the kitchen, dining room, and living room on the first floor, and the two bedrooms on the second. All the necessary furniture is there. The view from the windows is good. After the city view of the road and other houses, the view of the trees seems like the peak of beauty. They sign the lease agreement. Tim, in his joy, pays for a year in advance. The realtor is quietly pleased that she doesn’t have to state this requirement.
There is something in her eyes that cannot be precisely described. Some kind of slyness. Something devilish. Or maybe Tim just imagines it. Kate doesn’t look at her at all. All the girl’s attention is captivated by the house. Whatever the case, they settle up. The realtor smiles goodbye with her provocatively unnatural smile. She drives out of town in a brand new car with Tim and Kate’s money.
“Do you like it?” Kate asks enthusiastically, looking at the guy.
“I like it,” Tim smiles. “The main thing is that you like it.”
“I’m delighted!” Kate claps her hands. She hugs Tim tightly.
“Happy settling in,” Tim kisses the happy girl.
“We live together now, so tell me your secret!” Kate loudly reminds herself of what she is so eagerly awaiting.
“Living together isn’t enough. We need to live through it, overcome difficulties, problems, sadness, and sorrow. Then I’ll be able to trust you with my secret.”
“That’s not fair!” the eager Kate complains in jest.
“Yes, you’re right,” the guy agrees. “It’s part of the path to trust. You can’t reveal secrets without trust.”
“It’s just one little secret! Tell me!” Kate coaxes.
“It’s one, but it’s important,” Tim answers the entreaty seriously and calmly.
“Important?” the girl repeats, squinting.
“You can’t even imagine how much,” Tim confirms. “More important than many secrets.”
“Then we’ll wait,” Kate smiles, kissing Tim.
“Well, shall we go get the things? Or should we find a mechanic, and once he fixes it, he can drive the car back?” Tim offers options. “There’s a garage here.”
“Let’s go look for a mechanic. I don’t feel like carrying things that far in the heat,” Kate says languidly, slouching.
“All right, let’s go,” Tim agrees. Kate straightens up with a smile.
They leave the house. They lock up with the keys the realtor gave them. A keychain made of fragrant wood in the shape of the state of Ohio hangs on the ring. The car is to the left of the house; they didn’t pass any workshops on the way, so they need to look for a mechanic to the right. If there are any workshops here at all. They walk right. They don’t see anything similar. They meet a man smeared in black engine oil, fixing a tractor in his yard in the shade of a tree. Small children, about four and six years old, run around him—the tractor is supposed to feed them, but it’s broken.
“Good day!” Tim addresses him.
“Good day!” the tired man wipes the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.
“Do you happen to know anything about cars? Or just tractors?”
“I happen to know about them,” the man answers more cheerfully. “I know about all mechanisms. The fact that I’m all smeared in engine oil, walking around in old overalls and a torn shirt, doesn’t mean I don’t have a higher technical education and experience as a car mechanic.”
“Then you can easily help us,” Kate says happily.
“I need to see what you have there,” he sets aside the wrench and screwdriver. He wipes his oil-black hands. The rag becomes even blacker, but his hands don’t get cleaner. “Is the car far?”
“A bit far,” Tim admits honestly.
“Then we’ll take mine,” the man decides.
The mechanic takes the toolbox. He goes into the house and gets his keys. The engine starts in the garage. Though it’s unfair to call it that. It purrs, tuned like a clock. The garage door goes up. A classic muscle car, burning red with black stripes on the sides, pulls out toward them. The brand new paint gleams, shimmering in the sun. It’s a little surprising that a suburban mechanic has a perfect, bold muscle car.
Tim and Kate get into the back seat. The mechanic drives them to the breakdown site, visibly enjoying every movement and the song of the pistons. For him, it’s music. They pull up to Kate’s car. The girl opens the hood. After twenty minutes of the “doctor’s consultation with the patient,” the engine starts and is ready for the road, as if healed.
“You’re a wizard!” Kate praises him happily.
“Knowledge and intuition. That’s the real magic,” the self-satisfied mechanic answers.
“Thank you very much,” Tim says, giving him money for the repair.
“You don’t need to,” the man says firmly.
“You earned it,” Kate supports him.
“It’s nothing, but it could get worse. You need to come by and see me again.”
“We definitely will,” Kate promises. “But now, please take the money for this repair.”
“You don’t need to, really!” the mechanic prepares to leave.
“You don’t need it, but what about those little ones running around the tractor?” Tim asks quietly, offering the money.
“The little ones,” the mechanic whispers, looking down at the money.
“Take it, you earned it!” Kate smiles, passing the money directly from Tim’s hands into the mechanic’s.
“Thank you. I’ll say you gave this for the children.”
“That’s great!” the girl rejoices.
“Thanks for the help,” Tim thanks him again.
“Still, drop by when you can. The issue could turn into a serious problem,” the man reminds them, getting into his car.
“We’ll definitely drop by,” the girl promises.
“See you later!” the engine carries him back to his family with a gentle sound. The money should last for a couple of weeks, or more.
“Can we go?” Tim urges, looking at the sun.
“We have to go!” Kate answers. “It’s hot here.”
“Then let’s go!” Tim smiles. The car’s lively wheels rush over the hot asphalt.
The new two-story friend greets the couple, winking with its blue shutters, waiting in the shade of the trees taller than it. They don’t yet know how the garage opens. They park the car nearby. They carry the bags into the house. They put their things in their new places. They go to the kitchen and prepare lunch from what was in the refrigerator at Kate’s former apartment. They sit down to eat in the kitchen at a small round table. The dining room is too big for two. They make a shopping list. They leave the search for a store until evening, when the heat subsides.
It’s a good thing the house stands in the shade. In the cool bedroom, they settle down together on the soft bed. Usually, in the heat, you don’t want to touch each other, but here it’s a completely different matter. The fresh, cool air encourages hugs and caresses, which is what the young couple does. They hug, kiss, play, and laugh, forgetting everything. Or rather, not remembering anything from the past. They are well, here and now, together. Birds spy on them, sitting on the branches opposite the window.
“Stop!” Kate says abruptly, pausing in her movement.
“What is it?” Tim tenses up.
“How are we going to live happily ever after if we aren’t married?”
“Don’t worry. Marriage is one of the steps on the path to trust,” Tim soothes her with a smile. “Don’t rush things.”
“All right,” Kate smiles, returning to his tender embrace.
After the sudden stop, they feel tired. They feel sleepy. They continue hugging and kissing quietly for a bit longer, and then they fall asleep together unnoticed. The daytime nap envelops them in a fog. They smile so similarly in their sleep that it seems like they are sharing a dream. Their breathing is monotonous and deep. The tranquility affects the birds, too, which stop singing, quiet down, and press against the branches. Some fall asleep. An idyll and peace reign on the second floor. Fresh air caresses their sleeping bodies, entering the room through the wide-open window.
They wake up simultaneously to a scream. It sounds so close, as if it’s in their room. Tim can barely focus his eyes. Kate still doesn’t realize where she is. The scream repeats. This time, it sounds more like words about uninvited guests. The guy gets out of bed and leaves the room. Other people are walking and talking downstairs. Kate follows right after him. Staying alone is even scarier than confronting an enemy. They listen closely. The voices grow quieter. The exclamatory tone changes to an interrogative one. They slowly go downstairs. They are met by the gaze of another young couple.
“What are you doing here?” both guys ask simultaneously.
“This is our house,” the girls answer simultaneously.
“How is it yours?” Tim gets ahead of them. “If you look closely, you’ll see our things.”
“Which shouldn’t be here,” the other guy replies.
“Why not?” Kate protests.
“Because this is our house!” the other girl loudly declares.
“Perhaps you have the documents, too?” Tim asks calmly.
“We do!” the other guy shows the same lease agreement from the realtor as theirs. Even today’s date is on it.
“What do you think this is?” Tim takes the contract out of the desk drawer.
“A misunderstanding,” the second girl whispers, comparing the two contracts, which only differ in names and signatures.
“You can all leave,” the guy from a third couple says with the voice of a winner as he enters. “The house is no longer for rent. We leased it,” he holds the contract up.
“That’s a debatable claim,” the guy from the second couple says with a smug smile, showing two identical contracts.
“We have the keys, too,” the third girl shows keys with a fragrant wooden keychain. The first two couples show their identical ones.
“What is this gathering in our house?” a girl from a fourth couple demands, entering. Everyone responds calmly to them, showing the contracts and keys.
“Who are you all?” asks a man who abruptly enters the house.
“We’re all the same as you,” the guy from the second couple says calmly.
“I don’t think so,” the man says angrily, pulling out a folder of documents. “My neighbors told me that some girl was bringing strangers into my house. This is my house legally. These are my ownership documents,” he shows official documents with seals, watermarks, and emblems.
“We were all deceived,” Tim concludes quietly. “Did you all pay for a year in advance, too?” he asks the other couples.
“It was a required condition,” the girls from the other couples reply.
“I don’t know what anyone told anyone, but this is my house. I’m asking you to vacate it,” the real owner says, suppressing his anger.
“All right, we apologize,” Kate says, gathering their things.
The other couples didn’t even have time to unpack. They leave, complaining loudly. They try calling the girl. Everyone has different numbers, and none of them answer. A knot of anger gathers outside the house. Tim helps them pack their things. They leave the house. All that remains of the happy future are the keys with the wooden state of Ohio. They load their belongings into the car. They sit and think about what to do next. They try not to mention the loss of a whole year’s worth of money, so as not to increase the disappointment from their unsuccessful attempt to change their lives. This is a situation where there’s no point in taking action.
“We have enough money left for a year’s rent and food,” Tim states a positive point.
“Don’t worry,” Kate comforts him. “We still have the money from the clothes sale, and my last paycheck. We can always ask my uncle; he definitely won’t refuse. He’ll offer himself when he hears about the situation.”
“I understand all that,” Tim whispers. “But it shouldn’t be this way. And it won’t be,” confidence appears in his voice. “The main thing is that I have you; this isn’t a dream or a mirage.”
“Of course you do,” Kate smiles, hugging and kissing the guy. “It’s just money that we’ll earn again, even more.”
“We will earn it,” Tim kisses Kate, closing his eyes in the embrace. “Right now, let’s drive to our mechanic friend. We can’t go anywhere with a ticking time bomb under the hood.”
“I agree,” Kate drives them to the muscle car wizard. The distance seems quite short in the car.
“I know why you’re here so early,” the mechanic says, meeting the couple with a smile.
“You already know?” Tim asks in surprise.
“Rumors travel on the wind. Don’t be upset. It happens to be worse,” the mechanic says sympathetically. “I heard that the same thing was done in neighboring towns and states, but with buying, not renting. You can imagine how much more people lost.”
“That doesn’t make it easier,” Kate says. “We don’t even have that much money.”
“Then you don’t need it,” the man reassures her. “Come on into the house. My wife will feed you, and I’ll take a look at the car for now.”
“Thank you,” Kate says gratefully. Tim nods. The children run around their feet. They hurry into the house with them. They thank the hostess for her hospitality.