I am... a confession booth.

Monday.

Got home less than an hour ago. Fully aware that I have to get up early meaning I'll only get two hours of sleep. I haven’t slept in two days now. To sleep or not? That was the question then. I picked yes, of course. I did not really choose as much as I fell onto my soft bed and buried by head in a pillow during the process of making the decision.

There was a party last night. A really good one. I had too much.

My mobile phone is screaming at me. Gosh, what was I thinking setting an irritating hindu melody as alarm? I snooze it. It goes off again after a couple of minutes, so I throw it away, hearing it smash against the wall – certainly the battery is out now. Quiet. Peace.

It’s ringing! IT IS BLOODY RINGING!!! I somehow manage to crawl out of bed and pick it up, searching for a pack of cigarettes on my night table.

-‘Yes?’ - My voice is one of a wounded animal.

My best friend B. starts yelling the following: - ‘Where the f**k are you? You know what time it is? Get over here, right now! I need you! The Bitch is being worse than ever. She actually made me leave the classroom because I hadn't done my homework. And she talked shit about you too. You know, the usual, how you’re always late and how she’s going to have to fail you, no, how she must fail you, it’s only fair, according to her, because you missed so many of her classes…’

-‘What?!’ – I’m lighting a cigarette. ‘Where are you now?’

-‘The Pyramid, having a coffee, alone… Come on, get your butt over here…’ - She stopped for a second. 'Oh, where-are-you?’ – one could actually feel the smirk she made while pronouncing the last word. ‘At… you-know-who’s place…?’

-'No.’ – My hands were actually shaking as I inhaled the smoke.

-‘Right… Ok, honey, I want all the details over coffee… So, see you soon. Love ya. Ciao’ Click.

***

It takes me less than ten seconds to freak out after realizing that I’m already too late to get to the University and attend at least the ending of The Bitch’s lecture and then another ten to stop being bothered by the fact. I hated her lectures… The woman was a complete idiot – ugly, boring and with a level of English way lower than I'd expected from a teacher at a University of Philology. Teacher yes, still not a professor… and almost forty. Ouch. Ok, maybe she's thirty, but because of the way she acts and dresses up like, you’d give her forty-five. Trust me.

She’s one of those people who believe that just because they’re ‘smart’ someone will love them for it; so, they usually have that ‘natural’ look – no make-up or fancy clothes, one of those who everybody in high school picked on and never had real friends or maybe just one, even uglier than him/herself and often that one friend turned out to be imaginary. Cliche. She’s probably still a virgin too. I do sound brutal, but the fact is - she hates the four of us – D., N., B. and Me. Since day one we became BFFs. It was like magic, really. We do everything together. Including skipping her classes. But there will be plenty of time for me to tell you more about my friends, teachers and everybody else at the University. So, never mind that… for now… Back to Monday.

***

I am one of those people who will seem to have woken up four minutes ago and then caught sleeping half and hour later, if you know what I mean. Basically, when I do get out of the bed I do all the usual things as a part of a morning routine – showering, shaving, brushing my teeth, getting dressed, but…! My mind is still asleep and before having my first coffee, which is hours later I really don’t like to communicate. Especially with women. Or even worse, old women.

I love people. I really do. I’m a Nurse for Christ’s sake, but sometimes… I really can’t handle it very well, not because I am selfish, but rather won’t do it because I’m exhausted, and that Monday was a really bad day – I was having a pretty bad month, actually. The feeling of guilt for not attending yet another Bitch’s class was getting bigger with every breath I took – another minus for me, and I already had about five. (Three are allowed per semester).

Since I’m not from Belgrade, but from a city twenty kilometers away (I’m sure you heard of it – ‘A place where you actually see what you breathe!’) , I need about half an hour to get to our capital, and then just another bus to reach the Faculty. Bus lines 16, 27, 35 or 43 usually do the trick. And here's how it usually happens.

It’s freezing outside. On my way I sleep/listen to music on my mp3 player, and then, twenty minutes later, I am positive that I am about to die, the second I get off the bus, a warm place, a shelter, and step onto Belgrade’s slippery pavement and teeth-breaking wind. Bus stop is full of people, they all seem sad, nervous, depressed. I am thirsty, suddenly realizing that I’m also terribly hungry and that I have a headache in-development. The bus stops, but I don’t feel like getting on. Yes, my organs are partly frozen by now, but I wait for the next one. Three buses pass by and I stay frozen, don't get on on any - one, because there were just too many people inside them and, two, because that was about enough time to have a cigarette. Finally, that day, I picked a 43, one of the rarely decent looking GSP’s vehicles and stepped in.

It’s still too cold. Too crowded. Too many bloody smells. Dirt. Filth. Bad breath. Somehow, I am being pushed, carried by the crowd to the middle of the bus. I don’t care, so I just let them do whatever they want. A really old-looking gentleman grabs my ass. Whatever. And then… there. I cannot believe it. Again. It's about to happen again.

***

I can feel the look. It’s as it's burning through my skin. Oh… Ok, just one more time, I tell myself. I turn around. I know what I’m about to discover. It's like a gift. It happens to me all the time. It has been happening to me all the time. People apparently see something on my face or feel somehow protected and safe standing next to me. My grandma used to say that it was because of my eyes. But... they were ordinary. I mean, dark brown. Sometimes almost black. But that's it.

I still haven't found out what really was all that about, but I'm not sure I even want to know. People. They always feel free to open up to me. It was funny when I was younger - I knew everyone's secrets. But lately, random strangers began to tell me things which were hard on them. And I liked that. I liked being a confession booth. But it was a bad day. Not the usual Bad Monday. I felt weaker that day, a sense of bad omen was all I could think about.

A cute looking older woman, a true lady, wearing a long fur coat with a matching fur hat and a huge gold pendant hanging low on a thick braided necklace was staring at me. She was holding leather gloves in one hand and a leather purse in another. She moved closer, and even though I didn't see her when I got on the bus, I knew that she spotted me, tried to connect with me, the second I did. I saw it in her eyes. They all have the same eyes. We all have the same eyes. The same shadow behind them. She was about to start and I knew why and what. Our eyes meet again and I cast her a shy smile – less than a second later the story began:

-‘I have a grandson who looks exactly like you.’ She pauses and waits for my confirmation. I nod. ‘Really cute. How old are you? (That was not a question.) About twenty, right? Oh, he is such a handsome young man. Studying English, he is. Very hardworking. Yeah, I told him that nowadays a University degree means a lot. Lot of opportunities. Oh, he’s can be crazy sometimes. Silly even. My son always complains about him, but I know he’s a good kid. The girls really love him - a good man, just like his grandfather was.' She cleared her throat.

-'He died four years ago, my husband.' She giggles. Even though I was supposed to be tired and sick, she had my full attention now. Any other person would've just walked away from 'the crazy old lady' but I knew that I couldn't do that. She had more to tell. I had more to listen. I was there to help her - I knew that the minute she opened her mouth. It’s not even that cold now. We passed two bus stops, about five more to go before I reach the Square, where I get off. I am being polite, nodding my head from time to time even though we’ve become one person – I know how she feels even before she continues to tell me more.

-‘His father, Pete’s, that’s my grandson… His father… is very smart too. And they are very happy, you know. They are rich. Can afford anything. They have a nice, big house, with a lovely garden and one of those expensive cars…’

Her voice becomes quieter, shaky… She opens her purse and before she manages to pull out the photographs I knew she wanted to show me I interrupt her and our eyes meet for a split second after we quickly turn our heads to look away. We’re both on a verge of crying. Looking outside I notice that I would have to get off soon, on the next stop. We have to speed things up.

***

-‘Where are they?’ – I ask, my voice really low, eyes wide open, somehow forcing my eye-lids to keep the tears inside, to not let them fall on my face. She bites her lip, and then gives me the saddest look I ever saw in my life. I hit the spot.

-‘Canada. I haven’t seen them for more than twenty years.’ She looks up. ‘It’s my birthday today. I miss them so much.’

I whisper inaudibly ‘I know...' - not sure whether she heard it or not. In the same tone she whispers back ‘Thank you’.

At that point the bus stopped and everybody got out. She let the tear slide down her face. So did I. There we were, two perfect strangers crying inside a stinky bus. I wish her a happy birthday, and give her a hug. She repeats her last sentence. She said thank you four more times, crying a bit louder before she got off the bus leaving me in tears.

Then, she turned around to look at me, and I thought I could see her smiling. She's going to me ok, I assure myself.

It's all inside me now.

I’m walking down the street feeling exhausted. Can’t seem to stop myself from crying. Even tough I thought that some of the tears would stay frozen on my face, they all continued to drop on the ground. That was what I called ‘heavy crying’.

A smell of food distracts me for a moment and I decide to get a grip and get me some food. I get a big sandwich. Just as I walk out from the bakery I notice a man sitting next to a wall. He’s not moving. Very dirty and almost frozen. A beggar. I approach him and try waking him up. He reeks of alcohol. When I ask him if he’s alright he yells at me. I decide to leave my breakfast next to him. I ask him once more if there’s anything I can do for him, but he just yells again telling me to go away.

I turn on my heel and start to walk towards the Uni when I hear him saying: ‘Thanks. It’s too much. We should share…’

His words stopped my heart for a second and a another river of tears started down my face as I continued walking. In those tears I could see the face of the old lady. She was alone. Left alone. I knew the feeling too well.

As I enter the Faculty I run to the closest bathroom and wash my face. I look at myself in the mirror and practice smiling honestly. I enter the coffee place and look for B. She was at ‘our’ table. I smiled the happiest I could which made her sad and she jumped off her chair and ran into me, hugging me immediately.

-‘Oh honey…’

-‘I…’ – I couldn’t take it any more. I emotionally died then. ‘We… I, mean I...’

-‘I know,’ – she replied. ‘I am so sorry'. She held me tighter. I always wondered whether she had telepathic powers or was it because the bond we created in past several months, but B. somehow always knew how was I feeling and what I was thinking about.

I am single. Alone. Hurt. - I tell it to myself once more before ordering a coffee. The rest of the morning I spent smiling (thanks to my friend) and yet once again realizing how true the old saying 'Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all' is. Another cliche, I know, but it seems my life is full of them.

Sometime around noon I had to go to the loo after having too much coffee. A piece of paper got stuck on my shoe. Euw, disgusting! I tried to take it off by rubbing my sole to floor and the walls but it didn't help. Finally, I decided to reach for it with my hand.

It was a clipping from a local newspaper. An obituary? Holding the paper in front of me I slowly stood up. I looked around feeling someone's watching me. A small picture of the deceased. I gasped. It was identical to the woman I met earlier on the bus. The reading said that today they will commemorate the third year of her passing.

A gush of cold air coming from nowhere made the hairs on my neck stand up. For a second I focused my view in a round mirror on the toilet wall. My mind was spinning. A black figure appeared behind me holding a handkerchief. He shoved it to my nose and mouth wrapping his arms around me. I tried to kick and break free but lost strength soon. The last thought before I completely lost my consciousness was... Damn, another cliché.