Shopping for groceries

“I cannot believe you snuck that into the cart!” – My little brother’s done it again.

“You could’ve taken it back” – protested my father chuckling, and as usual, not helping much.

“When? At the register? And make a complete fool of myself? No, no, no… this has to stop young man. We cannot afford things that aren’t on the list. If you’d told me sooner I might’ve somehow squeezed it into ‘the others’ section on our list, but not like this… It completely throws off the balance our groceries budget.

“Oh please, honey, it’s only a toy. I’m sure we’ll manage.” – again with a chuckle.

“It’s not only a toy. It’s an expensive toy. By the way, why do you need it anyway? I’m sure I saw the same red car somewhere among that pile of toys you don’t use in your room.”

“I do. I’m sorry. It’s not for me.” – whispered my brother, more to himself, but I heard it.

Dad parked the car and all of us picked up two bags from the trunk. After putting them on the kitchen table I decided to stay there hoping to hear the rest of the conversation.

“So, who is it for then? I heard you back in the car.” – I asked him quietly.

“For a friend.” – he whispered.

“Yes? Which friend?” – Mom was apparently standing behind us.

“David.”

“Who’s David?” – dad joined.

“Honey, I’m sure David’s parents buy him gifts all the time, just as we do… and it’s ok about the car this time, but…”

“And where does this David live? Do we know his parents? When and where did you meet him? Dad was trying to sound calm, but there was a touch of panic in his voice, I could tell.

He told him the address. “What? Sweetie that’s impossible, there are no houses there.”

“He doesn’t live in a house. He’s my age and he lives in an alley. He doesn’t have parents and I met him a week ago when he saw me throwing away my tuna sandwich. He asked if you could have it because he didn’t eat that day.”

“Oh…” – the three of us gasped.

Mother’s eyes were in an instant full of tears. There was a moment of silence and then she exclaimed: “Well go get him!”

Dad was puzzled. “Go and pick that boy up. It’s freezing outside. He’ll dine with us!”

“What? I thought we didn’t have money…” – I was being sarcastic.

“It’s three day before Christmas, we’ll manage. Come on, go you two!” She almost pushed dad and me out. “I’ll make some food.” Before we left the house I saw mom wrapping the toy in a paper. My brother was up in his room. She shouted: “Bring some other toys too! And some of your sweaters!”

Later in the car I told my dad that it’s ok if they don’t get me the cell phone I’ve been begging for for months as Christmas present.

“Well, tough luck, son, ‘cause your mother already bought it.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and the pc game you asked for, too.”

David spent the winter with us. Nothing changed, we still went shopping every Saturday and got the same things as always. How? I guess we managed.

It ends today.

There he was again. Back in his chair. Remote in one hand, a can of beer in the other.

As she was closing the door, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a large mirror in the hallway. For the first time after sixteen years, the feeling of fear and shame did not reflect back. She was almost scared of herself, of this new person looking back at her. Her eyes were empty, but just for a second. One look at a scar above her left eyebrow brought a storm of emotions, and even though she thought that the years of feeling afraid, cornered and small completely destroyed her ability to feel anything else but low of herself, there it all was – staring at her.

It was agonizing for a moment, but she accepted the change and let this strong, confident woman take over her body, and enjoyed it , because now, everything, every memory that before brought on so much pain and misery to her soul was being transformed into a powerful fuel to her self-assurance; it fueled her anger, her desire make him suffer.

She entered the kitchen passing the living-room without him even noticing and placed two bags of groceries on the counter. A quick glance at him made her both sick and sorry and her mind started yet one more time to wonder about what happened with the man she first fell in love with. A bruise on her arm stopped all her thoughts.

Tonight will not be one of the nights of endless fighting. Tonight she will not get hurt. No, tonight is the night when everything changes. When it all ends.

She reached into the paper bag on the counter and started to look for something. With every breath she took she felt more anxious, and at one point while rummaging through the loafs of bread and some apples ripped the bag. She focused on the other bag, it cannot be she’d lost it. When finally the cold metal brushed against her fingers it was as though the time has stopped.

A forty-two-year old blonde news editor, with shaky hands and tears in her eyes entered the living-room of her apartment and pointed the gun at husband’s chest.

“I’m leaving,” she sobbed, “and there is nothing you can do about it.”

I am... a T-shirt.

Ok, what is wrong with me? No, seriously?

You know how there are people with real problems out there? The hungry, the sick, the dying… It seems like I am the only person who will somehow manage to find a problem where there is none, then start obsessing about it until it completely consumes me and in time never really cross it off but rather store it in a memory somewhere deep inside my brain until it decides to emerge again. That’s me, The Obsessor. And now you’ll think how there surely must be a problem, that I’m unable to realize what that problem really is, that I’m not being objective about myself, blah blah... But, believe you me… I tried. I’ve been looking for it for days now (in the closet, under the sofa, on my balcony – everywhere!) and I just cannot figure out why on earth I feel like I feel. Maybe you could? Or whether there is a problem at all? Or is maybe exactly that the problem?! Confused? Stop reading! It gets worse…

You know how there’s one (or even worse, two or more things) you are really fond of and you can’t really figure out why? If you’re superstitious as I am, you’ll completely understand what the f**k I’m talking about. Like, a special pen, that you just have to have when doing an exam, or super magic underwear that you simply must wear on a first date. Got that? Ok, now, imagine a t-shirt.

It’s a t-shirt which is absolutely perfect, easy to wash, you don’t have to iron it, it goes with everything and you’d probably wear it every day, but people would find you weird, so… you know, you wear it every other day. You love it. Hell, everybody loves it.

But, one day. One awful day, somebody made a mistake. Somebody you love made a horrible mistake, washed it on a higher temperature so it shrunk, or the colours faded away, or burned it with a cigarette, spilt a juice all over it… you name it, there are numerous things that might happen to a t-shirt. The fact is – it is ruined. Lost for good. Lost its magic.

Suddenly you start to realize how ordinary that shirt was in the first place. Nothing special about a piece of cotton. You even think of yourself being crazy for believing in its powers. You throw it away and after a couple of days forget about it. Get a new one. A better one.

Until one day a person wearing the same shirt passes you by in the street, and everything comes back and slaps you in the face.

Now, comes the worst part.

Well, I had a very similar shirt. Well, I still have it. And it’s as though it stayed out too long in the Sun. As if I’d lend it too often to other people, so it got stretched. It’s full of holes, stains and God knows what, but… I somehow see it the same it. I still love it. It looks same to me.

On the other hand, I'm aware that it's bad. Wrong. The feeling is so rotten. But I enjoy it.

And that’s my readers, what I call a problem.

I am... a Nurse.

It was a perfect day. Just perfect. You know when the Sun is shining brightly, but not too hot, just enough… One of those days when the clouds form silly patterns in the sky and when the wind whistles your favourite tune only to bring the smell of freshly-cut grass mixed with the essence of rosebuds soaking in last night’s raindrops, slowly opening their petals, to your nostrils. I was sitting on our balcony, enjoying the catharsistic moment when I heard the phone ringing. There are three headsets in the house and when there’s an incoming call they all start to ring at the same time. I usually get completely neurotic every time that happens but somehow the ringing faded away in my mind and I knew that somebody eventually answered. I was finishing my cigarette and sipping the last few drops of my morning coffee when I heard mom (and I knew it was her because… – since we moved to this place I learned how to recognize each member of my family when he or she was climbing up the stairs. Dad was the heaviest so all the stairs squeaked a lot when he did it. My brother always climbed up to his room very fastly and mom… well, she did it differently… She would stomp with her feet on her way up, usually on the last pair of steps as if to warn me, to give me the time to cover up whatever I was to be doing before she entered the room) coming up and getting out on the balcony through my room.

She was upset, but she didn’t let me ask why - instead she just told me. She always did that.

- ‘Aunt Kristie is at a hospital.’ – She swallowed and continued. ‘The ambulance took her in around 6 this morning. But she’s gonna be ok…’

- ‘Why? What happened?!’ – I interrupted her.

- ‘Nothing serious, really…’ –Her lips were shaking. ‘I mean, I don’t know, they mentioned something about varyxes… or vanixis… it is a bleeding inside her esophagus. She was in the bathroom when it happened. The doctor said she lost a lot of blood… but… they managed to get there in time, so…’

One of the clouds in the sky suddenly covered the sun and we were in the dark. I felt cold. Too cold.

- ‘Varices? Is that what they said?’ – I was looking at my mother feeling a rush of anxiety coming up my spine.

- ‘Yes! Yes! That’s exactly what they said! What is it? Nothing too dangerous, right? I mean it’s just like a small cut… only on the inside, and…’

The rest of what was she was saying didn’t really get to me. It was as I disappeared, teleported myself into what is to happen in the next few days.

I hated the fact that I knew everything about it. About how when a blood vessel in esophagus is ripped it is impossible to stop the bleeding. It is possible, but it is necessary to start operating as soon as possible - but not here, not in this small town where people die during the simplest operations. I am sure that paramedics got to her apartment almost too late; they were busy playing chess, watching TV or having sex with colleagues, I knew that, I was once one of them. Or how in the ER she kept losing her time, and blood waiting for a surgeon to come and examine her.

I knew that by now her liver is absolutely wrecked due to cirrhosis she got more than thirty years ago when the medics transfused her with hepatitis b infected blood. She needed a new liver. And chances were, she’d never get one.

I was aware that they’ll stop the bleeding, but only temporarily and that soon she’ll get into a hemorrhagic shock. Then her kidneys will stop. And there was no coming back… Following kidneys, her heart, lungs than brain will stop functioning couple of minutes later.

Oh, they will try to resuscitate her, of course. Pump her with drugs, nurses jumping on her chest trying to restart the heart… but… I’ve seen it. I was once that nurse breathing in air or massaging a heart of a already lost patient.

I suddenly felt the anger push back the sadness inside me. Apparently, I wasn’t very good at hiding it because my mother hugged me and said:

- ‘Hey, come on. She’s gonna be alright. It’s nothing...’

I hugged her back and a tear slid down my cheek. I managed to brush it off as I was getting back to my chair, but my hands were shaking now. I started sobbing on the inside, suffocating on all the built-up tears.

- ‘You’re scaring me. What are you not telling me? I know you know more about all this stuff than I do… How seri…’ Our eyes met. There was a pause, and she read all of my thoughts. She was my mother after all.

- ‘No, NO… NO!! Not my Kristie… No, no… She is not going to die. She is NOT going to die! Not now. Not like this.'

By now, I was used to watching people crying when I’d give them the bad news. But this was different. I couldn’t stand watching my mother cry in front of me. It simply hurt too much. I knew that there wasn’t much I could actually do for my aunt, but my mother was sick too, on medications for years now, and this stress would not do her any good at all. I hugged her once more, holding her tight.

- ‘No, it’s ok. It’s ok. Shhh… She’s gonna be ok.’ – I whispered, patting her hair. ‘Shhh… Don’t worry mom, it’s nothing, ok? Just a small procedure, they do it every day. She’ll be out in a couple of days, ok?’ I brushed off her tears. ‘There… don’t you worry, everything is going to be all right. I kissed her forehead.’

- ‘Really?’ – she begged.

- ‘Yeah, yeah… honestly. Don’t you worry, all right?’ – I kept on lying.

‘Ok, then… You wouldn’t lie to you mother, would you?’ There was ring and a knock at our entrance door. ‘Oh.. Uh, ok… right. Good. Thanks. Ok, I’m gonna get that.’ She left the room wiping tears and fixing her hair watching her reflecion on a window in my room.

- ‘No, mom, I would never lie to you…’ – I whispered hearing her on the stairs.

Kristie. The women who was always there for me. Who knew everything there was about me, and even more than that. Who I loved as much as my own mother.

When I was alone again I looked up, watching beautiful, fluffy clouds moving across the sky. A few sunrays broke through it and brushed the freckles on my face. A few drops of warm summer rain fell on my arms. It was a perfect day.

Still, I felt cold, frozen. I could not move. I could not speak. I was a statue sitting in a chair, looking up, letting the rain wash away all the pain and anger from me.

Four days later, my aunt Kristie died.

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.