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07:32:00
When the boy was born he was less happy than his wife. She really wanted to have a child. He really wanted to have her. He found her attractive since the day they met at that home get-together with their college friends. Those were the days. They were half as rich but twice as happy and blissful. She entered the room wearing the simplest white dress and the same dress she wore three months later at their civil wedding ceremony. They didn’t have a wedding reception. They just slept for days in the flat she inherited from her grandmother. Beforehand, he was penniless and still living with his parents in a studio flat which badly needed new plumbing and electricity. She was an only child with a seemingly bright future. He had nothing to lose. She had a lot to gain.
He remembered that for the first months they didn’t really leave the bed. Then she was pregnant and started hunting for baby clothes, and went mad over the prospect of having a child. He was supportive. Her belly started to grow and his place in the bedroom was getting smaller and smaller. When the child was little she asked him to sleep in the living room, since he apparently snored and he was hopeless at handling the baby. She was obsessed. She counted boy’s every tooth, blown at his every bruise and bought him as many toys as he wanted. The child was peaceful and didn’t cry a lot. On the other hand, he never seemed to like all the family gatherings and preferred to spend time in his room, either studying or playing computer games. He was only fond of snow and asked his parents to play with him once in a while outside when it was freezing. He was a complex child. Timid. Fearful. Sensitive. Introvert. He said that he loved the child, but, actually, he was ashamed of taking him anywhere near his friends. His mates’ children were noisy, nosy and messy. But likable. Quite the contrary, the boy was the apple of an eye of his mother. She was proud, loud and praising.
He didn’t remember when they stopped having sex. After the childbirth, she was constantly in pain. When the baby was little, she didn’t want to wake him up. When the boy was older, he learned to sleep with his mother in bed, so their sex life was non-existent. She said that sex wasn’t that important. That there were values beyond it. That marriage was stronger than his silly desires. After work, she spent time with the son, doing the homework or playing, as he was an only child and didn't have any siblings. They didn’t talk much after work. Michael was their only topic of conversation. When he wasn’t around, they could just as well stop talking at all.
Then he lost his job. It was a compilation of many things: he made a few mistakes, he missed a few deadlines, he got into conflict with a few of his coworkers. First, they demoted him, then he was asked to go. For a year he was pretending that he was leaving the flat and went to work, but instead, he went to his mates, to a bar or sat on the park’s bench. Then she noticed that he wasn’t bringing home any money. She struggled for some time. Then she asked him to leave. Divorce was even quicker than the wedding. He came back to his parents’ studio flat and was depressed for around a year. He didn’t miss the boy much. He didn’t miss his ex-wife. He didn’t even miss his job. He simply felt that from everything he went back to nothing. From hero to zero. From full life settlement to a teenage dependence.
It took him another couple of years to get back to his feet. The second job was not only better for him but gave him enough financial stability to buy both a flat and a car. His next relationship was different. It was her who seduced him. He just saw her one day in the corridor of his office and invited her for a coffee. Then they went to his place. She was open. She really liked having sex. He was sure that one time during the playful intercourse they fell in love. In wasn’t a deep tormenting love like responsibility for something important, it wasn’t as if it was a burden. It was as light as a feather. It was as easy as their sex after breakfast, after dinner, and after the supper. And sometimes after lunch. She was crazy about him. After two years she got pregnant. Two years after that they conceived another baby. When he was looking at his two happy daughters, plump as peaches, cheerful as blossoming flowers, he was sure that her interest in him will diminish. But she was into him as never before and wanted him even more, occasionally ignoring the cries of the girls at night. ‘They are only children,’ she said ‘They will grow older and move out. It is us what counts.’
He felt assured. And safe in her arms and soft nakedness which entangled his body. She knew that he had another son, living in a flat in the city center. She knew that he was special. They didn’t keep any secrets from each other. He rarely lied. He openly visited him from time to time, feeling the burden of responsibility and being subjected to his ex-wife’s constant reminders. ‘It’s your son. It’s your duty to be a part of his life.’
When he held a note about her death he didn’t know what to feel. The years they spent together were for him sad and awkward. And when he was looking at his peachy girls, he decided that it was time for him to forget about the past and fully embrace his present. He stopped calling and stopped stopping by. Since his wife was dead, he just as well might have never had a son.
He remembered that for the first months they didn’t really leave the bed. Then she was pregnant and started hunting for baby clothes, and went mad over the prospect of having a child. He was supportive. Her belly started to grow and his place in the bedroom was getting smaller and smaller. When the child was little she asked him to sleep in the living room, since he apparently snored and he was hopeless at handling the baby. She was obsessed. She counted boy’s every tooth, blown at his every bruise and bought him as many toys as he wanted. The child was peaceful and didn’t cry a lot. On the other hand, he never seemed to like all the family gatherings and preferred to spend time in his room, either studying or playing computer games. He was only fond of snow and asked his parents to play with him once in a while outside when it was freezing. He was a complex child. Timid. Fearful. Sensitive. Introvert. He said that he loved the child, but, actually, he was ashamed of taking him anywhere near his friends. His mates’ children were noisy, nosy and messy. But likable. Quite the contrary, the boy was the apple of an eye of his mother. She was proud, loud and praising.
He didn’t remember when they stopped having sex. After the childbirth, she was constantly in pain. When the baby was little, she didn’t want to wake him up. When the boy was older, he learned to sleep with his mother in bed, so their sex life was non-existent. She said that sex wasn’t that important. That there were values beyond it. That marriage was stronger than his silly desires. After work, she spent time with the son, doing the homework or playing, as he was an only child and didn't have any siblings. They didn’t talk much after work. Michael was their only topic of conversation. When he wasn’t around, they could just as well stop talking at all.
Then he lost his job. It was a compilation of many things: he made a few mistakes, he missed a few deadlines, he got into conflict with a few of his coworkers. First, they demoted him, then he was asked to go. For a year he was pretending that he was leaving the flat and went to work, but instead, he went to his mates, to a bar or sat on the park’s bench. Then she noticed that he wasn’t bringing home any money. She struggled for some time. Then she asked him to leave. Divorce was even quicker than the wedding. He came back to his parents’ studio flat and was depressed for around a year. He didn’t miss the boy much. He didn’t miss his ex-wife. He didn’t even miss his job. He simply felt that from everything he went back to nothing. From hero to zero. From full life settlement to a teenage dependence.
It took him another couple of years to get back to his feet. The second job was not only better for him but gave him enough financial stability to buy both a flat and a car. His next relationship was different. It was her who seduced him. He just saw her one day in the corridor of his office and invited her for a coffee. Then they went to his place. She was open. She really liked having sex. He was sure that one time during the playful intercourse they fell in love. In wasn’t a deep tormenting love like responsibility for something important, it wasn’t as if it was a burden. It was as light as a feather. It was as easy as their sex after breakfast, after dinner, and after the supper. And sometimes after lunch. She was crazy about him. After two years she got pregnant. Two years after that they conceived another baby. When he was looking at his two happy daughters, plump as peaches, cheerful as blossoming flowers, he was sure that her interest in him will diminish. But she was into him as never before and wanted him even more, occasionally ignoring the cries of the girls at night. ‘They are only children,’ she said ‘They will grow older and move out. It is us what counts.’
He felt assured. And safe in her arms and soft nakedness which entangled his body. She knew that he had another son, living in a flat in the city center. She knew that he was special. They didn’t keep any secrets from each other. He rarely lied. He openly visited him from time to time, feeling the burden of responsibility and being subjected to his ex-wife’s constant reminders. ‘It’s your son. It’s your duty to be a part of his life.’
When he held a note about her death he didn’t know what to feel. The years they spent together were for him sad and awkward. And when he was looking at his peachy girls, he decided that it was time for him to forget about the past and fully embrace his present. He stopped calling and stopped stopping by. Since his wife was dead, he just as well might have never had a son.
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