glava

Small milestones, near and far, from this week.

Next to me on the bench is an older lady. She is clearly a grandma and her job this afternoon is to watch over her grandson as he goes on the biggest slide in the playground. The slide is so steep that my son refused to go on it for years. But this small kid slides fiercely and every time time the boy lands in sand grandma sends cheers and claps from the bench

A two-hour fight from me, is my brother. His daughter, my lovely 18-months-old niece, is having her first week at day care. She surpasses everyone's expectations with enjoying everything about it. My brother's favorite part of the day is when she starts calling foxes, foxes, foxes from the doorstep of the daycare. 'Foxes' are her orange shaped house shoes shaped, you guessed it, like foxes.

An ocean between us, a colleague is telling me that his son is starting training for navy seals next week. He is beaming while telling me that his son decided that he would be marine when he was eight, and navy seal when he was twelve. This kid has now graduated from a military academy and is on his way to fulfill his childhood goals. His proud dad can't hide it on the video call.

I hear or see these stories all the time, and although sometimes they don't resonate with me, I understand them now. No matter the culture or environment - seeing your kids tackle challenge and succeeding is a perk of being a parent. A relief that follows hours, days or years of worry and care - a reward so grand that rarely can stay unspoken.

My son started elementary school this month. For the first two weeks I was allowed to take him all the way to the classroom, but this all changed last Friday. I am not allowed to enter the school anymore. Asking him to go into the new environment alone was really hard on him the first few days. But not this Wednesday - he hugged me, kissed me, let go of my hand and jumped into the river of kids that was flowing into the school. Before I could take a deep breath of relief, he was already inside talking to a classmate. I turned my back, pulled out my phone, and dropped voice message to my wife - words rushing out, telling her he made it, knowing that she will be beaming thought the day too.

A short story part of the Dreams and Fears series.

I would usually start my bar shift around two in the morning. The good thing is I don't leave my bed for it, but the bad thing is my mind always invites the crowd that sucks. I would be behind a bar cleaning glasses when Capitalist would arrive. His flawless body-fat percentage goes hand in hand with pale skin and sunken eyes. He would lean over the counter and say:

"What are we going to do about the money?"

"What do you mean?" I would say.

"I mean, we need it, don't we? We are not going to participate in this rat race forever, right? We just need to hit and hit big. Then you can stop worrying about the mortgage, or even better — you can even stop working."

"Dude, we are good; we are way better than most people"

"You are being silly again. What most people! You can't do this nine-to-five till your retirement; you will lose your mind. I reckon we need roughly around 20 years' worth of salaries, and then we are off the hook"

"Twenty years!!! Are you insane? I can't make that!"

"Yeah, you can. Look at the other idiots who are killing it. I think we just need to monetize your hobbies. For example, photography, or even better - cycling. Why not start filming yourself? I can already see it - become a long-distance cyclist as a middle-aged family man. Clicks will be rolling in."

"I don't want to do that. First, stupid idea to get off the hamster wheel by spinning it faster. Second, it will bring just more stress, and I already have enough of that at work."

"And tomorrow you will have it more," says the Assistant. His name is Assistant, but I've never seen him assist me with anything except complain that I haven't done what I'm supposed to do. He sits on the corner of the bar, doodling in his notebook, never lifting his head while he speaks to me.

"You forgot to prepare for tomorrow's presentation slides. The ones they explicitly asked you for, and also I think you double-booked the meeting about Hank's performance review"

"No, I haven't!"

"Yes, you have. You're on the school run tomorrow — remember?"

"Fuck, I am." - I panic - "But I really do have to talk to Hank"

"Of course you do! He stopped showing up to work before 11 am again. You should do something about that. The feedback needs to be timely; you can't sit on your hands with this one"

"Yes, yes, you are right. I think I will wake up earlier and finish the slides. I will ask Marina to do the school run, and then during lunch I will prep for Hank"

"Ugh, waking up earlier — this is not good for your body battery," adds the Nutritionist while picking up darts from the mark. Handsome, vain, and lonely, he is constantly worried about my health. "Last night your sleep score was 65, and the night before you got almost no deep sleep. Even while I speak to you, I am not sure if you are sleeping at all. I think you should hit REM right now if you want to be fresh tomorrow and keep your HRV balanced all day"

"Fuck, you're right! I am not sleeping at all. I will be anxious and impatient all day if I don't catch sleep right away. Ok, that is it, let's sleep. Everyone out. Out! The bar is closed for the night, people!”

"Wow, wow, come on, not fair" — Cultural Critic jumps from his chair. "You promised me tonight is the night we will discuss Nolan and his inability to write female characters correctly. And also, the new Top 100 book list is out by The New York Times, and it is complete shit. I thought tonight was the night we would go over this."

"Nope nope nope. Out, out. You all go somewhere else and leave me be." I start waving my hand towards the door. "I will put the closed sign on the door, and start counting backward, and if I am lucky I will catch 3 hours' sleep”

Chairs start to move, dissatisfied mumbling hangs in the air, but everyone heads towards the door. Critic whispers in my ear something about Andrei Rublev, but I just take his arm and point to the door. Nutritionist hugs him as they walk outside and tells him loudly, so I can hear

“Leave him. He is just dehydrated.”

I breathe a sigh of relief as I close the door, but when I turn around, I notice that he is standing in front of me. I try to avoid him by moving left and then right, but he is too quick, always one step faster, always in front of me. Short, with greasy hair and a twinkle in his eyes, he could pass as an evil leprechaun in some old creepy children's book. The Fear of Death himself is in front of me, and he is grinning ear to ear:

"Well, you don't want to close the shop before telling me how many times you have called your parents this week, eh?"

I go one step backward.

"C'mon, sleepy sleepy. Are you afraid you will see yourself on video call and realize that you are also getting old, eh, c c c."

I close my eyes and say, in the loudest way possible:

"One hundred!!"

"No, no, don't do this. No breathing will save you. Only talking with me will do. Tell me, will today be the last day that your son holds your hand."

"Ninety-nine... ninety-eight..."

"Will you know when that day passes that it was the last day?"

"Ninety-one...Ninety..."

"Ooooh, and your voice is getting raspier on every count; maybe it is throat cancer"

"Eighty-five... eighty-four..."

“It would be a shame to die so young without seeing your son grow"

"Seventy!"

"And, I wonder, would anyone show up for your funeral..."

"Sixty-five... sixty-four... sixty-three... sixty-two..."

Sixty-one body battery — is what my watch tells me right after waking me.

“Hmm, I am thirsty,” I say while I sit on the edge of the bed.

“What did you say?” Marina says from the kitchen

“Nothing, just a bad dream!” I shout, and then, after a small pause, I add, “Can you please pick the kid up from school today”

---

Short fiction story part of the Dreams and Fears series.

A short story part of the Dreams and Fears series.

He was staring at his feet and thinking these were the wrong shoes for snow. He had only taken two steps from the car, and his feet were already wet and cold. The gate in front of them was covered in ice, and it looked more like an entrance to an icy cave than to the small garden of a one-story house.

"What am I even doing here?"

"C'mon, it is not that bad; we just need to check that the house is in solid condition. We haven't been here since your uncle passed away," she said and gently put a hand on his shoulder. He nodded, while trying to remember when he agreed to all of this.

"What is that noise?" She was afraid to say it out loud, but to both of them, it sounded like screams. "Where is it coming from?" Her eyes started darting until they settled on the house on the hill that loomed over his uncle's. "I don't remember it being that big."

He raised his head and looked at the house, and indeed, the structure looked bigger. It was as if someone had added extra floors in the middle, as if it had grown from within. It also looked both familiar and new at the same time, like it had always been there during his summer visits to his uncle, and yet as if someone had just built it yesterday.

He couldn’t tell who lived there or what was inside, but he was certain that the screams were coming from the basement.

He was also certain that you should never walk alone near it at night.

---

Part of the Dreams and Fears series.

A short story part of the Dreams and Fears series.

She knows it is coming. She's known it for the last fifteen minutes, but she's still holding her attention firm. She promised herself it would not happen this evening, not in this crowd. She had been looking forward to the night out all week, and this restaurant truly deserves all the reviews it gets. The balcony of the restaurant has a view of the city, and the summer evening rewards them with a gentle breeze. Her companions are polite and gentle, and a well-dressed gang. They are discussing something really important when she starts to nod off, their voices becoming distant echoes.

She can't fight the urge; it has won, so she simply lets go. Her soul would take a form on her own, lower her head, touch the edge of the table with her forehead, and just stand there. This wouldn't affect the conversation at all, because nobody would notice. The body is the old trickster - can stay upright for hours, and it knows when to blink, when to laugh, and even when to say: "Wow, that is amazing". But her soul is just not capable of that; she would always rest on the table edge, waiting for evening to come to an end. She would follow when the body left the restaurant and wait until it hugged everyone and told each person how lovely a night she had and how she can't wait to meet them again. And only when everyone's footsteps were far away, and she was alone waiting for the tram to take her home, would the soul come back to her.

But now in the restaurant, the soul is not sleeping; that would be a blessing. Sometimes she, the soul, would count breaths, sometimes she would think about the last book she enjoyed, and sometimes she would just look at the feet. If she was in a good mood, the soul would even tell the body, "Hey, your feet are dancing under the table. Relax, or they'll figure out that we're not there."

The soul's favorite thing to do is imagine that one day she would learn Spanish and travel all the way from Mexico to Patagonia. She would take big buses, the ones locals use to travel the continent, eat spicy food she generally avoids, and chat with folks along the way.

Or that one day, in the middle of counting breaths, his soul arrives. "Hey," she would protest, "this is my spot!" But he would be unfazed, and would say something that would make her fall in love with him immediately: "Yeah, I noticed, but I can't be there anymore - so I thought I'd come here and ask you how your week was". In her daydreams, he always says something kind and never something like: "What's a soul like you doing in a dump like this?" He can't say that - just the fact that his soul noticed her would be a sign. Once she even dreamed that he came, held her hand, and said nothing while everyone else upstairs was talking about recent crises in a place they had only seen on the screen.

After an encounter like that - surely they would meet again - the soul now following body all the time. They would always hold hands, and she would know what to say so that he would feel stronger than he is, and he would know when to stop talking or make silly jokes that make her smile. She would meet his parents and try to observe which piece of him comes from dad and which comes from mom. They would eventually move in together. Her soul would be there when they offload the moving truck, when they buy furniture, when they arrange things. The soul would always be there when they wonder what to eat this evening, and when they argue over which restaurant to order from; and she would not blink an eye when he orders exactly the same thing over and over again.

And for her, the true testament of love would be that in the midst of him telling a story she has already heard a million times, she would be permitted to let her soul rest again on the edge of the table, and he would not get angry or insecure. He would just put his arm on her shoulder, and gently kiss her soul on the back of her neck.

Her feet are now moving more than usual. They are almost running under the table. Ah, the body is triggered by someone's harsh argument; the soul will have to go into a rage, and she will spend the rest of the night arguing. Her companions will go home thinking, "Wow, she is passionate about that topic." They will never know that she is just angry because they forced her to stop thinking about his hand on her shoulder.

---

Part of the Dreams and Fears series.

A short story part of the Dreams and Fears series.

It was pitch dark, and he was walking through the park with a backpack, a tripod attached to it. Once he found a good place, he unloaded the camera from the backpack, put it on the tripod, checked the exposure, installed the mic, and once he made sure everything looked right, he hit record.

“Hi gang!” he shouted, exhilarated, to the thousands of viewers who would watch this once he edited and uploaded it.

“One of the questions I constantly get asked is how do you take a good shot of the moon in the city? What lens are you using, what camera, what are your settings?  And let me tell you, gang—you've got this all wrong, and today I am here to help you out.  To get a good photo of the moon, well, you need to have a good moon, like we have tonight!” 

He gestured grandly towards the sky, the camera shifting autofocus to the full moon looming over the park. He returned to the frame with two thumbs up.

“What a beauty tonight, gang! The moon gods have blessed us with an amazing, crisp, white full moon. Ugh, I am excited—mind me saying, I'm over the moon about shooting it tonight.

Okay, okay, but back to the checklist.

The second thing you need is a quiet area with as little light as possible. Your city park will suffice; if you live in the suburbs, don’t be afraid to drive a bit farther into the unknown. After you have found a place, the third most important thing is to observe the moon.”

He stepped out of the frame again, letting the lens autofocus on the lunar surface as he turned his face fully toward the sky for the first time that night. “You might think that the moon is...is...” his words turned into a whisper as the camera was rolling.

He looked at the moon and saw, for the first time, that the moon was looking back at him. His camera would later reveal that the moon held his gaze for exactly 12 minutes and 36 seconds. Once the staring was done, he just muttered:

“Okay. Good”. He shut down the camera, packed his bag, and left the park.

---

Part of the Dreams and Fears series.