Blanket of love. Nikolay Lakutin

художественная работа автора. Обложка книги разработана автором в дизайнерской программе и является интеллектуальной собственностью Николая Лакутина.

      Blanket of love

      – Forty years. Anniversary. Sea of joy, friends, recognition, congratulations, love, warmth, children's voices, festive atmosphere in the house and beloved hugging wife-where is it all?

      Andrei stood alone in an empty apartment, with an empty glass in his hand, with emptiness in his soul, with emptiness in his eyes. But in empty the eyes of well is reflected the, that superficially. The glow of the lights of the cars outside the window, flashing signs, lights, buildings… A few couples in love, if they're not okay.

      – Kiss… embrace… love each other. At least they think they do. I used to think so, too. She walked up the sidewalk with a girl, wanted to kiss her and gently held under. She was shy, very shy and shy. I never kissed her, I saw that she wanted it too, but she's not ready. I didn't want to embarrass myself and her. So it all ended on the basis of sighing and unfulfilled dreams.

      The man looked the other way, focusing on the other pair.

      – Yeah, and like you were too. Young, hot. Oh, Oh, well, these are not shy, kissing, frankly, completely surrendering to each other. I did too. Angelica, as now, remember. At first I thought that the name she came up with, and he wasn't in the passport as it was written. I still remember her face when she showed me her passport after my weekly attacks about it. I understand. Sure I did. But this I now understand. And then realized only when a lost person. Though… what has changed? I'm now single and now in his loneliness begin to see the light as never before…

      Andrew has again filled the glass with wine and returned to the window. Recently, the window was his only outlet in life. The nights were very hard. Because you're alone at night. And then it gets really scary. Because they begin to torment the facts about the unsuccessfully lived life, about the achievements that are not, about the love that is not saved, about the children that are not awarded… All of this as snowball rolls up to throat, and there is no from him save. How many books have been re-read, how many films have been revised. Understanding began to come, and time is lost.

      – Happy birthday to me, Andrey Petrovich-the man summed up all the scrolled thoughts and as a toast raised a glass for himself as at a Requiem, without clinking with reflection in glass.

      The apartment phone rang, which Andrew flinching slightly, spilled wine on his shirt. Friends he had no, girlfriends all the more. For several years his home phone was silent on the day of birth, and so, only at work sometimes woke up. And here. Evening, almost already night, phone call.

      – Weird? he thought and hurried to the phone. Even more, he was surprised by a pleasant female voice in the speaker of the phone that said:

      – Hello. Where are you?

      I'm home now, slightly taken aback, said Andrew.

      What the hell?

      – In terms of?

      – In terms of? I've been waiting an hour. Sitting here like a fool and you… you…

      The girl hung up. There were short beeps.

      You should have seen Andrew's face. It expressed not that amusing confusion, not that anger, in a word, confusion with mimic admixtures of the madman.

      – Somehow I felt like a bastard for a moment, – he said to himself and hung up – is that all just happen?

      The phone rang again!

      Andrew stared at him sarcastically.

      Take it? he thought, looking forward to hear about the same thing.

      Taken.

      – Do you even have a conscience? – that voice sounded again.

      – Well, up to this point it was assumed that it is available in any number – said Andrew, already realizing that she stupidly got the wrong number.

      – How much do you have in there? Andrew! – struck by the ear men called his name, I do not understand, I wait for you at all, or not?

      "Wait," a misunderstanding of the said Andrew.

      – I wait ten more minutes and then I leave. Forever! – said the girl and hung up.

      – A strange citizen-thought the man. – My name. Where is she?

      As luck would have it, the home phone didn't have a caller ID, it's an old model. So I would call back to clarify. And in any way. And the saddest thing is, she'll be gone in ten minutes. Forever! From someone…

      – I wonder from whom? Did she get the wrong number or not? Is this a joke? If so, she is a professional actress. What if it's not a prank? No, I don't remember agreeing with anyone about anything like that. But what if this is fate? What if this is my last chance? Been.

      The evening ceased to be languid. Andrew completely stopped caring about the fact that it's night, so not beloved of the night. That shirt urgently needs to be faded until the stain is thoroughly soaked that it was his fortieth birthday, which is unremarkable, and perhaps even humiliating amid all the above considered. Now Andrew began to worry only one thing – call a stranger again? But it worried not because chaotic calls brought confusion to his life, but because he really wanted her to call again. These confusion had a pleasant aroma, the aroma, which Andrew has not felt.

      It's been ten minutes. The phone never rang again. Never before had Andrew not sitting by the phone with such expectation, with such foolish hope. Indeed, foolish, for what he expected?

      It took twenty minutes, Andrew finally stood up, knowingly having watched the phone:

      – Everything is clear, okay girl, whatever you got there. Understand the situation. I hope she gets on well with Andrei. Funny coincidence.

      It was late, in the Windows of apartments opposite began to go out of the window. Half a bottle of wine stood alone on the table. I didn't want to drink anymore. Due to recent events somehow accidentally flooded sobriety.

      For a shower and to sleep – decided male, and what was his joy when the phone rang again.

      "Yes," he said happily into the phone.

      Hello, Oh, sorry, wrong number! – some guy's voice sounded.

      "Nothing," hanging his said Andrew, but heard only beeps.

      ***

      – And after all it was my best birthday, – I caught myself thinking Andrew.

      It would seem – why? But the answer was quite simple. Emotions. These several calls created a storm of emotions in a forty-year-old man, and gave him to understand that he is still able to live, feel, love, and even foolishly youthful hope for something.

      Jesus was right to say, "Be like children," right. Because it is children's spontaneity, purity and unambiguity, truthfulness of all its essence that breaks all the boundaries of the barricades so diligently erected by adults that do not allow not to act, but even just to breathe freely! – recognized Andrei. – Breathe… how long have I not breathed so easily, so freely and so easily? I forgot what breathing is. Inhale the aromas of happiness in the air… and they say that all this love is an illusion… neeeeeeet, the illusion of just about everything else.

      Andrew undressed, soaked spot on his shirt and took a shower. Even some hour ago he was sad, and now he was smiling. Water was flowing in thin streams on his head from the shower head and he stood and smiled, just like a child, just as happy, not bound by thousands of the shackles of the man, though, to imagine such an individual in a big city is almost impossible.

      With a marvelous mood the man extinguished the light and went to bed.

      There's the bell.

      You didn't… you never came! – I heard a crying in the receiver.

      The man was not expecting, but was very happy that voice.

      – Andrew?

      "Yes," not knowing what to say, replied the man.

      You