Arrival (Part 7)

It happened to her, that sometimes, she would rather stay home and do something boring and lonely, than go out and hang out with her friends. It wasn’t as entertaining, but it was so much better, and calm.

Thing that happened that Saturday afternoon, and it started to rain some. Kat found a couple of old magazines under her bed, and somehow thought of them to be better than
T.V., in such a day.

She was skimming the ads, and was too distracted to start reading articles, with their
too-small fonts and endless sentences. Old magazines. Their news so antique, things that felt as if they had truly happened a million years ago. Things unimaginable today.

Kat thought about the times in which she begged her mom to buy her each of these editions, that she kind of looked at for one time, and then they just seemed like any other old magazine. All these articles had seemed to be like an ideal manual for staying alive. It was at the beginning of her teenage years. The 7th grade. Funny, just when the reason why she was buying these stuff as crazy decided to godamn leave.

And so they turned out to be useless, and now serve to Kat as a lame memoir she’d rather not remember.

The dust and the non-admittance with herself seemed to get suffocating and each time more, and so she ran downstairs and not cared whatsoever about the little water falling. Her family was each distracted into something else, so nobody asked and she was grateful.

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The view from his window was nothing breathtaking, and any other person would have taken the street and trees and bushes for granted. But not him. Not when he had just arrived form literally another world. Seriously, nothing against Russia. Their culture was interesting, and so the views were the different and the cities too. But he was home again. Same house, same environment. Same people. People he knew and missed.

He was sitting in front of his desk, looking out instead of doing what he was supposed to be doing. He never had seen what people liked to much about biting the pencil near the edge, while zooming out or daydreaming. And so he had nothing to do with his hands. He let happiness and satisfaction erase the boredom, and thought for a moment about her.

Kat. Somehow, they both had connected on the first days they had met, in Middle School. Then he left, and now he was back, and they had talked yesterday. He hated the past, this certain past. It embarrassed him deeply, to think about his way of acting, how he made things end, before he went. Unconscious.

It was still kind of early. The heavy and unsteady snoring of his brother wasn’t helping him in someway, reason why he stood up, looked for a good jacket, and headed out. There was a bit of rain, and he didn’t want to waste money on a cab, so he walked. He thought about the street number, and it wasn’t too hard, though. He felt somehow proud for not forgetting about it, but then cursed himself, for seeming a stalker too much.

While walking, he thought about it, a couple of times, of simply turning back, and not doing this. It would’ve been monotonous and stupid. But he didn’t even understand what he wanted to do. She said they should talk. Not like she specified the place and time. He would, certainly as soon as he arrived and met her.

He considered for her not to be there, but then it was impossible. He felt he knew her…still…a bit. He tried to look as casual and as not-that-I-wanted-to-see-you as possible. He didn’t want for Kat to see how uncomfortably direct was this intention of his.

About the most recent conversation they’ve had. She didn’t seem as excited. But she shouldn’t be. He hoped that maybe she did realized that he was still interested…because he was. They definitely had to talk again. He was almost there. The walk was about 15 minutes. He felt exhausted, when he finally approached the familiar street, but rather because he was chocking with goddamn nerves.