Екатерина Юша – THE COMA (страница 3)
Barely collecting herself, Lessie packed her belongings and checked her documents and money.
There was still an hour before her brother arrived. Sometimes he was late – so it might be even longer.
She would have time to check her Facebook messages and write a few depressive poems about unrequited love for the group that had taken interest in the poems Lessie had posted on a website for people who considered themselves talented poets. Or simply poets.
The group administrator had contacted her and offered to write one poem every three days for a small fee.
For the sake of experience, Lessie agreed.
The doorbell rang, and startled, Lessie dropped her favourite porcelain cup. It shattered instantly across the tiled floor.
“So, clumsy girl, decided to replace your dishes?” Scott glanced sarcastically at the shards.
“Something like that.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll buy you a new one. By the way, you’ve made your place quite cozy,” he said, looking around the apartment decorated in light tones with minimal furniture. “Remind me, what is this style called?”
“What I could afford,” Lessie laughed loudly, and Scott joined her.
“Come on, pack up. We’ll be late.”
“Already done! Take the suitcase by the door and go downstairs. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Checking once more whether everything was turned off, Lessie silently said goodbye to her apartment and the flowers.
Even though she often forgot to water them, she always gave them names. Though she frequently confused them.
A yellow Citroën with a taxi sign on its roof was already waiting outside the building.
Settling into the back seat, Lessie put her headphones on and turned on the music.
Leighton Meester screamed directly into her ear so loudly that Lessie thought she was screaming along inside the car as well. But after looking around, she realized it was just her imagination.
Through the sounds of American country music, Lessie watched her brother gesturing wildly while talking to the driver.
Judging by the redness on Scott’s cheeks, the driver had verbally outplayed him.
The middle-aged man, on the contrary, remained very calm – apparently he had encountered many different passengers in his life and only occasionally replied to Scott.
It was difficult to read their conversation from lip movements, and losing interest, Lessie turned her gaze toward the window, observing pedestrians and the changing pictures of the city.
Lessie loved this slow, unhurried city with its central street where cars passed once every two hours, where traffic jams never existed, and where the entire city could be walked across in thirty minutes.
Two-story houses, built seventy years ago as temporary structures, gave the impression that everything here was stable.
If you had not left this town during your teenage years, you would stay here forever.
Lessie had not left.
Or rather – she had. But in the end, she returned.
Because no matter how hard you try to run away, the road always leads you to the place where you are meant to be.
The club on the central square – once a cinema where her mother had worked in her youth – was now used for weekly discos for the young… and not so young.
In this town, everyone knew each other, if not personally, then at least by name.
And although the people were not physically present now, memories of them still lived inside the girl’s heart.
Lost in thought, Lessie did not notice when the car reached the railway station.
She had not even begun to feel sick from the smell of gasoline mixed with alcohol that filled the cabin.
As soon as they stepped out of the taxi, Lessie immediately asked what Scott had been arguing about with the driver.
“About construction materials,” her brother replied aggressively. “That driver will still try to tell me which ones are better,” he hissed through clenched teeth.
“Calm down already!” Lessie waved her hand dismissively, knowing this was a sore topic for her brother.
Scott clearly disliked being told to shut up twice within half an hour, but he did not continue arguing, remembering from childhood that arguing with women was pointless.
“Do you have a new friend?” Lessie asked, pointing toward a young man in torn jeans but wearing a classic shirt as they approached a group of five people.
“Yes and no. We studied together. Actually, that’s why I invited you…”
“I knew it!” she nudged him in the side. “I felt there was a reason you called me. Another attempt to set me up with someone?”
“Don’t be angry. Is it really so hard for you to keep him company? He’s a good guy. He just broke up with his girlfriend recently and is feeling a little miserable… And… well… you are alone, more or less.”
“Well then introduce him to one of your friends! I am not an escort, Scott!” Lessie snorted and fell silent as they approached the group.
Scott shook hands with the boys, while Lessie hugged those she knew and greeted the others.
The group hurried toward the railway station, because the train to Sahré was about to depart.
“Meet Elon – this is Lessie, my sister. Lessie – this is Elon,” Scott introduced them while climbing the stairs toward the second platform, where their train was already standing.
“This is the guy I told you about,” he said, turning to his sister. “We studied together. Now we rarely meet and only cross paths because of work. Elon is starting a construction business.”
“Nice to meet you,” Elon said quietly, studying Lessie with his green eyes.
“Likewise,” Lessie replied curtly, turning her gaze aside.
The group reached the platform and found their carriage. Before letting them in, the conductor of the third wagon checked their tickets and finally allowed them to enter.
Lessie chose the window seat and pulled out a book she had grabbed at the last moment when leaving home.
Elon sat beside her.
While the others argued about where to sit, he asked for tea to be brought and silently offered a chocolate bar to his neighbour.
Finally, the train
***
“I think every part of my body that could go numb has gone numb,” Lessie cursed under her breath as she stepped onto the platform.
Elon took her suitcase and extended his hand so she would not fall.
“Do we have a minute for coffee?” asked the tall dark-haired man.
It was Owen.
Scott’s friend.
They were either working together or simply acquaintances – Lessie could no longer remember.
She had known Owen for a long time, ever since he joined Scott’s circle.
Poor man’s wife. Her husband chased every skirt he saw, and she probably had no idea.
“Yes, guys, let’s drink coffee,” Scott said. “The flight is in three hours anyway. We have time to reach the airport.”
They followed him to the café inside the station building.
After drinking a cup of hot coffee and eating cinnamon buns, Scott ordered a taxi to Sahré Airport, and they all went outside.
Scott, Owen, and Courtney animatedly gestured while discussing their arrival plans.