Саша Кая – Stupid genius (страница 2)

Bill Fly fell silent, eyes closed. I waited eagerly. The continuation after such a long theatrical pause promised to be astonishing. It seemed the greatest secret of Hollywood would now be revealed to me! Cards were in hand, and I would later claim the jackpot myself!

A minute and a half passed. Bill Fly snored. Once again examining his luxurious living room, I decided to stop taking advantage of his hospitality. His guards frisked me from head to toe, as if I could steal something while the host slept with his mouth open. My joking suggestion to leave a metal detector at the exit did nothing to change their serious expressions. Outside, the heavy rain continued; I saw the Oscar, carelessly shoved into a palm pot, being drenched. The water cleaned the polished surface, making it shine even more.

“Mom! Dad! Today I held an Oscar in my hands! Think I’m joking? Think it’s a cheap souvenir? No! The real one! Personalized! The name isn’t mine yet… Bill Fly remember him? Of course, you do; if not, check my room. If you haven’t taken down my posters yet, you’ll see him on one! Bill personally handed me his award; I consider that a good sign. That’s it. I’m eating well. The weather is great. Waiting for your reply,” I finished writing an email, which would soon fly across the ocean, and reflected on everything that had happened to me today.

I remembered the Oscar, soaking in Mr. Fly’s garden. If I’d taken it, no one would have noticed its absence. I could have kept it dry. I would have dusted it daily… But I couldn’t steal it! Couldn’t! Even if he had given it to me himself… I didn’t deserve it.

On the photograph

“Mom, is this your sister? It says “Anya Makasenko” on the back.“

“ What, sweetie?.. Oh, yes. Anyuta. That’s her. Have you eaten enough? Do you want me to wash some more fruit for you? “

Mom was washing the dishes while listening to the radio, and only then did she glance at the old photograph from the early 2000s.

Aunt Anya was four years younger than her. I had never seen that kind of energy in anyone else before. In this photo, she is twenty-one, smiling openly like a Hollywood star, a girl from a magazine cover. She has dimples on her rosy cheeks, light chestnut curls of a short haircut softly framing her temples… Anya is a true firecracker, the kind you rarely meet in our gray city. Maybe some Latin American beauty laughs like that it’s normal for them. But not here. Here, you need incredible inner strength, self-belief, and love for life to shine like that. In the photo, she’s clearly with friends, arms around them, but they didn’t make it into the frame. It was probably taken on a hot summer day: her face glistens, making the image even more alive. She’s wearing a dirty-green tank top, and around her neck is a heart-shaped pendant.

And to think, the photo was taken before the era of social media! Such self-confidence, such ease in front of the camera. It’s as if she knew that twenty years later, her niece barely acquainted with her would look at the photo and think, “Wow! A popular blogger could post this.” Aunt Anya doesn’t resemble modern photo models, but she radiates some genuine, timeless energy.

And why does Mom dislike her so much? I would say, “A beauty!” and she’d reply, “Hmm. When she’s not smiling, her face is like a brick.” I’d say, “Clearly a self-sufficient, vibrant personality!” and she’d say, “Dependent, reckless. Crowds like her roam the streets at night.” I’d say, “Stylish haircut! They don’t do that now, but it’s chic!” and Mom would say, “Her hair just doesn’t grow well because of her unhealthy lifestyle, so she keeps it short.” I’d say, “And her smile? Charming!” and she’d say, “Her teeth are terrible. The gaps shine right through.”

In short, Mom is envious. And rightly so. Mom is always serious, strict. Always deep in thought, tense. Her features are correct, her figure slim, but there’s nothing to catch the eye. Quickly forgettable. I secretly hope I inherited more of the genes from my aunt’s side… I look at my aunt and think she would hardly say such nasty things about her sister. I’m even sure she only thinks good things about Mom.

I felt sorry for this cheerful girl in the photograph. I found a couple of other photos of her, where she wasn’t alone and wasn’t looking at the camera. “There was something touching, almost vulnerable about her smile especially when she looked slightly to the side and pressed her plump lips together, forming a sort of upside-down smile. I think if she looked at boys like that, she must have broken many hearts.

I never really thought much about my aunt’s existence until one day, when I was eight, Mom and I were walking home from solfeggio lessons, and some lady came flying out from behind a newspaper kiosk. It turned out she was a former school teacher of both Mom and Aunt Anya. She immediately remembered their last name and began asking about my aunt where she was now, how she was doing. Not a word about Mom.

“Such a lively, interesting girl! And that smile mischievous! Anyuta both sang and danced. I adore energetic people oh, a firecracker! Where is she now? “

“Well, I don’t even know where she is now. Traveling the world. It’s winter break everywhere now. She’s rarely home. She left her daughter with grandparents right after birth, and then she…“

Mom hadn’t finished when the teacher interrupted, continuing to recall my aunt:

“Oh, I’m so happy for her! Traveling! Ah, well done. She’s even gets a PHd? My former student worked at the university where she studied.“

“Yes, in Poland, “ Mom replied dryly, adding, “ Well, we need to go, it’s cold, Olga Nikolaevna. “

“I knew she’d turn out well. In which field? What’s the doctorate about? “ the teacher continued as if she hadn’t noticed we were freezing.

“Economy. “

“Well, well… Anya, good girl… And you never finished your higher education, right? “

Mom muttered something under her breath and, squeezing my hand in a mitten, silently led me across the street. Then she spoke as if to herself:

“Yeah, “good girl”… She realized the most important thing in life is titles. Diploma through Dad’s connections, qualification through Uncle’s connections. Now she’s found an easy way to live abroad: meets her academic advisor once every six months, eternal student. Lives off men, in small rooms. Will comfortably coast for another five years.“

All evening after the teacher’s visit, Mom grumbled about life’s unfairness. She had done so much for school: ran clubs, represented the class at a regional history olympiad and even won for the first time in the school’s history. Why? Not clear. And despite all efforts, mostly B’s came out. Teachers said the girl tried but lacked ability. Not like her sister wich had a natural memory, careless charm, just there was simply no motivation to study… but they could forgive her everything.

Mom got into university on her own, without connections, but not the one her parents wanted – archaeology. A year later, she quit under pressure, thinking she wouldn’t find work anyway. She ended up somewhere just to prove she could, and never escaped that comfort zone. Plus money was needed, and then she met Dad and I was born.

And Anya? Anya skipped classes, then sang and danced at mass events when performers were urgently needed among students. Later, she got into the university her parents wanted. In my opinion Aunt Anya knew how to live life: without stress and with foresight.

And they say everything depends on how parents treat their children… but the sisters grew up in the same household, isn't that right?

Then Aunt Anya came to her daughter’s birthday and that’s when we learned about her. I remember that meeting vaguely; I was around nine. For about ten minutes, I studied this unfamiliar, lively woman in a gray sweater and bright lipstick, comfortably seated on sofa in our apartment decorated by my parents for the occasion. She smiled at everyone, chatted with everyone as if she’d known them forever. Completely relaxed, confident. She spoke to her daughter as if seeing her every day, although it was their first meeting in two years. And her daughter, an unsociable child, shied away from her mother. Back then, I thought life must always be fun with such a mom. And then Aunt Anya disappeared from our life again.

After that, Mom often recalled her usually in moments of irritation, beginning with: “That’s always been my life, since childhood…” Sometimes she had to sit with the younger sister all weekend, sometimes gifts went to Anyechka, and she got nothing: “You’re already big.” At school, Mom had to study, sit at home in the evenings, while Anya got away with everything: stayed out until midnight, and parents just asked if she had fun.

Compliments poured over Anya from all sides. Mom, though attractive, had a stern look probably people were just afraid to say anything nice. As she says, this broke her self-esteem. She was quiet, and next to her mischievous sister, who loved to laugh, she became absolutely invisible. “Why are you meddling? Why do you dress like that? You shouldn’t smile broadly ugly.” Mom often recalled this to her parents when talking about her youth. And friends and relatives always compared her and her aunt at every gathering. Clearly not in Mom’s favor.