“Ogni giorno è sempre più difficile. Alzarsi dal letto, fingere che tutto vada bene, mentire alle persone che amo. Mi guardo allo specchio e vedo i segni sul viso. Temo non spariranno mai. Sicuramente resteranno per sempre nella mia anima, indelebili. Ogni mattina apro gli occhi e vorrei non averlo mai fatto. Ogni mattina vorrei soltanto sparire…”
“Odio Caleb per quello che mi ha fatto. Vorrei non averlo mai conosciuto, o almeno, vorrei non essermi presa una sbandata per lui. Se avessi ascoltato il mio cuore con attenzione avrei scelto mille volte Quinn. Già, Quinn. Quinn che da giorni mi evita. Quinn che non mi cerca da quella notte. Probabilmente gli faccio schifo e non posso neppure biasimarlo. Faccio schifo a me stessa in questo momento…”
La penna scorre veloce tra le righe bianche. Appunti di vita passata, ricordi importanti, gioie, dolori. Inchiostro sbiadito dalle lacrime che bagnano i fogli, penetrano la carta e restano lì impresse per sempre. Quando un diario dovrebbe essere soltanto una raccolta di giornate spensierate o di un cuore spezzato e invece diventa il custode di un segreto tanto amaro come la violenza subita.
“…ci sono giorni in cui vorrei morire…”
Un bussare leggero alla porta. La penna che smette di scorrere sulla carta, gli occhi alzati e arrossati. “Mamma non ho fame…” “Ariel…” “Quinn?” “Apri per favore…”
Guardarsi di nuovo come fosse la prima volta, ma sapersi riconoscere in quello sguardo come se nulla fosse cambiato.
“Quinn che hai combinato?” Il sangue che macchia i vestiti, il viso segnato dai colpi. “Volevo vendicarti…ma evidentemente le ho prese…”
L’odore del disinfettante e i grugniti di dolore. “Sta fermo!” “Sono un disastro come fidanzato. Non sono neppure capace di difenderti. Che ci fai con uno come me?”
Occhi dentro gli occhi, un pò annebbiati dalle lacrime, un pò chiusi dai pugni incassati. Il silenzio che parla, i cuori che sussurrano. “Ti amo…” E le parole diventano superflue.
— You’re just destroying
the boy! He’s
only six years old, and you make him draw all day long!
In the
corridor of Anna’s mother again quarreled with my father. I walked slowly away
from the door and sat down on the windowsill. They
often cursed because of me, but I did not understand why my aunt did not like,
that I constantly draw. I chatted
with my feet, looking at the children playing from below. And is it really
better to spend time like that?
The
father flew into the studio, sparkling black eyes. He
was angry, and I thought with sadness that today my back will hurt more than
usual. — Doing nothing? — he snarled. — Quickly for the easel!
I
felt the usual pain in my back, clenched my teeth and began to paint. — No,
it’s not like that, — he announced after a while. — Are you blind? Here
the proportions are wrong, but here the shadow should not lie so. Redraw!
He left
the workshop, and I sighed with relief. Errors
I made specifically, because who needs to be to see something before him and
draw it wrong? But
my father never looked at how I corrected mistakes, left the room, and I liked
being alone.
Loneliness is
good.
** 20 years ago.
— Go
away, Denis, we will not play with you!
I blinked in confusion. Children
in the orphanage did not particularly like me and preferred not to communicate
with me, but they never drove me away from me. What did they find today?
— You’re
strange and you have terrible eyes, and you’re crazy! Go away!
I
slowly stepped back, then turned and walked away. In the back I was flown several
stones. It
was not painful, but I remained at a loss — after all, I already left, why
throw? Turned
around the corner and walked along the fence. There, in the
backyard of the courtyard, a lot of lush bushes grew. I
have long fond of them, they were not visible to me and it was possible to sit
and paint quietly. I
pulled out a notepad with a pencil from my pocket and muttered: — You’re crazy yourself.
And
plunged into a world in which there are no stones flying into me.
Loneliness is
correct.
** 15 years ago.
—
Always sitting alone and silent, well, wrong!
—
Yes, fill his face and everything, he’s still a freak, will be invisible.
—
Well, you cannot do this, he was transferred to our class, and we did not even
try to talk to him!
I
heard a quiet argument from my classmates and carefully pretended that this did
not apply to me. Yes,
I have been three months in another class and have carefully avoided all my
classmates. Even
teachers do not ask me, because they know that I will not answer anyway with a
full class. At
first they were angry, then they got used to it.
To
fill a muzzle … Well, at first it was stones, and now that, in a course will
go bricks? I
dropped my head on the crossed arms and yawned. Sleep hunting …
I
felt someone next to me sit down and become tense. I just did not have enough. —
Denis, — for a sleeve have patted, — Denis, you hear me?
I
shrugged my shoulder, not raising my head, in the hope that the girl who came
up would take offense and leave. I do not want to
talk with my classmates, or with anyone at all. What could be easier
than leaving me alone? Why
does everyone need something from me? -You
do not communicate with anyone and we thought it was strange … we are one
class, and you are always alone, you sit and draw, it should not be like this! We
did not even hear your voice, but it’s been three months since we were
transferred to you.
What an annoying girl. She needs, what would that be? What would I communicate with everyone? What for? It’s
a waste of time.
She
continued to say something, but I was already tired of the sounds of her voice
and decided to ask her to stop.
I
straightened up and looked into her face, simultaneously noting the traits and
memorizing them. She gasped and
recoiled. What
do people see in my eyes that they are always so frightened? — Please
do not talk to me, — I said hoarsely. —
You can tell the others that they can beat me up, but do not touch their hands.
And this is my
only request.
She jumped up from her
chair and backed away. I chuckled and
again dropped my head on the desk.
Before
graduation, none of my classmates tried to communicate with me.
Loneliness is
beautiful.
** Seven years ago.
— Have you been invited to
teach? — Anya jumped on
the couch and clasped me by the shoulders. — This is excellent,
you did not refuse? — I asked
me to give time to think.— I frowned. —
I just graduated from university and do not want to go back there again.
We
were sitting on an old sofa in a small apartment. In
a couple of years, Anya will become the editor-in-chief of the magazine, and
suddenly the fame will come to me, but it will be later. And
now we are sitting in the living room, and Anya beats me on the head with a pillow,
persuading me to start teaching. Of course, she did it …
Sometimes
loneliness recedes.
**
I tried to open my eyes. What are these ghosts of the past? Old
foolish memories in which I’m almost always alone.
Before
my eyes danced bloody spots and I slowly closed my eyelids. My
whole body ached, and it felt as though I had not had a whole bone left in me.
What happened with me?
Howondaland 