Virtual Explorers: Russian Nonfiction Writing Program Student Anthology - Class of Fall 2020

Page 9

Sanet Denieva It happened at school (or was it at kindergarten?) when I had a friend who had never met me before. We used to hang out a lot together, laugh, and he used to call me his friend. His name was… well, what was his name? Did I really know him? Or did he know me? I certainly remember his appearance, his big ears I used to pull, slim lips and eyes of a badger, but when I said hello to him, surrounded by his friends who were two years older, he ignored me and looked as if he saw me for the first time. Was his name Slava? I think so… It was hard to understand then and it is still hard. I remember the time we played together, we had beds next to each other when we were in kindergarten, but I absolutely forgot when it happened (and did it ever happen?) That day, though, affected me like a bucket of cold water that literally burned my skin. I said hello, pulled his ear again, and he, looking with disgust or whatever this emotion was, said who was I. Who was I! I was mad, that was I! Don’t you remember me? Don’t you know me? I said my name, reminded him of this unnecessary detail like my name, but he still didn't remember anything. What a dumb boy. I left without saying anything. Want to mock me in front of your friends? Fine! Choke on, Slava, or whoever you are! The next day I realized it was not him. I never knew this boy, neither his name. Why did I remember his face? Looking at him in the halls, I thought “this is exactly the Slava I know” but he was not. I definitely remember I had such a friend with this name, we had beds next to each other and nurses scolded us, because instead of sleeping, we laughed and chatted, and this impostor Slava turned out to be a different boy. It's been about 10 (maybe more) years, but I still don't understand what it was. Who it was. The only thing I was sure of was this: how could this “Slava” play in the same band and then be two years older than me?

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