I met her on one of those mad Friday evenings in club, we had some mutual friends and we finished that evening in her place. The whole company, six or seven people. Who can remember now. We drunk as much as we could and fell asleep wherever it was possible in her tiny flat. We really didn't cared about those things back then. Next evening I came to her alone and brought a couple of bottles of wine with me. I was already quiet drunk. She wasn't expecting me, but she didn't mind either. She let me in.
“Yesterday,” she said, “you were wasted. But so was I.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah.”
“Anyway I'm glad that you came. I really didn't know what to do this evening.” She moved across the room inviting me inside, and in her movements was something of a tired cat, if you can guess what I mean. Or maybe it's better to say that she moved like a fit, sporty girl who had a hung over. And I just said:
“Yeah.” And maybe one more time: “Yeah.”
“Yeah.” She mocked me? Or didn't she? “Want coffee or something?” She asked.
"Thanks, I'll stick with the wine."
We sat on the sofa to drink that cheap wine that I brought with me and talked. She was quiet serious girl. She had a job and her own flat and was about to study also, and all this at her age of 18. I was 19 back then, still lived with my parents and didn't even had a serious thought about leaving them. I didn't wanted to study either. I was just a punk and quiet happy with it. She had voluptuous breasts and quiet big roman nose and blue eyes, she had sex appeal and old black and white TV in the corner of the room, she had cockroaches in her kitchen (like everybody did in my country back then) and she had high expectations about the future. Not like me. I mean, in a way I had some expectations also, but they were very vague. At some point of our conversation just when the first bottle was finished I tried to persuade her to give up the job and forget about future. She hit back furiously. She was so serious about these issues.
That really pissed me off. Well, yeah of course I was talking nonsense, but that's what I always did, and if she couldn't accept it, at least as a joke, as it actually was intended, I really didn't have much else to say. She didn't wanted to talk about philosophy or art either. Or if she talked, she was talking crap. I'd better go home, I thought, but there was still plenty of wine to drink. Maybe we was just too different
“I was the champion in debates at school,” she told me proudly.
“Ah, yeah?” I frowned.
“It's quiet useful.”
“I can easily beat you in discussion.”
“I really doubt it.”
That was when the second bottle of wine was half empty. We both fell silent. It was quiet hostile silence for a brief moment. I was about to start one of my usual nonsense topics again just to make her angry, but I didn't. She seemed to have lost any interest in me at all. She took off the pullover she was wearing before and put on another one, crappier. It seemed like a gesture to let me know that it's time to go home. However we still had half a bottle and I told to myself, that I won't go before it is finished. She was really annoying me and she did it on the purpose but that's what I was doing to her also. We smoked cigarettes. She turned on her black and white TV and switched off the lights. The picture on the ancient screen was so crappy, that it was hard to recognize anything even in darkness, though it was still possible to get some information.
Not that we really cared. Because of the lights turned off or something but the mood has changed. The thing that we felt, and somehow I knew that we both felt it, was something like warm tiny invisible worms of anticipation of love and pleasure crawling around the room, gathering between us, pulling us together, eating our bodies, parasitizing on our fierce teenage sexual drive making us sick and happy at the same time.
It still took us about 40 minutes of almost complete silence, four cigarettes each, the last half bottle of wine and the whole crappy movie to end on the TV till I finally approached her and we made joyful and drunk love.
Next morning came with the usual headache and dry mouth. I stepped out of the bed and staggered to kitchen. I drunk some water straight from the tap. It tasted wonderful. I lit a cigarette and watched a small flock of cockroaches grazing on the kitchen table, I watched kids throwing snowballs in the yard. So that's the life, I thought. It's ironical, isn't it. To fall in love with a girl so full of shit bourgeois values.
FUTURE IS DOOMED. I wrote with a marker pen on the glass of her kitchen window and then I went back to bed.
Later that day I cleaned my masterpiece. Because she started to cry, she called me stupid punk, egoist, not caring about her and all that sort of crappy things. And then we went to the shop together to buy some food and wine.