Rus Articles Journal

And you were on

About schoolmates. ru I heard long ago, however never visited the website and did not try to find those with whom I once studied and was on friendly terms. Probably, because did not believe in effectiveness of this resource, or simply, for some reason I had no desire, or for what other reason - you never know.

However one fine day when all our management left for business trip and at me suddenly appeared a little free time, I intentionally, and can incidentally clicked on importunately hanging on a mail. ru reference. For the sake of interest.

Registration took place quickly and I, having pressed the long address which came up in my mailbox, nearly yawning with boredom, it appeared where there had to be my appointment to close - the far childhood.

In the searcher I gathered Bikrova, school No. 3 the name of a military camp and school where I spent, probably, the most carefree years.

Having rummaged around a little here and there, and without having found any familiar face and a surname, I, skeptically grinning about itself - I and thought! - gathered already was to retire on the initial position to be engaged in something more habitual when to me, suddenly, knocked .

You have a message from Alexey Trishin - playfully the inscription under my surname started blinking.

Leshka?! Trishin?! Is that so! - heart a joyful bird trembled in a breast and on veins the exciting adrenaline when I nervously zashchelkat on the message from that from whom I did not receive any messages already years twenty rushed off.

Leshka was not my best friend. He hung out with other children from our class and left the town before all, but, despite it, my memory unmistakably gave me its exact shape, a manner to say a little lisping, lines of the large roundish person.

But whether it is that Igor Tkachyov of whom I think? - mysteriously asked the smilie smiling from ear to ear.

I clicked on his name and before me a number of photos emerged. Leshka at a wooden table with a basket of mushrooms. Leshka under a palm tree. Leshka with a beer glass in a hand.

Undoubtedly, it is that Leshka Trishin who after school burst the American stewed meat from banks, sitting in front of the TV, and I, hungry, sat next, and did not sweep away it to ask to give me a little bit. This is that Leshka Grishin with whom we went by military " PAZ; in school. That Leshka Grishin who skatyvat at me Russian and I at it to the mathematician .

Leshka?! Where are you? You as? Where ours?! - as from the automatic machine, I zastrochit, plainly without having understood on what to click and what to do farther.

I in Moscow. I work in bank. Here on the website there is a lot of ours - there were words and letters from which I suddenly wanted to jump and kiss the gloomy fellow workers poring over the pieces of paper nearby.

For a minute Leshka was gone somewhere, and I as the hungry wolf, began to ransack on all pages, jumping from the photo on the photo, finding familiar and such family to me faces, surnames, places.

Here on a photo our four-storey building, the only thing high-rise the building among five - six two-storey buildings and hundreds of one-storeyed houses. God you mine what high it then to me seemed! Well, directly the skyscraper going to the sky!

And here our military unit where all boys went on horizontal bars to swim for a while in the warped soldier`s pool, or to try secretly a fried pollock from the soldier`s dining room - am - nyam - nyam, you will lick fingers! Huge as then the territory seemed, with a very tall gray fence with red stars, seemed the old, abandoned waste ground now.

Here, among Leshka`s friends, I found little girls from our class. To Ler Vyatchin and Oksank Petrushin, which I as the deer in love blew from the window " PAZ;: Parsley, how much bunch?! And she to me through a shcherbina in foreteeth shouted in reply: The Weaver, sell a piece of matter! .

There is Irishka Koroleva. Mummy, real matron! Not volume aunt to which without awe you will not be risen - so it got fat! Same royal look haughtily, same pride bearing. Irochka, as I am glad you again to see!

Slavik Bondarenko, now near Kiev. Petka Litovka, now near Moscow. Garik Mirzoyants, now in the States. Children, as I am glad to be with you again! What you are gold! As I love all of you, the family you is mine!

That day I in joyful excitement finished the working day. I did not even keep and declared to the colleagues that I found childhood friends in the Internet is already happy, more than ever. On what, already behind a door, I heard some mutter it seems Not figs in working hours - and something there still.

But I did not hear. Also did not listen. To me was all the same that was there, behind a door. I rushed on easy wings of children`s carefree pleasure! I smiled to the whole world, and the world, through a rain and slush smiled to me! And me it was joyful not because one more boring working day ended, and not because in the neighboring bar I was waited by the misted small bottle of favourite beer and rest in the evening in front of the TV on a sofa but because because because therefore everything comes to an end on at - as the children`s counting rhyme said. Just like that!

Next day, having quickly finished with usual morning duties, I again, a grief from impatience, ran on In total for a minute - not Bol.

Leshka Grishin sent the message in which he asked to post my photo - interestingly as I look now. I promised that I as soon as I find a suitable picture and enough time, will hang out it that hour on a public inspection.

Then, for about two hours I had to leave on work and to meet one quite unpleasant subject who had a mass of claims to our enterprise in my person that, however, did not spoil my thoughtless mood at all.

Having returned back, I again as a cyber - the maniac opened the electronic box and found the message from a certain Yulia Kutsenko. The surname told nothing to me, but I, out of curiosity, decided to glance that hour - what Yulia Kutsenko is.

Igorek, hi! I invite you to join a circle of my friends . And the signature - Yulia Kutsenko, and in brackets - Stepanova. Mother my woman! Yulka! Yulenka Stepanova! Girlfriend of my childhood, and my almost first love! Almost, because I was 10 - 13 years old, and it 8 - 11. What there love! Some sweet, unclear shchenyachya tenderness when Romeo pulls Juliette braids, beats out from it from hands a portfolio, pulls a dress!

I rushed to it . Opened its page. Rushed to photos. Increased. Here it with some heavy man in an embrace - it is probable, the husband. And here it with the child on hands. With a bouquet of red roses. Sunbathing ashore.

Of course, it grew ugly - years do not paint the woman. Grew plump a little, faded. Which - where was not to recognize her. And only everywhere, in all photos, despite its grown dull image, on the blurred lines, there was it and only it, a dazzling and not growing old smile everywhere. You will smile both in happiness, and in the mountain - recured words which I then often told it to the memory. And here, she, here, more than twenty years later, again smiles to me. As then!

As when we secretly from all kissed in lilac bushes at her house - more true, I tried to kiss it, not the name the slightest concept as it becomes, crawling hands at all not where it was required, and she just did not oppose, and then, wiping the hand back the lips, is somehow guilty smiled. And then our parents somehow learned about ours fall also arranged to us blamestorming session and I was sure that we made something awfully bad what we have to be severely punished for.

As when my mother went to business trip, and I seriously got sick and I had to live at the aunt Olya and the uncle Toli, Yulenkiny parents and to sleep in one bed with her and her younger brother Deniska to whom was years 6 - 7.

Despite high temperature, we three together arranged awful fuss under a blanket so Yulenkiny parents had to calm us continually. And adults, friends and girlfriends of the aunt Olya and the uncle Toli coming to them to the house in the evenings to drink to tea and to talk about that, about this, and seeing us three under one blanket, did not keep from rough jokes into our account, it seems Look, Olga, you should marry them after that or And whether not early to them to sleep together? . What I awfully took offense at, reddened as cancer, despite the very tall temperature - 37 and 5! - also it wanted to appear rather at home and that my mother arrived quicker and that these adults so did not joke.

And now, looking at all these photos of the adult married woman, I could not believe that this that Yulenka who braided the whitish hair in two thin braids wore short lacy dresses and hardly carried the huge bag.

I remember how ineptly I played with her brother, Deniska. Played so that that always cried and complained to mother and the father of me, waving on me the handle. Duyak! To me it is painful! - he did not utter the letter r . And then, sitting at a dining table behind a plate of red borsch, we laughed loudly to exhaustion over some nonsense, it seems When I eat, I fleas do not eat or Who will eat the first, that fool .

And now, in one of photos, Deniska himself held the same peanut what he remained for me. Also smiled through a bristle, smiled as a real man, already on the stranger.

The aunt Olya, Yulenkina mother, was the best mother`s friend. We often were at them. On Saturdays bathed in a bathtub. On Sundays sometimes went on Yanbash, on rest.

I remember, just in a month, before a bath, the aunt Olya tonsured me - it was not only the excellent seamstress, but also the good hairdresser. Then, her body still of the young woman accidentally touched me, to the twelve-year-old boy, inexplicably concerning and confusing me. Her warm soft stomach rested to me in right, against the left shoulder, and elastic, looking out of a dressing gown, a leg, hip inside, not purposely, touched my legs which are nervously bent in knees.

For certain at such intimate moments, and did not come to the aunt Olya to mind that already then in me the man woke up, forcing me with this strange feeling to be angry nervously, to be confused silly. How it could and I together with it, to assume that then, for many years when I already do military service, and I will establish an own family, it with the young body in a semi-open dressing gown and the elastic legs pressing my nervous knees will often come to me in dreams and dreams?

Already then I knew that she was not a beauty, but for me, those happy days, her fair wavy hair seemed the most dense and fine ringlets on light on which I secretly, - when the aunt Olya turned to me a back, - ventured to look.

Her dimly blue eyes with the faded eyelashes in which I to horror was afraid to glance not to see something scary unfamiliar for itself were presented to me by the most blue and beautiful eyes around the world. I threw short shots - views to it into a face when she usually looked at something by me.

And its figure - I do not even know, just brought me into strange catalepsy from which extraordinary there was a wish to mature and live, live, live!

I remember once, having come to them for something, I found the aunt Olya, with scissors and pins, squating on a floor before the patterns. Her knees from an inconvenient pose were inadvertently moved apart, having bared, let not up to the end, that big secret of a female nature about which suspected and of which above all each boy of my age at the same time was afraid.

Hi, Igoresha! - motherly she threw, without having noticed my horror and admiration at the same time. I continued to stand in the doorway for a long time, and then all rest of day thought of the miracle which happened to me.

And now, thumbing through an electronic album of my girlfriend of the childhood, Yulenka, I saw the little stooped woman, with black eyes which somehow scaredly and almost on - old-womanish looked at me from the computer screen.

How many it can be years now? Then about 33 - 34 was it. As to me now. And now? How to my mother, about 55 - 56 years? Not age! - some will object. But once to us, five - and to sixth-graders, sixteen-year-old graduates seemed old men!

Ah, my dear, native aunt Olya! What beautiful you seemed then to me. You were for me the embodiment of the real woman far and fine! And now And what now? And now anything.

Me it became sad. The pleasure somewhere oddly disappeared. The habitual tiresome melancholy returned on the former place.

Time! As I hate you! I hate for what you do with people! I hate you for your haste, for your pride relentlessness, for the fact that you are! For the fact that you always fly only at the first speed and only in one direction - forward! For the fact that you never stop you have no brakes and reverse motion!

Really and I sometime, soon, very soon will become such how these old men? I will become round-shouldered, bony, with extinct how a star of an old beacon, a look? Or, on the contrary, I will become grown fat, big-bellied, bald? Really I? I? I?

And some grown dull beauty, having seen me and having terrified my look, will remember my hot lips on her scarlet lips and my strong hands on her young body? And then, having asked the same question Really and I sometime, very soon, will become such how this old man soon? And having answered surely: No, this narration not about me - will go on life Dahl, still highly holding the pride head.

I closed Put on the thick cloth coat. Turned off the light at office and went to the favourite bar to toss a shot glass - another, for a raising of fighting spirit, so to speak.