Diana Nevidal "The Door"

It took longer than it should toВ focus, but before the doors closed and the tram moved on, the Clio could see the name ofВ the tram station. She was still five stops away from home.

The cold had managed toВ stall the flow ofВ her thoughts, but now even aВ February frost probably would not drive her off the icy steel seat. The risks were high, but she was willing toВ pay the price for the chance toВ sit forty extra minutes and stare unseeingly at the passing lights.

Beyond the door ofВ the tram, cold but still bright and dry, more ofВ the В«joysВ» ofВ aВ brutal November awaited: aВ mixture ofВ mud, gravel and rotting leaves. AВ bonus was the treacherous knee-deep puddles inВ the most unexpected places on the seemingly long-explored road through the garages. The lack ofВ street lights along the way and aВ light drizzle ofВ an ice-cold rain only added toВ the anticipation ofВ this daily torture byВ the outskirts ofВ the city.

InВ the meantime, there was only coldness and an internal dialogue with an internal audience.

It’s cold. At least I have some time to wander through the wilderness of my thoughts. If a person has ever been in such a state after work, they know that at such moments the intracranial space is more like that game in which you need to reach the «Core of the Earth» article on Wikipedia in as few clicks on the links as possible from any random Wikipedia article.[4 - This game may have variations in the end result of the search; varies according to the region and the age of the players.] To get to the bottom of it, so to speak.

Only, unlike this game, tram thoughts have no goal, they just jump one over the other, like players in the Leap Frog game, and you never know where you find yourself in the end. Maybe yet again in the hot embrace of Mother Earth’s insides, but today I’d prefer something else. I have no energy to work out another theory about the possibility of the Lost World’s[5 - We are talking about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s novel of the same name and its film adaptations.] existence.

Wait a minute, I’m already thinking about it! Oh, man.

Clio frowned and hummed thoughtfully. She was distracted from further speculation about the structure of the Earth’s crust by a persistent and not particularly gentle poke on her shoulder. She had to collect the rest of her strength in a fist of the power of will and turn to the person behind her. This time the gaze came out being rather surprised.

– Ma’am, pass this to the conductor.

Well, this youngling who’s holding out his fist full of change is either brave, cruel or just plain stupid. Perhaps an unfortunate combination of all three, plus a dozen others misfortunes of a person. But those three are definitely present, because to call me a Madam, basically an old woman, when I’m not even in my thirties yet, must show his readiness to say goodbye to this Earth.

I’ll stop you before we all start click-clacking our tongues and rolling our eyes again, reasonably pointing out that some random teenager doesn’t have to guess the age of people he doesn’t even know. And that Clio probably doesn’t look too well right now, etc.

Take notice that these are the thoughts of a tired, hungry, frostbitten girl who is not yet ready to admit that the heavy-handed «Madam’ is about her.

Ah, the wicked irony, for now there was no more surprise inВ her eyes. At that moment she gave the lad the exact look those ladies ofВ indeterminate age give the rush-hour sitters. And with that look and calling someone В«younglingВ» came the beginning ofВ theВ end.

But not all was lost yet, because instead of angrily sending the boy off on a long journey to places where the light doesn’t shine, the novice Madam awoke to remnants of some schoolgirl shyness and confusion – she silently held out her hand and accepted a damp stack of coins into it.

Well, now there is a difficult choice – what to do next? The first option is to get up and walk to the conductor, idly rummaging on the phone on his tram throne, covered in cozy knitted napkins.

Her eyebrows darted up and back down, the lips got pressed together, presenting the look ofВ doubt.

After all, there are no people in the way, the aisle was clear. Why didn’t he just stand up and walk himself? It’s not that difficult!

Her eyes rolled back toВ where no one had ever come back from before. Lips got smacked into aВ tube inВ disapproval.

Oh, and if I go there myself, what a look I could give this idiot on the way back! He’d be embarrassed he hadn’t done it himself.

AВ malevolent smirk full ofВ anticipation appeared on her face, this time only her left eyebrow made the pilgrimage upwards.

But oooh, on the other hand, is this gesture, aimed at shaming the younger generation, worth the effort? There is always the option ofВ passing the curse on toВ the next sitter and let him deal with it. Maybe this is not aВ battle worth fighting atВ all?

Her eyebrows drew close toВ the bridge ofВ the nose and froze there inВ aВ disgruntled position, aВ heavy sigh expressing general pensiveness was made.

And then came the realization.

Thoughts took over her facial expression at a completely inappropriate moment yet again. First of all, the other person’s money had been in the possession of the unwitting bidder for too long already.

But the best part was that the man inВ the cap who was sitting inВ front ofВ her must have overheard the request ofВ the young gentleman. And as aВ good Samaritan, he has decided not toВ waste time and toВ immediately make aВ pre-emptive strike byВ turning around toВ face Clio.

However, as he turned toВ take the baton ofВ coins, he witnessed these strange facial gymnastics. The picture was more than impressive. The girl froze inВ aВ strange and even somewhat theatrical pose with aВ half-bent hand clenched inВ aВ fist. If the coins had been replaced byВ aВ skull, no one would have had any doubt that his name had previously been Yorick.

Clio herself was absent from her head at that moment. Her eyes were staring off into space, with no answers toВ so many questions that arose.

What is an innocent citizen left toВ do inВ such aВ situation? Nothing. So decided the man who had turned around toВ his misfortune. His dark eyes half-covered with the puffy eyebrows were scanning the face ofВ the unexpected tram mime expectantly, like the rays ofВ flying saucers trying toВ determine whether there is intelligent life forms on this planet.

Millions ofВ years have passed inВ that instant. Stars were being born and were dying. The moment when he could turn away and pretend it had never happened had passed without aВ trace. Too late. And until now, all that remained toВ be done was toВ wait with outstretched hand for it toВ be over, and toВ silently move his bewildered grey mustache that had certainly never seen anything like it before.

It was then that Clio came to a realization. The gaze of the newly awakened girl met the stranger’s scratchy eyes. A silent scene. The spark, the storm, the madness – now time had stopped altogether. But despite all the intimacy and drama of the moment, unfortunately (?), this was not a scene from a romantic film, here we can rather name it a psychological thriller.

Not even the apocalypse could interrupt this game of staring. And even though the girl’s pupils were magnetized to those of her tram-mate, she knew that everyone was looking at her right now. No, not just everyone in this carriage.

The man behind the wheel ofВ the car, which has just passed the tram, also got one ofВ the best seats. AВ boy ofВ about ten, watching the show from the back seat ofВ that car, was joyfully gulping down aВ handful ofВ popcorn.

And Clio also felt the indignant and incomprehensible stares of passengers from other tramcars as well. The stares of the passers-by who the ill-fated tram was passing by also followed. And let’s not say anything about the people in the houses overlooking the tram line! Everyone left what they were doing and stared reproachfully at one point.

And even, damn it, the people on the other side ofВ the planet have witnessed this indelible shame.

No one could ever tell what was going on inside the moustache man at that moment. Even the author wouldn’t dare to pry into the soul of this amazing creature, who still has not moved a single muscle of the stone sculpture of his face. And who has not made a sound, except for the rustling of the grey moustache from his tense breathing – the only indicator that what is happening is not the everyday scene for him.

But we know exactly what was happening toВ our heroine. Because ofВ the bright colour ofВ the dye it was impossible toВ tell whether she got aВ couple ofВ new grey hairs, but the back ofВ her head went numb and her scalp just began toВ throb and buzz inВ unpleasant waves.

The last time Clio had felt this way was probably inВ her school years, at the sound ofВ the key turning inВ the door after her parents returned from aВ teacher-parent meeting. Before that moment, she had skipped two weeks ofВ school. Like then, aВ shiver ran down her spine and gathered inВ aВ cold, tickling lump somewhere around her solar plexus.

This has to stop. Somehow. Any way. To get up and run out? To break a window? To open fire? To start dancing to divert people’s attention to something else? To shout and call for help?

– Ahem, ahem, ahem-ahem.

For some reason, coughing always seems to be the perfect way out of an awkward situation. To everyone’s relief, it was accompanied by a handover of cash from one person to another. The planet exhaled. Yes, there were obviously no winners apart from the apathetic conductor, but at least now the participants in the outrage no longer had to face each other.

The lazy flow ofВ incoherent thoughts stopped, all that was left was В«AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAhhhhhh!В» and the desire toВ undo the last few minutes. But now giving vent toВ her facial expressions would not only be an acknowledgement ofВ the situation that had occurred, an indication ofВ weakness, but, worst ofВ all, aВ continuation ofВ that exact situation.

And she didn’t want to continue it. So she just had to pretend that she was a moist piece of bread at the bottom of the quietest of oceans. That it was all meant to be like that, that she was suddenly very tired. And look, there is something incredibly interesting going on outside the window!..

Or I’ll just close my eyes and rest the corner of my forehead against the glass, the freezing effect of which is not bad at all, and it’s probably good for my skin, too. I have to give in to tram rhythms, their rhythmic tgdk-tgdk-tgdk soothes and lulls. We have moved on. We’ve been over all that for a long time already.

Maybe you didn’t know it, but trams are agents of chaos. Unfortunately, their peacefulness is deceptive. They don’t bounce around on potholes, it’s true, but they have their own tricks: they sway from side to side in a way that no other mode of transport can. That’s how they catch those who are careless enough not to expect anything bad from them.

One small manoeuvre was enough for the forehead and glass toВ part for aВ moment and promptly meet again. Need IВ say how many stares the loud exclamations ofВ distress have collected? This time quite real ones!

I don’t think so.

Should I highlight how much relief was in realization that it’s almost her stop now?

I probably shouldn’t.

The tram doors closed with the same long-standing creak. The tram began toВ move, but the light from its windows for aВ few seconds illuminated aВ short girl inВ aВ warm coat, with aВ large backpack on her shoulders and probably even larger and quite fascinating life story behind her as well. InВ the warm rectangles ofВ light one could see her pale skin, the unnatural colour ofВ her hair, and even the universe-wide sadness inВ her gaze.

But here, left in the dark, our heroine threw on her hood and began her final dash towards home. There were pizza leftovers, a new film stolen by pirates[6 - Dear pirates, please don’t steal this book!] and some time to herself ahead of her.