"Maniac" gave me back the taste of life

Recently I turned 38. A week before the event, reflections steadily prevail. For a year you live calmly and enjoy life, and before the date X you begin to doubt: do you live, or so, do you smoke the sky?

Probably, the first signs of age are the absence of a childish naïve anticipation of a holiday on Birthday and New Years. Are these dates now just milestones for taking stock?

Thinking about it, I absently look out the window. Autumn behind the glass. Trees in shades of yellow-orange. But the leaves are already falling. And memory helpfully prompts - I love the magnificent wilting of nature ... What a charm there is when the wilting! A sad time and nothing more. The mood deteriorates completely. And it’s a pity for myself - I don’t want to fade at all. And the classic is a pity, who died just at this age. But he managed to immortalize himself in something miraculous, and you ... You touch your cheek to the cool glass and think: why am I such a fool?

The phone rings through the viscosity of thoughts.

Friend Masha instantly feels the mood:

- Whining, suffering, feeling sorry for yourself?

Out of harm, I answer in a strained cheerful voice:

- Everything is cool, there is no time to think about all sorts of nonsense.

- Do not whistle, your intonation is bleak. According to statistics, people most often die on their birthday, because they are tormented by all kinds of nonsense about the frailty of life and age.

- Well, thanks, this is very life-affirming. You just raised me from the ashes!

- No, I'm serious. In order to regain the taste for life, you must experience a horror similar to the fear of death.

I send Masha to the stump and turn off the phone. Two years ago, in order to feel the taste for life and raise the female tone, she dragged our ladies' company to some bar in a dormitory area. Then we barely made legs from the harsh-looking regulars inflamed with passion. Well it, this tone. I have the right once a year (well, twice), to turn sour with a vanilla puddle like melted ice cream.

In the morning, on my birthday, I get up before everyone else. I don’t like obligatory phrases, congratulations. They are told to you once a year, you pronounce them several times a year. Therefore, I go out for a run ahead of this moment.

It's chilly, joyless outside, it's late autumn dawn. It's gloomy in the park. Just as gloomy at heart. Women's logic turns on: birthday, and you are running around here, like in some horror movie about maniacs, and no one cares! At the same time, I think: so, today the Petrovs will come, these are salads, my husband fries steaks, children - ice cream. Masha will also come, and more ... Ahead, in the morning haze, a man's silhouette is drawn in a hood that hides his face. Immediately I notice the beauty and charm of the long "shot", as in the film. Autumn March. Sinister man. Oak sorcerers. Victor Salva with his Jeepers Creepers.

I didn’t like the last association very much, therefore, just in case, I turn away from the “hood”. After a while I find him behind me. It scares. Increasing my speed, I run out to a busier place, where there are always a couple of morning runners. There is nobody. The unpleasant stranger disappeared.

The alley is empty, but it doesn't make it any easier.

Nicely the birthday begins. I fumble for the only weapon in my jacket pocket - the keys to the apartment. Thoughts, meanwhile, cheerfully perform Khachaturian's sword dance:

- I still lacked like Pushkin in 38, that ...

- And I have not even seen Paris!

- No, I will fight for my life!

- What is better to shout to get people's attention? Fire?

- The situation is dreadful, who can be attracted at the beginning of the seventh morning, in the park, by shouting about the fire ?!

- Faster to the exit, faster!

Here is the arch, behind which the territory of the park ends, and my house can be seen.

Suddenly, from behind the column, a "hood" emerges and joyfully exclaims: "Happy birthday!" He throws out from behind not a knife or Freddy Krueger's hand, but a "bunch" of colored balls.

And then the very moment comes when, on the one hand, you feel unbearable joy and relief, and on the other, an insane desire to kill. Feeling a nasty tremor in my knees, I angrily ask: "Young man, do you know that now you almost lost your left eye?" And I show a bunch of keys clutched in my hand like a dagger.

It turned out - in the know. In our country, people are ready for anything. Except congratulations. What Masha knew about when ordering this surprise. This was her next attempt to awaken life in me.

Only one thing calms me down: revenge awaits me - her birthday is still ahead ...