I couldn’t help but smile back. Their good attitude and bright personalities were infectious.

And right now, I needed a reason to smile.

Brandon had embarrassed me beyond belief with accusations of flirting with the Kungur Ice Cave attendant. I’d simply smiled and asked in my best Russian where the bathroom was. And then to top it off, he trekked ahead of me and took the cab, leaving me to walk the five kilometers back to the hotel, alone.

This trip to Russia had been his way of making things up to me. The long hours at the office. The missed vacations. Forgotten birthdays and anniversaries.

He had been romantic the first night we’d arrived. Flowers. Candle lit dinner. Some expensive wine I couldn’t begin to pronounce.
We’d walked along the city, taking in the sites. He’d even taken me to the Regional Local Studies Museum. And he hated museums. We had walked the Gostiny Dvor, a row of shops that were so wonderfully old-fashioned.

I loved Russia. And I loved Brandon.

Until an hour ago that is.

Now. Not too fond of him.

One of the boys came up to me, and in very broken English, said, “Beautiful woman.”

I nearly cried, right there on the spot.

I kissed his cheek and continued on my way back to the Hotel Iren on Lenin St.
This would be my last night in Russia. Or at least with Brandon. I was going home.

[Reply]

By Sarah on 06.02.09 8:30 pm | Permalink

Just as I had each night before, I walked down the wide hall of the ancient building.
Every day for almost a month. Such a long one….

I’d thought I had wanted to help, but as my time there neared, relief slowly escaped my body.
Bit by bit. More so as the sun rose—preparing me for a new day.
Back at the university, I would ask my counselor for help with a new career path.

Trying desperately to look at the tiny medicine cups and avoid my periphery, I made my way along.
Not an easy task. The one squeaky wheel on my cart added to the chill in the air.
I couldn’t help but look up. The screams and moans at my sides pierced straight through to my bones. The mumbled jargon.
The window was ahead. It helped me remember I wasn’t stuck. In that place. With those people.

A few steps ahead, just under that same arched window, a perfect crescent moon reflected on the tile of the cruelly cold hospital.
Weren’t these men tortured enough? The least that could be done was to create a comfortable atmosphere,

I neared the end—my duty just starting.

Taking a deep breath, I held it in while I grabbed the first cup.
All lined up in order. Room numbers scribbled in Sharpie on the side.
Letting the breath out, I slowly turned.

I walked up to the man, grateful I would only have to see his face three more times. Just three more shifts.

Or so I thought. People like that sear into your memory, whether you want them to or not.

[Reply]

By Eden on 06.02.09 10:08 pm | Permalink