9

That was a nice, splendid June. Sue and I spent every day together for four weeks. We kept walking around hand in hand like two little fools and people would say that we were “as thick as thieves”.

As the saying goes, a man is known by the company he keeps. It was truly said about Sue and me. The fact that we liked each other at first sight and got on like a house on fire was no accident. I could see a vague reflection of myself in her - the true myself, dormant still. The artistic temperament of my new friend, her recklessness and passion for adventure was a part of my own personality suppressed so far by my family and school environment. We had similar souls but different backgrounds: unlike me, she wasn’t pushed around by her family and her self confidence was appreciably higher.

That summer was unusually hot. Sue and I would spend all afternoon at the lake, swimming ourselves to death. When the weather was bad we would climb the stairs up to the attic in my house, have tea and share different stories. The attic was cluttered up with all sorts of rubbish: crates for cabbage, rolls of tar-paper, woodworking tools… There had used to be my grandad’s workshop up there; now, as Grandad was down after a stroke the attic was covered with dust and looked totally neglected and destructed. Sue and I had done our best to make it a home: from the empty crates and boards we’d fashioned a table, two stools and even a sofa which we’d covered with an old rug and some badly-worn foam cushions.

At times Sue was given her pocket money: forty or fifty rubles. Back those days it was a big sum - as big as a thousand rubles now. And then we rode our bicycles to the store and bought all sorts of treats: iсe-cream sandwiches, lollipops, potato chips, coke, chocolate bars - mars, bounty, twix… We grabbed all that stuff, brought it to my attic and made a feast up there. Sue had always been generous in sharing treats with me and I loved her for that.

But all good things must come to an end. Time passed, and one day our serene friendhip was put at stake.

One of my first novellas, no longer existant, was “A bone of contention”. I wrote it when I was thirteen years old; it was about Sue betraying me for the first time. Or, more specifically, not that she did ”betray” me - that’s too big a word for it. Our “bone of contention” was a guy we both had a crush on. Back the time I was writing that story in the aftermath I described her treachery and highlighted the contrast between our enjoyable, untroubled friendship before and what it had turned into after the unfortunate day we’d met at the lake a cute boy named Roma, and she had immediately ripped off her friendly mask and revealed her true colors.

Now, looking back as far as almost twenty years ago I am forced to admit that there was no stark contrast between the “good friend” and “evil monster” I had described in that novella. Since I’ve put pen to paper over again I’ve decided not to pursue intrigue or a twist, but just tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. That’s why this story is kind of boring. Any unvarnished story is. Nonetheless, I think it’s worth writing for this is a case in which this boring story has a right to exist.

Long before we had an argument over Roma boy my friendship with Sue had begun to deteriorate slowly but surely. Sue kept hurting me accidentally on purpose, leaving fractures in my soul. She could, for instance, start picking on me in the middle of a nice heart-to-heart conversation we liked to have sitting in the “confidential attic” as we called it.

“You know, I reckon even in the countryside one should dress smartly. Your red t-shirt and green skirt don’t match in any way,” she pointed out demonstralively eyeing my clothes whereas I was actually wearing a faded red t-shirt and unwashed green long skirt.

“Yeah, maybe…” I mumbled uncertainly as I glanced at my shabby outfit, “But I’ve got no other clothes in here”

Sue rolled her eyes.

“Come on, you’re making excuses. Look, you’re complaining that boys don’t like you. But you do nothing to make them to. They like well-groomed, well-dressed, good-looking girls…”

“So, according to you, I’m not well-groomed and not good-looking?” I said frowning.

“Well, if I’m honest… I mean, no offence, honey, ok?”

“Well?!” cried I losing patience, “Fire away now, will you? Do I look ugly?”

“Actually yes, you do. No, I mean, not that you look that very ugly, but, you know, you look just a little bit… frumpy.”

“What the hell?!” I exclaimed flaring up “Why do you think I’m a frump?”

“Not a frump, I didn’t say that. I’m just saying you’re a little bit frumpy, that’s all.”

Oh she definitely knew how to push my buttons; those remarks of hers were driving me up the wall! But I said nothing, idiot that I am, even as I was seething inside with anger and resentment.