On some days, Alina was about the soldier, heavy as the three -kilograms black boots that pressed her ankles with all the severity of a life she had chosen. They wore it with their eyes closed in an eternal triangle: University-Kaufland-the girls' room. In others, you saw it running on the halls of the Faculty of Letters; The thick fur she wore from October to May was thinned as she slipped among the students like a diaphanous smoke.
I was looking at her every time with a knot in the stomach-a strange love, mixed with fear, that made me want to understand her, she is, even though something of her way of being kept me away. I also knew what: dirty hair, shaking clothes, sharp-bullied gaze that came out of his crossed eyes, and ruthlessly targeting everything around.
We, her roommates, greet her by far, a happy, but short greeting, as much as she feels our goodwill, but others fail to catch her. In the days when he was a soldier, he glanced at us “go to hell”; In the others, he was smiling frowning, mumbling something under his nose. But their eyes sparkled, as if discussed between them: Have they seen me? They saw me!
We continued our cheerful road to the classrooms, and she, to the bunk bed in room 20, who was preparing her for her true night. The courses, the conspiors, the egg salad and the White Franzela that she kept all the time near the pillow were part of an identity she had not chosen. He had not chosen to be born in a border ham.
He had not chosen to grow bilingual. He felt as foreign in Romanian, as he felt in Ukrainian. He knew two languages spoken by fifty million people and with no one was to speak. She crammed her both in a dark corner in the world where the four-fifth-fourth-fourth black screen of a Nokia phone made her pass beyond.
Beyond It could be anyone, and the Spanish language was the ship with which the portal crossed. It was the language of the night messages, the profiles reinvented until exhausted, the flirting without risks we did not know. While we were discovering with shyness Small TalkThe Romanian coming -I believe now -on the American chain, so non -family, usual with the rigid, direct, no dawn, probably inherited on the Russian chain by the Bessarabian boys, while we were laughing by the boys from the dormitory opposite us, who woke up with us, With “te quiero” and “my love” in his ears, he said by men he had never seen.
In the first weeks I stayed several times at the door of the home administrator hoping that there was escape. Come on, you beat. I'm knocking on the door, but you're talking! Ok, I'm starting to talk but you will continue. I had a prepared topic line. We intentionally avoid telling the things that bothering us most about our roommate, because they wouldn't have believed us anyway. We would not have believed if we had divided the nine square meters with it.
If there had been a court of morality and equity, I would have asked for the administrator of the girls' home, Carmen Urzică, would become Carmen Paină. I did not meet someone else to bear a name so antagonistic to his personality. He was warm and reconciling like a bread. If he was justifying us, he was wrong to Alinuța. Come on, the girls, it's only for a university year, now it's October and how much you blink it is July. The administrator was right, this is the speed with which he runs between his fingers without a marriage rings.
We were easily resigned because I knew that this favor would not be easily overlooked. Like when the neighbors were complaining about us that we were awake and we hood until 4:00 in the morning, as we edit in room 20 our own student magazine. Or when I forgot, on the stove on the floor, the beet in the cast iron that I put my mother in the raffia bag at the departure and went to the evening of poetry at Music Pub. The beet has been charred, the smell of burnt charcoal removed all the girls in the hall of the 2nd floor of the fireplace, and Mrs. Carmen did not even give a reprimand to us. Well do, well find.
We, the colleagues of Alinuței, lived naive love, home, with salted puffs and yogurt, which was always at the discount at the entrance to the Little Square. She lived digital love, with South American soap opera stakes.
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Article written by Oxana Greadcenco
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