About Rose Crumpled

Well, who would dare to blame old friends who haven’t seen each other for a long time, and who also stayed up past midnight? And who will raise their hand, that is, turn their tongue, to reproach them for not only talking about politics? Yes, we ourselves did not understand how we switched to this strange topic. How did it work out? Adults are all people and not very sentimental. Cynical, rather.

Although, everything is clear. The film was just on TV. And we watched him with half an eye. Melodrama "Sweet November".

If anyone doesn’t remember the plot, don’t worry. Let me remind you. There was such a thing - one American man met a strange girl, Sherlize Theron, and thought about her that she was b..., but she turned out to be not b..., but just very good, although she behaved, according to our Dagestan concepts, like natural b.... She turned out to be terminally ill (well, melodrama!) and wanted to make as many people happy as possible before she left. That is, men. Well, she made everyone happy as best she could, allotting a month to everyone. And Keanu Reeves was her November.

And we would quietly look at the screen, drink and sob, especially when identical jars of potent drugs fall on Reeves from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, and he and the audience immediately see the light together. And we climbed into the wilds and began to reason. It’s not clear! Judging by the film, this Charlize really was almost a saint. She turned a sniffy advertising agent into a person capable of feeling and enjoying life. And not just him, by the way. And they all loved her dearly for this, her men were grateful, and visited her even when the month of happiness allotted to them was ending. But in the film everything is so smooth. And put this into our reality! Moreover, let her not die, but on the contrary, she will be beautiful and healthy. Well?

And then we nodded to each other. Because we had a common childhood, a courtyard, and a common youth, and we knew everything about our city perfectly well. Better than we would like... And we remembered Rozka very well. And her nickname. Wow, how poetic it turns out it sounded - Crumpled Rose...

- Listen, who was the first to call her Mint?

- I don’t remember. Even in childhood. All the time she had some chewed clothes.

- Oh, well, yes. The mother is still there...

Mom - yes! Mom, there was, as they would say now, “tough!” The men are always kind of creepy, she herself is untidy and in a robe, which was always missing buttons and was splitting on the stomach. And the belly was tight, white, with a convex navel and very obscene. For example, I tried not to look at him when Aunt Asya came up to me and shouted (she always shouted): “Have you seen my Rozka? I sent for bread, and she, the slut, is messing around somewhere again!” The dirty, thin-legged “slut” was about 11 years old at the time. And we were all about the same age.

Eleven is a lot, this person is quite an adult. Our boys had already refused to eat waffles because of the “indecent” name, teased each other with incomprehensible jokes about hair on their palms, and two of them had a bloody fight behind the garages. It was a common thing to discuss how children are formed. We came to complete agreement. And then one told the other that the rest of the adults are, of course, but “let him not lie for his parents,” they never do THAT! The second one felt offended, so they fought. But then they made up, of course, and ran together to the Gogol bathhouse to spy on the naked women through the windows. And we girls had already started putting on bras and putting pieces of cotton wool in them so that our nipples wouldn’t stand out, we could only get on the bike by moving to the side, and for a few days every month we were exempt from physical education. Ordinary teenage hell, in a word.

- What do you know about hell? I’m a grown man now, but I still feel a little uneasy when I remember. These morning sheets have embarrassing stains and you run to wash them, because what if someone sees? It’s mom or sister... But they, dogs, don’t wash themselves off in any way, and then you just get them dirty and rub them on the floor. Or they call you in class, but you can’t get up because your trousers are last year’s, tight, and now everyone will find out WHAT’S going on with you? Do you know how worried I was about D'Artagnan? Well, when he finally persuaded his Constance and came to see her as his girlfriend, and then everything was turned upside down and she was kidnapped? I almost cried when I read it!

- Okay, what are you doing, don’t get excited. Don’t you remember when it all started with Rozka?

- About 14 years old, I think...

Yes, somewhere like that. She didn’t even come to us anymore, they kept chasing us away. We never loved her. And suddenly big guys began to hover around her. Quite an adult. Twenty-year-olds. And my mother once said about Rozka “all like her mother,” and then “went from hand to hand” and also “battery house.” The phrase seemed so strange to me. It seems they always said “be tolerant” and that was good, commendable, but now “tolerance” sounded shameful, even disgraceful. Like name calling.

There was a lot of talk about Rozka in the yard. The girls whispered, “She’s no longer...” The boys expressed themselves more clearly and simply - “yes,” they whistled after her and sent the younger boys to lift up the hem of her dress. She didn’t get angry, didn’t swear, didn’t chase the boys - she just clucked somehow, straightened her dress, smoothed it with her hands and then moved on. And in general she became loose and unpleasant, somehow damp, or something, like a big fish in her stupid dress... And her bangs were always wet and stuck to her forehead, and there were bright, small pimples on her forehead.

- That's how you saw it. Pimples, this, that. But I am different. She was walking across the yard and her gait was already feminine, somehow soft, and around her there seemed to be a cloud of dull pink, and I knew that Rusik, you remember, the healthy one from the neighboring yard, he was with her, and Seryoga too, and I was terribly angry with her that I couldn’t just approach her and... I wanted to kill her! Throw her to the ground, press her stomach with her knee and twist her arms and chest, so she knows! And then...

And he told. And I imagined it all so well, so clearly. How in the dark courtyard he lay in wait for her and began to advance, grabbing her by the shoulders, sniffling, saying nothing, and pushing her, not knowing what to do with himself, what to do with her, numb with anger and fear, and she kept backing away, backing away , and then suddenly she took him by the hand and led him - into the entrance, up the steps, to the very last fifth floor, to the roof. And there she kept stroking him on the back and saying, “Well, there you go.” In fact, she always spoke little. And he, my childhood friend, when they had already gotten up, saw that she was lying, it turned out, on some broken bricks. And she probably felt uncomfortable, her back hurt. Here, for greater beauty, it should be written that since then he has become Rozkin’s defender. But this did not happen, because everyone knew everything about her and, according to the boys’ yard concepts, they were not supposed to stand up for such a person. And he couldn’t do anything about it, and he didn’t really want to. He was smart, almost an excellent student, the girls behind him were crazy, and she? She was Nobody in this world. The most recent one. So they continued to send little boys, and they pulled up her dress again. And one day, when they suddenly decided to throw pebbles at her back for fun, he threw the biggest one. And he got it, of course. He was a good shot, my friend. And in the evening they went to this roof again. And again she didn’t say anything, she just smiled her relaxed wet smile.

- I’m married for the second time, and besides my wives... - Why are you grimacing, a common man’s thing. - But, believe me, I have never had such a GOOD thing again. All the others wanted something from me, expected something: patronage, pleasure, a child, family, status, money, experience, and only she, this Rozka, did not want anything from me. I didn't expect anything. I was in dire need then, and she felt sorry for me. I think she, with the same face, would bandage my hand just as quietly if I cut myself.

You know, we have built so many monuments around the city. Even a Russian teacher. But not everyone had their first Russian teacher; for example, I didn’t. For example, I had Asiyat...what’s her name...Oh, damn it, I forgot! Doesn't matter. So I would erect another monument. Quite simple, without any pedestal. Here is the Rozka Mint, which probably every city boy had. I would stupidly put it in some nook, in a park... So that some guy would look and immediately remember all the roofs, all the garages, sheds, basements, beaches, where this happened for the first time... You should write about it, A? Like, there is such a proposal among the male people.

And I thought, “No, it’s unlikely that a monument will work out! And in the media, what a universal high will rise! They will start yelling: “How is it possible!” Debauchery! Immoral! What are you calling for?" And somewhere they will be right, because who would want his beloved daughter, niece or granddaughter..., in short, everything is clear. Again, what should we call it, such a monument? And from an aesthetic point of view if you look, it’s not alright either. Rozka, after all, even in her best times, was far from Charlize Theron, no matter how desirable she seemed to my friend, and now, probably, it won’t work out at all. write - so why not? Why not write if there is such a proposal among the people?