Their own and others

All her life she divides people into two groups, just two. One at first only my grandmother, mom and dad, safe, his. In another — all remaining.

This separation occurs when the three years Laura, son, the whole covered with kisses from head to pink round heels, for the first time breaks out of the nursery to the living room to the guests. Summer evening heat oozing from the balcony along with the cigarette smoke in the corner gurgles cassette recorder. The festive smells of cucumbers and melted mayonnaise, tablecloth in pink wine stains. Parents — rosy, affectionate, open arms to meet her, but she misses, straight to the table where sits the woman in the blue dress, bright as tropical birds.





©Bill Gekas

On the neck of the bird women — a long string of beads made up of sugar pearls, and little Laura climbs up the tanned knees, buries face in the azure cool silk. Imbued with delight, biting one of the white beads, because beauty is unbearable.

Pearl creaks in weak Larinich teeth, inedible and sour. Great guest gasps, shuddering, and pressed legs.

— Ha-a-al! she says. — Gal, get her, she's drooling! Damn, now she's all dress up I do.

And while sobbing Laura are back in the nursery, returning under the supervision of a dozing grandmother, she remembers firmly, forever: the disgust on the smooth Gostinom the face and embarrassed, blame my mother's mumbling. Yellow diamond pattern on the Wallpaper in the hallway. And that love is not unconditional. We do not deserve it by default.

"Aliens", as grandma calls those who do not like Laura. Foreign is not necessary to touch, dangerous to embrace them; with other people not even to start talking on the street, hurt can, grandma says, and frowns, anxious kisses Laura in the darkness. The border is laid and the world was split in two, but the division is unfair (I'm sure Laura), because the pieces are unequal; and therefore she does her best. By any means equalizes the balance. Laura's goal is simple: to lure as much foreign on his good side.

Four and a half she brings from home in the garden of his treasure — the German toy zoo, two dozen tiny rubber zebras, camels and lions, and gray heavy elephant.

Lays in the playroom on the floor and sits down next, and waiting for love. In the next quarter of an hour, distributes them, one by one, happy, with glowing cheeks: all zebras, and giraffe. A camel and a gorilla with a cub.

Change inanimate friends real fast, and without regrets. Shocked by the simplicity of this exchange.

In the evening, on the way home, it lists my grandmother my victory. He and Nadya, and Katya Sorokina, and the girl with red hair, who fights, and Anton Ivanov — all! Everyone in the group now love her and how can she not say before that this is possible? Razzari-and-silt fool, it is unclear sighs grandma, stroking Laura's thick hat. And joy, until this moment the absolute, suddenly begins to deflate and fade, lose color. Night Laura lies in her crib face down, covered his head, already uncertain, remorseful. Silently sobs in the pillow. Most of all, to tears she was sorry for gray elephant. She can't remember who gave it.

Lorina fight funny, doomed from the start, because the proportion invincible.

Seven billion indifferent outsiders against the pitiful handful of their own. But when you're six, surrender even impossible.





©Bill Gekas

This option just does not come to her mind, and Laura doesn't give up, pushes the boundaries, on the go changes the rules. Handing out unsecured loans. Ready in advance to call a friend anyone who ever smiled at her. For example, red Dima Galeeva.

Six-year-old Laura is kicking off the earth and soars into the air, Dima moves backwards on the Board of the swing and looks up, his head thrown back. He asks: when we grow up will you marry me? Dima pale bulging eyes and eternally stuffy nose; besides, Dima is stupid. But he smiles at her, and therefore, and therefore, losing his excited request, Laura turns away, when he unzips his pants and pulls them to thin skinned knees. She agrees to watch. Friends are too valuable, they can not be hurt by refusal.

Laura's little round black eyes and curly hair, and a ridiculous dimple on his chin. Among brown, pink Slavic children Laura — lovely dark nut, visible only; besides, it is compliant and good. It would seem, her hands full of trump cards. But the universe maliciously and always punishing us for greedy desires, and Laura's trying too hard. Too wants to be loved. And therefore don't love her.

She doesn't forgive anything. Her rash readiness to smile mistaken for obsequiousness, and the fact that she never complains, never asks for the protection of adults and over and over again returned, unable to accept the dislike for weakness. But it still persists. Gritting his teeth and stormed his mountain.

In the seven years Laura weighs twenty pounds. Every morning she puts on a huge school satchel and carrying out of the house neatly wrapped home love: clean notebooks in a transparent cover, a pencil case with sharpened pencils, an Apple and a sandwich, which mom cut the crusts. When Laura, a short Gladiator with raised chin and silk ribbons in her hair, held in a huge, wide open school doors, this soft love covers her back like a shield.

This shield (which is not visible to anyone, which no one knows) and helps her cope with a giggle and footboards, with crinkled paper behind the collar — one week, and behind it another and another; until, until it finds its backpack gutted in the toilet. Crouching, Laura fumbles with his palms on the wet floor, trampled collects pencils and crumpled books, and a sodden packet with Breakfast. Desecrated things wounded and lost its power.

If she doesn't hide them in his bosom, and will not take away, they will shrivel and die as fallen out of the nest Chicks. Laura crawls on her knees on the wet tiles, afraid to miss someone and not save all, and finds a notebook cover, torn in two right across my mother's carefully letters "LARISSA TAGIROV, 1st CLASS". For one unbearable second, it seems that the letters and the mother. This mother lying on the dirty floor near the toilet with a soft smile up, blond hair in the water. And then, just at this moment Laura is frightened in earnest. For the first time identifies the scale, the proportion of dislike, which will have to deal with. Begins to doubt that she was strong enough.

Frightened, we easier to just become a victim because of fear of tempting others.





©Bill Gekas

The very existence of the victim (which is cowardly, prepared to incur damage) — the temptation of others to become predators. Kindly, ordinary seven-year old children are too weak to resist.

Without realizing it, Laura and her newsrescue tormentors — only passive hostages eyeless evolutionary mechanism. Intraspecific struggle is simple, like a shovel; it knows no doubt, no pity. It's a pattern. Formula. And twenty-nine little classmates Laura attacked against their will. Instinctively. Some collection of random (maybe the meeting with a blue female bird and its inedible beads, or grandma's distrust of "foreign", or simply dark skin and rare in these parts, hair color) — in short, something made Laura different, separate, and therefore more vulnerable than her peers. And at seven years old killing her as surely as a broken leg would've killed antelope.

Very quickly, in a matter of weeks of school Laura's life falls apart in strict accordance with the old principle: "I" and "they." Day after day she returns home from school with his little backpack, lost magic power. They are a little behind the group. Sometimes Laura hears your name, or a snowball thrown clumsily and Nemeth broken down into the wet pavement under her feet, but she keeps the back straight and not wrapped, exactly puts legs. The victim is obliged to be more sensitive than the hunter, it's a matter of survival, so Laura knows that delicate balance is not yet broken. With

strange force that's causing her pursuers to trudge after him, still not decorated, incomprehensible to them. But it's worth it at least once to break into a run, she tells them the reason, explain the situation. And then they will rush. Will drive her to the door, like a stray dog.
She weighs twenty pounds, never in my life fought. She can't escape.

Ten Laura doesn't want them to love; she was tired. It's time to admit: this time something really went wrong.

But the world is big and brutal is not limited to third graders. And therefore, just wait. To review tasks to reconfigure the sights, to take into account past mistakes. To come up with something better.

And now, with her chin on her hands, she sits at the first Desk and smiling a new teacher — well, until pain in lips. Strangers are unbiased (I'm sure Laura), they are witnesses of our past defeats, and thus poisoned them. In every new acquaintance we are again sinless as newborns. There is always a chance that the new incarnation will be more successful predecessors.

Young Olga Genrikhovna beautiful as the artist Vetlickaya. She has straight blond hair, and eyebrows plucked thin helpless arc. She reads the names of class magazine and every once in a while raised her eyes, smiling absently. Remember at one time three dozen children's faces cannot be the same as to love at the same time thirty ten year old children. But Laura is optimistic; feeling lucky.
— Nikolaev!
Here!
— Miroshnichenko!
— I!
— Landowner-would-Shev-ski — hard to read Olga Genrikhovna; and eternally confused by its long name Victor Pshibyshevsky habitually jumps already on the syllable "to" and shouts:
— ...would-Shev-ski! — apologetically, as if snatched from her hands a heavy bag.
— Dimes!
— Tabachuk!

Here Laura sits very straight, puts her hands on the Desk. And pull neck. I, she thinks. Ya Now I do. Here I am.

— Regards, — says Olga Genrikhovna and scrunches up her delicate nose. Oh. TA-Ki-ro-VA... It's not a Russian name, right?

And Laura, who was already up, already snapped to attention and rolled his eyes to the ceiling; Laura with huge useless a smile is a thousand watts. Laura, one hundred and thirty centimeters unnecessary empty hopes, lowers the shoulders and thinks, so what. So what.

Non-Russian, with cautious delight rustling behind her shallow sea, receiving a new argument. A new reason.

nerrrrrrrr. nervoussss. artrussia.

And Laura thinks — okay. Well, okay. Not this time.published

 

An excerpt from an unfinished novel by Jana Wagner, author of the novels "Bongosero" and "real people"

 

Also interesting: the 10 rules of children's reading Daniel Panaka

Robert Tuikin: Stop scaring the children!

 



Source: www.nashideti.site/?p=7122