Thirteen years ago, when my fiancé Sergei was in the army, this story happened to me. When I think back on it, for some reason I feel ashamed. I can’t judge myself and I don’t want others to judge me. I’ll just tell it, that’s all.
So, Sergei served in the army, writing letters. We really loved each other. In the summer I went on vacation, and started actively helping my friend to do repairs. We are both not very good craftsmen, and I wanted to chat. In short, I started going to Victoria’s house like I was going to work every day. I go at the same time, and all the time I get on the same trolleybus with “board number” 333.
After four days of such trips with the driver, we already began to say hello, and after a couple of days we got to know each other. The driver’s name was Ivan. And now every day I specifically waited only for a trolleybus with trolleybuses. For twenty minutes we talked, joked, and shared our thoughts. It turned out that Vanya had worked in Chernobyl, had a recorded radiation dose. So, the vacation flew by, unnoticed by our travels and conversations.
After four days of such trips with the driver, we already began to say hello, and after a couple of days we got to know each other. The driver’s name was Ivan. And now every day I specifically waited only for a trolleybus with trolleybuses. For twenty minutes we talked, joked, and shared our thoughts. It turned out that Vanya had worked in Chernobyl, had a recorded radiation dose. So, the vacation flew by, unnoticed by our travels and conversations.
I didn’t fall in love with Ivan, and I didn’t even think of him as a friend. It was just nice to talk to a good man.
But at the end of his vacation, he proposed to me. He said that, as a Chernobyl victim, he had a separate apartment in which he did not live, because it was sad and lonely. He said he understood that he would not live long and wanted to have a family and children, but he could not make it. I was even scared – what am I really going to do with a sick man? My vacation was over. The trips were over, too.
Suddenly, a few months later, in the fall, Ivan showed up at my workplace. He was with flowers and was back to proposing marriage again. I refused, because I was waiting for Sergei to come back from the army, and everyone at work knew about it. Vanya suddenly started crying. That’s it, not manly. And he left, repeating that I was the only one who could save him from the inevitable consequences of radiation exposure.
Half a year later, my fiancé came back from the army, we got married, and we generally live quite normally. But I began to feel remorse: what if I really was the salvation of that trolleybus man, Vanya. I even went to the bus stop several times in time for his trolleybus, but the driver was different. One day I asked him about Ivan and, he said, he had long ago been transferred for health reasons to a kiosk, to sell fare tickets. Where exactly, he didn’t know.
That’s the confession. I understand that it is impossible to help everyone, but my conscience still reminds me of this story with unpleasant pricks.
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