We are at a club. Me, the rest of the class, and some other people I don’t know. Apparently, they know Staniec, because they are here today, and it’s a private event. We’re celebrating Staniec’s 18th birthday. The club is rented out just for us.
Staniec’s first name is Paweł, but nobody calls him that. We only use his last name. Perhaps Paweł himself is proud of it. After all, it’s his father’s name, and his father is a doctor. That’s probably why he chose the biology-chemistry profile. I don’t know if he’ll reach his goal. I only hope I never end up on the operating table when young Staniec happens to be on call.
I don’t know if anyone actually likes him. But everyone showed up—who refuses free vodka in high school? On top of that, Staniec is one of the first to turn eighteen, and he is clearly proud of it. I’m almost certain very few people will be able to afford such a lavish party. Well, his dad is probably a head physician.
Staniec has a wealthy father, but he lacks personality. Not many people in our class have one, so he doesn’t stand out much. He tries to be nice, but I think he’s rarely genuine. I have nothing against him, but I won’t pretend I like him particularly much. I don’t know if I actually like anyone here besides Artur and Aneta.
Nobody acts like they really like me either, though that is normal actually. What surprises me more is that no one seems happy to be in this specific place. This class. To be doing what we’re doing. I ended up here for a specific reason: to become an ornithologist. Their true reasons were unknown to me, though some are easy to guess. More than half the class has parents in the medical field. I don’t know about the parents, but I wouldn’t be especially happy looking at their level of biology knowledge. But I don’t judge. After all, I’m the one barely passing with Ds. In fact, this place, more than any other, discourages me from my ornithological love.
Now, however, I am at a party, and led by yet another shot of straight vodka, I am no longer inclined toward philosophical rants. The party is stiff as a board. It turns out “lavish” can also be “lame.” I watch Derek (last name Derkowski) parading around the venue with a glass of whiskey and coke. What a moron. He’ll age quickly; he might even be one of the first to have an obituary posted on the neighborhood pole.
They brought out sandwiches. I take one, but regret it a moment later. The cucumbers didn’t even see the sun during their lifetime. And I can taste the margarine. Cutting costs? But I’ll try not to look a gift horse in the mouth anymore. I decide I’ll have about two more shots and then head out.
In the crowd, I notice that Gabi isn’t having much fun either. Like everyone else, I suppose. She’s spinning around the dance floor, accompanied by her inseparable soulmate, Mariola.
Gabi is sweet, though a bit lost. She doesn’t quite grasp what’s happening around her. But she is charming. I didn’t think that could be considered a plus. I started to really like her after a rather strange situation when the PE teacher, who should have retired long ago, mocked her disorientation, topping it off with a joke about her chubby cheeks. Oh, you old prick, leave her cheeks alone. Unfortunately, I can’t afford to get kicked out of school, so I kept the comment to myself. Yes, Gabi is fit and has charming, chubby cheeks.
Mariola, well, I don’t know what stars were shining at her birth, but you can tell life is an uphill battle for her. While Gabi is lost, Mariola is surrounded by darkness. A deep, impenetrable darkness. This darkness even radiates from her pale eyes. They say looks aren’t everything, I know. But she has neither: looks nor brains. Unfortunately. The world is not fair.
Still, Mariola is great at being a ghost-human, blindly following another unit. And that’s exactly what she does with Gabi. Gabi has a natural follower.
The girls approach the table. I start getting ready to leave. Gabi grabs my sleeve and insists we walk back together. Okay, I say. I don’t even know if we’re heading in the same direction. Someone picks Mariola up in a car from the entrance.
We walk with Gabi. We talk about something, joke about something. I try to hide that this is a rather strange situation for me. First, because I’m walking back with someone at all. Second—I have no idea how to talk to girls. But we walk, Gabi is as drunk as I am, but I’m holding it together better. She leans into me, holding my sleeve. It turns out that almost the entire way, we’re heading in the same direction.
I look at her eyes. Brown eyes. Her eyelashes are almost always clumped with cheap mascara; today, the mascara is smeared on top of that. It looks as if she painted her eyes this way almost intentionally. I wonder why she even does it. She has such pretty eyes.
Being on the edge of the center, we turn a corner to enter a smaller street. And there, unexpectedly, is a group of guys. They are definitely older than us. And unfortunately, there are many of them.
They certainly aren’t sober either; seeing us, they immediately move in our direction. Shit.
In my head, I prepare a long list of strong expressions I usually use to reprimand the boys acting up in class when they get under my skin too much. I feel how ridiculous they sound in this situation. I can’t help it, though; I feel my courage escalating in the face of fear. Finally, I’ll be able to prove myself. But prove what? Common sense, where have you gone? The guys begin to surround us. We are definitely doomed.
At that same moment, the silence of the night traffic is broken by a passing car. One, then another right after. Gabi, with a full smile on her face, starts waving her hand, shouting, “Oh, look, Dad!” The men, speechless with surprise, vanished before we knew it. They just melted away. I stand in the middle of the sidewalk, not knowing what’s happening. Gabi takes my arm, and we continue our walk as if nothing happened.
“Wait,” I say. “What about that car?” The car, of course, didn’t even stop for us. I start to figure out the truth.
“Oh, come on, that wasn’t my dad. Now let’s go.” And saying this, she leans into me again, but now it doesn’t bother me so much. We were saved by the common sense of a girl who can never manage her homework on her own.
Tired Smoky at the Night Club, 30×30 cm, oil on canvas, 2026
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