Morning coffee. Storybook. Элина М.

here and what exactly he wanted to get from this person. – Are you a psychologist?

      – In a sense… but not quite. People who come to me are completely desperate. Those for whom it's too late to see a psychologist; people who want to change something, something that is incredibly difficult to change, but too necessary. These people don't believe in miracles, but my work can only be called a miracle. Tell me, what do you want? And I will make it so that your life changes forever.

      – I don't really understand you…

      – Think about it, don't rush.

      Sasha leaned back in his chair and thoughts immediately rushed through his tired head, a slight grin appeared on his face.

      "… I want to live in Manhattan in a rich American family, be completely independent and not remember anything about my real past, about breaking up with Liza. Liza… you are breaking my heart…"

      He sighed weakly and closed his eyes, thinking about her again. And then he said:

      – Just to have another life, more carefree, maybe. But it will never be like that anyway. And it was probably in vain that I came here…

      Sasha wanted to get up, but the words of the «doctor» stopped him.

      – Throwing away wishes is dangerous, so don't joke about it, they sometimes come true. And would you really want that?

      Sasha looked at the man in the white coat with distrust.

      – Who wouldn't want that? But why are you asking all this…

* * *

      – Matt! Matthew!

      I looked back. Steve, my friend, was catching up with me from behind.

      – Hi, nice to see you!

      We shook hands.

      – Nice to meet you, didn't expect to see you here!.. – Steve was surprised. – It's good that I met you… – he immediately got down to business. – A friend suggested a doctor. She drew some kind of map, and I have no idea which way to go now! Maybe you know where it is? Take a look…

      I looked at the map. The street names were written in large, untidy handwriting, but I could make out some of them.

      – I see… – I said slowly.

      – So you know where this place is? – Steve was eager to get the information out of me. He was always a little impatient.

      – Yes, I was there. About three years ago, I was about 17 then… I don't remember exactly who recommended this doctor to me, and what he treated me for. I think it was something like headaches.

      – Cured?

      I shrugged.

      – Nothing hurts now. But those were strange times… A chill ran through me, suddenly a deafening noise flashed through my head, people's impatient exclamations, questions, answers, words… and somewhere among them, a clear, ringing echo sounded: "Are you here by appointment?.. Office 206, straight up the stairs and to the left." I shook my head, as if trying to throw out the sounds that had washed over me. And although very vague and incomplete pictures of this hospital emerged in my memory, I could not say that anything bad in my life was connected with it. But the memories of this were restless.

      I suddenly remembered the old grey building, which I hadn't thought about for three years, and the narrow, numerous steps leading up to its porch. It was already late evening when I walked down them, and my head was silent, even empty – not a single thought. I didn't even think about where I was going, my legs themselves led me home, and the slight dizziness and fatigue completely broke me when I reached my bed.

      The next morning I tried to recall our conversation with the doctor, but I remembered only fragments and that he made me remember the story about the strange evening parcel that the postman brought to our house by mistake. At breakfast I thought only about it, and it seemed to me that the doctor had reminded me of the old story in vain…

      …When I opened the box, I was extremely amazed. I expected to see anything, even the refrigerator. But there was a doll inside. More precisely… the «doll» is a completely unfortunate word here. A doll is more something you can play with for an hour or two, and then put away on a shelf or in a drawer until next time. And in front of me was a tall, slender, beautiful girl, whom I still would not have the heart to call a «doll». Her head was at the level of my shoulder, and she looked just like a real, actual girl. A dancer – I immediately realized, looking at her. She stood with her head slightly bowed and elegantly clasping her hands, as if in a graceful dance. Her appearance simply amazed me… Skin, hair, eyes, a slight smile… she was extraordinary. And I could not distinguish her from a real girl even at close range.

      She had a very kind, open expression on her face, wide-open, green, shining eyes, a beautiful smile and a soft, humanly warm look; and her dark-brown hair, just below the shoulders, melted in my hands, slipping in thick strands between my fingers like silk and flowing easily in the wind if the window in the living room was suddenly opened.

      Yes, I remember it as if it were yesterday, in our house she stood by the window in the living room, and white tulle often covered her light silhouette when my mother aired the room.

      I remember how often I came to her and how often I stopped at that window when I walked to the kitchen through the living room. I could look at her for hours. Everything the doll was made of seemed real, and the most amazing creation of the Master, who most likely made this masterpiece to order, was the soft, even a little «velvet», slightly idealized light skin, which felt no different from real skin.

      I looked at her and could not believe that she was not alive. I did not want to believe it. I saw no reason why I should believe it. It seemed that she was a real girl, who had been dancing just 2 seconds ago, and then deliberately froze in a certain movement, smiling. I looked at her, holding my breath in silence. But time passed, and the girl still stood there, frozen. And then came the bitter realization that I had believed in my own myth. This doll was not pretending, she really was not alive, she would never move from her place, she would never tell me anything… Although sometimes her voice still sounded in my head, as if once, maybe not in this life, she had spoken. Moreover, she had spoken to me… In my heart I still believed that she was alive, and she just for some reason could not tell me about it.

      I was never able to find out where my «living» doll disappeared to. She disappeared from my life as suddenly and unexpectedly as she had appeared, only this time I was not a witness to it.