Flaws: Vedmykiv

[10] Rock and Roll Kitchen Limbo

SHE GOT IN THE shiny black car, and I was left on the street, thinking that since Igor had asked me not to intervene, to be invisible, at least, at that, I succeeded.

Bohdan dropped me off at Sasha's. The poor kid, like me, looked hungover and confused when he opened the door. The difference was he had to go to work and I had demons to atone for. I didn't have anywhere else to go, and staying with his parents would have been too weird, so I made instant coffee in his kitchen and joined him in his foot patrol instead. Fuck me again.

Without Oxana to translate, walking with Sasha was like driving to Donetsk in an old van, except no folk tunes but the sound of the morning wind, and instead of an old man calling me names, I had a baby-faced friend laughing and agreeing, I was a dumbass. Sasha walked proudly and with swag. He swung his gun around as if, with the pistol, he could whip people around. I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open or my thoughts straight.

We walked to the convenience store and got crackers and that imitation crab Oxana liked so much. The hideous sisters asked Sasha questions, and they seemed to be telling him lots of I told her so's. I spent the first few hours of the morning chasing Sasha around the town, walking in uncomfortable silence, and taking photos with my phone. We walked by Oxana's school. It was closed. I had been there several times, dropping her off and picking her up. I cooked, and she taught. I killed insects with my hands. She educated children with her mind. The last time I was there, I waited for her from the sidewalk. Oxana had warned me not to enter the property again. The principal had bitched about the foreign man taking pictures and lurking around. It was all the same. The last time I was there, I picked her up in my arms when she came out, sweeping her off her feet. Flushed cheeks and pink faces, the teenagers stared from the windows. Some practiced their English and congratulated Oxana on her engagement. Blonde skinny girls talked. Boys in tracksuits and flashy necklaces in bad taste lurked. For a moment, we all looked about the same age. Like insects on ice, skidding through life.

"Let's go. Your dinner is going to get cold," I had said to Oxana, grabbing her by the hand.

Like a little girl jumping rope on the playground, she said, "o-kay."

Sasha and I turned the corner and followed a truck road along the train tracks. Sasha talked and pointed and made me wish I had my phrasebook with me, but I didn't, so I nodded and wished for the end. We arrived at a hangar next to the railway. There was an open field on the other side of the tracks. Besides two barrels of dirty oil and stains on the cement floor, the hangar was empty. Sasha stepped back and pushed me against the metal wall. He whispered and unclipped his gun. What the fuck, man.

He pressed his body next to mine against the wall, and with the grip, he signaled me to take a peek. I stretched my neck and saw a car, all doors wide open. I heard the voices first and saw the kick next. Four kids in tracksuits were trying to break in. They were vandalizing a smaller hangar across from where we were, and the gate was giving in.

Sasha said something that sounded like a boast, like the silly line from a man who thinks he is about to do something brave that is just dumb instead. The baby policeman revealed himself with a shout before I could react. The kids turned, saw him, and bolted. They ran through the open field toward the woods. Their tracksuits moved on the wild grass like little caricatures of asshole ants running away. They were Oxana's students, the skulk of tacky pickup lines, necklaces, cigarette odor, and flasks. They were the punks that pestered my soul—well, not exactly, but they did disturb our privacy, which was more than enough.

Sasha planted his feet on the ground. He got in position, drew his arm, and, taking aim, prepared for the shot. He looked through the rear sight. I watched him align this eye to their backs.