Curly season

Part 1

I laughed at myself,

And I deceived myself,

When could I think that in the world

There's something else besides you.

Only white, in white clothes,

Like the peplum of the ancient goddesses,

You're holding a crystal sphere

In transparent and thin fingers.

And all the oceans, all the mountains,

Archangels, people, flowers —

They were reflected in the crystal

Transparent girlish eyes.

How strange to think that in the world

Is there anything else besides you,

That I myself am not only nocturnal

A sleepless song about you.

But the light is behind you,

Such a blinding light,

There are long flames roaring,

Like two gilded wings.

poem/N. Gumilyov

Nicka

I stepped out of the school and threw myself into the arms of autumn. Although it was windy outside today, it was still quite warm." Periodically, the September sun peeked out from behind the clouds, managing to fry your face. A gusty and cool wind that seemed to be blowing from the Gulf of Finland flirted with my white linen dress, lifting it up in a dance. At this moment, the entire body was enveloped in a fresh air.

I held up the hem of my favorite piece of clothing that
my mother had made for me and walked towards the house, which was about fifteen minutes walk away. In fact, I don't really like to wear dresses, but for the sake of this mother's creation, I always make an exception.

It's been a few weeks since I started my life with a new chapter: in a new school, in a new city, in a new country.

And everything seemed to be going very well.

At the beginning.

My classmates immediately accepted me as their own, as if I had studied with them since
the first grade together. Their friendliness eased my misery in my native Italy,
where I was born and where my mother and I moved from a couple of months ago.

A few years ago, my beloved father died, and my mother began
to raise the issue of returning to her homeland, to St. Petersburg. I've often been here
before, coming to visit my grandmother on my mother's side for the holidays, but
of course, I never planned to live straight and never thought about it.

And about six months ago, my mother did not just decide to discuss the topic
of moving, but put it before the fact, voicing her decision that we were moving
to Russia.

We all had a hard time with Dad's sudden death, but it seemed that Mom was
having the hardest time of all. I thought maybe it was really going back to the city of her childhood
it will be like a breath of fresh air, give her life new bright colors. So
I decided to follow her decision obediently, assuming that the move
would be good for her.

She was very fond of St. Petersburg and always spoke warmly of him. I especially missed my mother, although I never said it out loud, especially to her, because it was difficult to talk about feelings with our harsh grandmother at all. She was always very distant and closed. If she said anything, it was only on business, and she always expressed her feelings through actions. We understood and did not demand much from a person who, even as a child, went through a terrible round of fate associated with the World War II.

My mother often likes to repeat that we are very similar to my grandmother and not only
in appearance, but also in disposition. I love my grandmother, so I have nothing against such
comparisons, but my mother does not always like the manifestations of my character.

"Oh, Niсka, you can't do that"

"We need to be more tactful"

"No one will ever marry you with such a character"

So we are friends, she does not push me, does not try to change me,
but sometimes she flies out, which only makes me smile, because I am not offended.
Maybe it's just that she's tired when she just wants to grumble, or maybe
it's just our basic difference, I explain to myself.

I'm still struggling to get into the rhythm of the big city after our little
Italian village.

I compare it with the period when I was here as an ordinary tourist.
It turns out that this is not the same. When you just come to relax, the city
communicates with you in some special language of care. But when you are already a
local resident and you, for example, need to go on business, look for some
addresses, solve problems with documents, traveling around a municipal institution,
he is hostile to you.

Therefore, my opinion about this city is starting to change dramatically. I
feel very small and helpless next to such a bulky and unfriendly
figure as St. Petersburg.

I tried not to complain, especially to my mother. I didn't want
to upset her. I told myself that these were
just temporary difficulties that I would definitely overcome, and I
would finally be able to adapt to life here.

Nothing is impossible, I repeat to myself like a mantra.

But my fighting spirit faded when some day I met Him...