“I got the laptop; it was a Mac, 15 inches, which felt small. Nothing seemed to fit the screen properly; that was my first thought. It oddly reminded me of a Game Boy screen, even though it was indeed a laptop. A strange duality.
I opened the door to a small apartment, and there were two friends from university. It felt as dormitory room again. Lexa looked intensely focused, as he always did. This time, he seemed to be studying something, working on some kind of project, sitting in his worn-out pajama pants. He glanced at me with eyes tired from intense concentration and remarked, “Hey there, here you are!” as if I visited them daily. The last time I’d seen him was at least 15 years ago.
Seeing Lexa and Tolyan after so many years felt surreal, a collision of past memories and present reality.
Tolyan, on the other hand, was idly sitting in the corner of the room, a position he often assumed when all seemed right with the world. I reached out for a handshake, but he hesitated and murmured, “You have to get the shot.” Confused, I looked at Lexa, who clarified, “You should get the shots, the COVID ones. That what he means”. Tolyan finally shook my hand, although it seemed to take some effort.
I wanted to tell him that COVID was over but held back, anticipating their responses, almost predicting them. It felt as if I already knew what Tolyan would say and what Lexa could add. Tolyan kept sitting idly, absorbing the surroundings passively.
“What’s going on?”, Lexa asked me.
I did not have chance to reply,
“She took the kids and left,” he added abruptly.
“She left you?” I asked, immediately regretting my phrasing.
“She took the kids and left,” he repeats. “And I have so much to learn. I feel overwhelmed,” he added, his voice tinged with worry.
I glanced at his computer screen and saw an educational program displayed. On the table was an open glossy journal, designed like a test with gaps to fill in, all in German. ‘That must be what he’s learning now,’ I figured.
I felt the urge to leave.
“I have to go,” I said. “See you guys!” I stepped outside and immediately found myself on the street, with no stairs in sight; just a door leading directly to the street. I wanted to look back and see how that was possible, but I knew it wasn’t that important, so I didn’t.
Outside, there was a street running perpendicular to Klochkovskaya. Although I’d walked it countless times, I had never known its name; however, I knew the names of its adjoining streets. Buildings lined either side, mostly three-five stories tall, though some reached five or even nine stories. Together, they formed a dense urban forest. The consistent design of the buildings made it challenging to pinpoint my location on the street. A thin veil of fog limited my view, drawing my focus to nearby objects. Besides, I thought, there was no real reason to look far ahead.
I realized I’d misplaced my MacBook on what was supposed to be my first day at a new Software Company. I had been tasked with logging in and setting up my work environment, and I remembered placing the laptop on a bench. But which one? Where was the colleague who had been assigned to help me with my onboarding? He had spoken with such enthusiasm, spouting the kind of jargon typical of tech “geeks”. Though, his demeanor had reminded me of a salesperson from a MacBook store. How could I possibly have forgotten my laptop on a bench? Lost in thought, I walked the streets, searching for it. After shifting directions, yet remaining on a straight path as if in a 2D world.
I finally spotted it. It was open, sitting on a table in a park alongside the street, waiting for me to log in.
Do not remember how exactly, I was perched on a flat wooden platform, reminiscent of the kind Robin Hood might use as a vantage point in the forest. I realized that the platform was located on the tree that stands along the street. I assumed this was my new office space. I could see the people walking, the street, cars passing by. It was a good view.
The login instructions were unusual: I had to vocalize a specific phrase, which sounded like “boo-haar!” Despite multiple attempts, and with feedback each time on my pronunciation, I struggled to get it right. Eventually, after shouting “boo-haar!” with enough enthusiasm that matches the required level, a character reminiscent of a green monster from Super Mario materialized in the air next to me. It then dove into the computer screen in the same way a ghost in ‘Ghostbusters’ possesses others. As it disappeared into the laptop’s display, the desktop cleared, and I found myself successfully logged in.
The screen indeed seemed minuscule. I’m not sure this laptop was designed for work. The rustling leaves whispered in the wind. From my new office perched high in a tree, I looked down. There was a kiosk selling beer, with three men engaged in conversation nearby. I realized that one of those men is me. We were drinking Obolon’ beer and chatting. An old lady sat on a bench in the park, close to the three men.
I looked back at the screen, pondered about the nature of my job.
The man finishes reading aloud from the paper he had printed, recounting a dream he had recently. He is sitting in the comfortable chair, frequented for his therapy sessions with Bugsanto Velázquez Montreal office. Their usual routine involved the man writing down, publishing, printing, and then reading his dream aloud before their session truly began.
“So, it’s Mario again, right?” Bugsanto inquired.
“Actually, not really,” the man clarified. “This time it was the green monster, you know, the one who frequently kidnaps Princess Peach. His name is Bowser. He’s often depicted as a large, fire-breathing Koopa and is the primary antagonist…” The man trailed off, noting Bugsanto’s nod of understanding.
“I did not play Mario, not that much”, man added.
“Sure you didn’t”, Bugsanto agreed.
A new session has begun.
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