LITMIR.BIZ

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painting “Head of an Angel,” and her hands were very delicate. Like some virgin maiden hides Leonardo’s painting, and in the picture – my mom, my mommy:

      You’re tender, like something fragile and delicate,

      What are you like… as if something is in a daze.

      Vulnerable, like a virgin flower,

      Grown-up and spring stem.

      You look like a girl from a painting:

      Semi-transparent face and canopies;

      The mouth is slightly open sensually,

      As if getting ready for a trip;

      And a tired look aimed,

      Olive eyes – without falsehood.

      Vulnerable, invisible, barefoot,

      She came down from the picture – you, heavenly – such…

      I will look at the lips and eyes,

      As if they can tell you,

      About the secret of the eternal tender maiden;

      And listen to the first tunes,

      When the morning dew rings…

      The funeral of my mother was terrible. Grandpa no longer cried but wheezed, and the nurse injected him with injections right through his clothes. Grandma’s face was without tears, and Marianna’s eyes swelled and puffed up from crying. We said our last words of farewell. A stranger woman standing by the grave threw a handful of dirt over Marianna’s collar and said, “So she wouldn’t be afraid of the dead.”

      Orphan

      So, Marianna became an orphan.

      Why is it that often the main character is necessarily an orphan, or becomes one? Let’s remember: Harry Potter, poor Cinderella without a mother, the heroine of the tale “12 Months”. But like all heroes, Marianna became an orphan too.

      Amina’s Abilities

      Train. Ukraine.

      Marianna and her sister Amina sit on the wooden benches of the train, the train quietly clatters along. Amina twirls a matchbox in her hand. She places it on the bench, moves her hand, and the box slides away.

      “Wow! Show me again,” and she places an iron can on the bench.

      Amina flashes her eyes and stares intently at the can. The can moves forward, shifts.

      “Let me try.”

      Marianna tries to move the can – no luck.

      Intellectual

      I knew I would apply to medical school, but which faculty I would choose was decided by a chance encounter. It happened in the metro. My grandmother Claudia and I were on our way to submit documents to the Kharkiv Medical Institute; we were completely unfamiliar with the city. The metro train hummed, and my gaze fell on a striking man. He stood opposite, leaning slightly, with his arm on the train door. Perhaps it was his hat that caught my attention: he wore a black hat and a strict black coat, and his narrow eyes revealed a penetrating intellect and focus.

      “Intellectual,” I thought to myself, “probably a professor.” When we exited the train, he was next to us and also getting off. When my grandmother felt dizzy at the metro escalator, the intellectual kindly supported her elbow.

      “Oh, thank you so much!” my grandmother exclaimed.

      “Excuse me, could you tell us how to get to the medical institute?” she dared to ask the stranger.

      He explained in detail: we needed to exit, pass through the square, and in general, head in that direction.

      “And what’s your purpose going there? By the way, I work there,” the stranger said.

      “Yes, I’m taking my granddaughter to apply; she has no parents, and she got emotional…”

      “And which faculty?” he inquired.

      “I don’t know,” I replied, “maybe sanitary and hygienic.”

      “Apply to pediatrics, it’s a good faculty.”

      We thanked him and bid farewell to the stranger.

      Decision made! Only pediatrics!

      Exams

      It was a significant day, the day of my entrance exam to the institute. I had already grown fond of this huge city to me, the giant – Kharkiv. Today I got up early, quickly got to the institute, and just by the door, I realized I forgot my documents.

      “Where are you rushing to?” the driver of the gray “Volga” shouted.

      I literally threw myself under the car’s wheels.

      “All is lost,” I thought, as I had forgotten my passport, and the exam was in half an hour, and I still had to get to Alexeevka.

      The driver cursed, saying something about being late for work, but agreed to drive me home for a fee, pick up the passport. The car flew through the avenues, overtaking everyone, and somehow I made it in time. Biology exam. Everything was symbolic that day; the exam card was number 33. I stared at the card and repeated to myself: thirty-three, thirty-three… I also thought that 3 was my lucky number, and ticket number 7, too, my favorite. Sitting in front of me were two teachers: a man and a woman. The woman immediately disliked me, I could tell by her distrustful look, but the man, on the contrary, looked interested and as if he wanted to help when I pondered before giving another answer. At some point, when I thought it was all over and I didn’t know the answer, it was as if information began to come to my head, as if I had turned to some kind of higher library. And finally, everything! Grade – 4. Hooray!

      I was really tired that day, either me or my brain, and my grandmother, Claudia Alexandrovna, and I decided to take a walk in the park. We stood in the square, where the world seemed to me like a huge metropolis, because I was from a small town. It was time to take a few photos, and we captured ourselves after this tough day.

      Exams passed. In the dean’s office, the secretary, a woman in her fifties, said, “Oh…” – looking at my card – “you passed the exams well, and you have a preference for admission, as an orphan, you might make it.” I don’t know why, but this humiliating word – orphan, which appeared in my life, I hated; I felt ashamed or something, it sounded humiliating and unpleasant. Why pity for me caused my displeasure, I didn’t know then.

      It’s done!…

      This day I will remember for a long time. Everyone gathered in the backyard of the medical institute to find out the admission results. I was no longer nervous; there was a boldness in my soul and calmness. Klavdiya Aleksandrovna, my grandmother, wore a colorful dress with red roses scattered on it. People stood in clusters, and I walked around near the steps. My grandmother stood with her arms folded, waiting. The lists were brought out. Yes!! Among those admitted, my surname shone. My grandmother stood a bit away. I looked up, our eyes met, they sparkled and were wet with tears of happiness. I made it! My grandmother reached out to me, choked with tears of joy, and we hugged as the culmination. A new life was beginning for me!

      Student Years

      Oh, those student years… My school teacher was right when she said, “student years are the best, the most interesting.” Back then, I didn’t understand why they were better. Sleepless nights until morning, wandering aimlessly, studying, boys… I was like a blind kitten with wide-open eyes, but blind. My hair

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