Chapter 1
One’s destination is never a place, rather a new way of looking at things.
― HENRY MILLER
Prologue
What else can be said about love? The poems have been written, the songs have been composed. It seems that anything we might want to express has already been done for us. But I think I’ll give it another go.
All of us start this life as tiny, helpless babies, who explore the world around them, make their own mistakes, and come to their own conclusions. And isn’t it fun? If we simply followed what has already been learned by the previous generations, with no attempts to contribute little bits of our own experience, life would be so dull and so unavoidably status quo.
I’ve recently become a mother. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying this to get the usual, “Oh, how sweet! What a cute pumpkin! Sweetie pie!” I honestly do believe that majority of people couldn’t care less about somebody else’s children unless they have their own offspring of approximately the same age. I sure didn’t care. But once you emerge on the other side and become a parent, you can then relate to a lot of notions you previously considered alien. You can even relate to your own parents!
These thoughts are crossing my mind as I follow my fifteen-month-old son up and down the steps of our friends’ house. It’s his ninth trip back and forth, and, honestly, never in my life have I imagined that I would be ready to exhaust myself to such an extent for a male human being. And here I am, readily performing kung fu jumps over the sofa to prevent him from a bad fall. Why do kids take such big risks? Why are they so reckless? Doesn’t he realize what consequences his actions will have? The questions are rhetorical. No, he doesn’t realize it. Just as I didn’t realize that a person can’t be smoking two packs of cigarettes a day without drastically shortening their expected lifespan. How can I communicate to him that he can’t be doing this? You can’t, Elena. He’ll just have to learn from his own mistakes. Now I can clearly see the picture. If you managed to happily survive your adolescent years without causing much harm to your health or criminal record, you might as well get ready to spend the rest of your life wondering how in the world you can protect your children from making the same mistakes you made. Nobody tells you this when you’re getting ready to become a parent. Nobody warns you, “Beware, you’ll be tortured by the dilemma forever!” I suspect it’s a global conspiracy invented to persuade inhabitants of planet Earth to procreate.
Young people consider themselves immortal and invincible. They are always right, and there is nothing you can do to convince them otherwise. It’s extremely dangerous, but for some reason, when I look back at my very young self, I only want to smile. My readers, let’s imagine that anything is possible, and we can hop on board a time machine and head over ten years back. I want to see myself again—young, naïve, full of life, when the world was definitely my oyster, and nothing could take it from me.
10 June, 2004
“Three packs of Marlboro, please!”
I squinted at a plump and grumpy sales lady with big hair as dazzling Moscow sunshine bounced off my eyes. I had to stock up, because I’d heard that cigarettes were extremely expensive in New York City. I was not really dependent on nicotine, but smoking out in the open with no risk of being seen by my parents, relatives, parents’ friends, or distant relatives of my parents’ friends made my head spin with happiness and freedom. No, it was not the first time I was going abroad alone. I had already visited Germany two years ago, just for three weeks. But this time, we were heading over to the United States for four months! I took a deep drag on my cigarette, the second one in the last ten minutes, and closed my eyes in utter enjoyment. As it happens, my fiancé did not know that I smoked either. Oh, didn’t I tell you? I was engaged to be married next August! Finally! We had been together for three and a half years, and soon we would be tying the knot. I was going to miss him terribly. This was going to be the longest we had ever been apart, and to be honest with you, I had been having second thoughts about this trip. But this summer was my last chance to visit the U.S. on the Work & Travel Program for college students. I had only one year left before I graduated, and then, adulthood, here I come! I glanced at the girls standing in line for an airport shuttle right next to me, my travel companions—Diana, Vera and Sonia. I had never even laid my eyes on them before we were informed by our agency that we would be working for the same company and sharing an apartment in the U.S. The girls seemed nice, but they were just eighteen years old and all single. Or something along those lines.
I frowned. “Hey, by the way. When we are in the States, puhlease… no making out in the living room with some random dudes.”
Every time I traveled somewhere with my single friends, they would bring over their new boyfriends or whatever they were, and make me feel lonely and stupid. I didn’t really understand why people couldn’t find just one person to dedicate their lives to. They wasted their young years on multiple partners and meaningless affairs. Not me. I definitely knew what I wanted.
“Whatever,” said Diana, tossing her bright blond hair. “I’m going to party all summer long till I drop.”
When we went to Moscow two months prior for the Work & Travel orientation program, Vera and Sonia were late for their train back to Voronezh, a large city all four of us called home. As Diana and I were comfortably seated in our train cabin, we stared at each other in disbelief. Did the train just move, and the girls were not back yet? I remember as clear as day Diana muttering under her breath: “If they’re that irresponsible, I think I’ll be mainly hanging out with you this summer.” That was the moment I realized that Diana was definitely funny, in her own wacko way.
My main goal of this trip was to see as much as possible of America. I absolutely loved traveling. I would never forget the moment when I received the visa in the United States Embassy in Moscow. It was a sunny April day. I’d been strolling along Novinsky Boulevard and admiring impressive Moscow high-rises. Early-spring fresh air was gently caressing my hair and filling my mind and body with the invigorating energy of the large city reawakening after the long winter sleep. I couldn’t believe that soon I would see New York, I’d walk Carrie Bradshaw Streets, and I’d take a ferry to the Statue of Liberty. And then… then I would go to Georgia. Georgia and I had a very long history together. I was twelve when I first read Gone with the Wind, and I fell in love. With everything. I was so obsessed, they actually mocked me at high school and called me Scarlett O’Hara. I didn’t mind it a bit. I only wished I would be that pretty. I’d never considered myself beautiful. Nobody ever told me so, and I’d always seen a very ordinary girl staring at me from the mirror. Alex, my fiancé, liked me, and that was all I cared about. I lit my third cigarette.
“Oh my God!” yelled Diana. If you are going to smoke like a chimney, you’d better do it outside of our apartment.
“All right.” I shrugged. “Whatever.”
“You look silly,” giggled Vera. “With this cigarette stuck between your teeth.”
“Oh!” It’d just dawned on me that while I was looking for my cell phone to text Alex, I let the cigarette just hang out of my mouth. Not too lady-like. But then again, Scarlett wasn’t a lady either. I couldn’t help but grin mischievously. Soon I’d see Margaret Mitchell’s land! I’d see it with my own two eyes. Believe me, for a middle-class girl from Russia, it was equivalent to a flight into outer space. I was so happy, I felt like my head was going to explode into a kaleidoscope of multicolored expectations.
“Ouch!” Somebody elbowed me so hard I nearly flew out of the line. In reality, a notion of a ‘line’ doesn’t exist in Russia. It’s typically a crowd of very aggressive people who are always looking for some space to squeeze any part of their body into in order to get closer to their destination. I guess I happened to be in somebody’s way, as my foot got also suddenly attacked for no reason.
“Easy!! Watch where you’re going!”
I turned to look at the evil hooligan and saw a tiny wrinkled old lady, babushka, who was looking me up and down rather maliciously.
“Sorry,” I muttered. I was brought up to respect older generations under any circumstances, and I was doing my best to ignore the fact that my foot was about to fall off.
“Young people these days!” screamed the babushka. “So rude and promiscuous!! Look at what this brat is wearing!” I caught a few accusing glances from around the line and already got prepared to defend myself (all of us were wearing corporate-looking yellow Star Travel T-shirts with a blue Work & Travel USA 2004 logo) as I saw the shuttle pull up.
“Hurry!” screamed Sonia and started elbowing her way to the shuttle through the “line” of people. “The shuttle is here. We’ve got to catch it! We can’t be late for the plane!”
Diana and I exchanged the understanding glances and snorted with laughter. I really started liking this crowd.
