The narrow street was illuminated only by the dim
street-lamps light; under one of them laid a body. This body
was of a girl, about 18-20 years old. It seemed she tried to
get up, holding the street-lamp's pole with her hand trying
to support herself. But each attempt was weaker than the one
before. Finally she gave up, rolled herself over and leaned
with her back on the base of the pole. Her face was pale
with high cheekbones and dark, deep-blue eyes which were
partially covered with her wet, red hair. Her body was
shivering slightly, partially because of the light wind that
was blowing along the street and partially because to her
slim body she had just a pair of baggies, a tank-top and a
thin, leather-like cloak. She looked at her feet with the
worn sneakers on them; they felt like another entity with a
will of its own. After stretching her arms a bit she finally
succeeded in pulling herself up against the pole. Standing
there she looked around, feeling a bit dizzy. After a few
seconds she started to shuffle away and as she got further
her walk began to be steadier. She gazed around but the
surroundings looked unfamiliar. Somewhere in the distance
she saw the lights of a gas station. "Great, some marks of
civilization..."- she thought to herself. Only now had she
began to realize how thirsty she's been. Ignoring all the
traffic rules on her way to the gas station, she crossed the
road, climbed over the low stone fence and walked to the
station. There she stopped undecidedly. Some guy went out of
the office and while approaching her asked in a trained
drill: "May I help you?" When he came closer and got a bit
better look at her, he exclaimed: "Are you ok? You don't
look very well...Maybe we should..."
 - Where's the toilet? -she cut him off.
 - Ahh... Round the office and to the left, but... - he
tried to add something, but he was already looking at the
girl's back as she was rounding the office.
  When she reached the toilets door, she saw that the door
to the ladies was closed with a chain. "Shit, of all the
places... Oh, well. " - she entered the men's and looked at
herself in the dirty, stained mirror. She opened the tap and
watched the brown water. After the water became clearer she
drank intensely for a couple of minutes. She looked at the
mirror again:"Damn, I hope it's because of the mirror." She
washed her face several times and started to clean the mud
off her clothes. After searching for a toilet paper for some
time she gave up, wiped her face with the sleeve of her
cloak and gave a final glance to the mirror. The color came
to her face and her whole appearance became much less
alarming, though she still looked like a fish on the sand.
"Could be worse... I think. But it's the first time I'm
actually glad that I don't put make-up."- That brought a
little grin to her lips as she remembered all the talks her
older sister gave her about the importance of putting a
make-up. But that grin was gone in a second. As she stood
there in front of the mirror she could almost visualize the
last time she talked with her sister.
 
  She was sitting at her room, trying to complete the
painting she's been working on for almost three weeks. As it
always happened to her when she painted, she was oblivious
to her surroundings. Her sister used to joke that the house
could be turned upside down and she wouldn't notice. She
felt there was someone in her room only when she heard the
self-restrained cough next to her. She turned her head in
surprise to see Mike, her sister's boyfriend.
 - Eh... Hi. Cynthia's not home. - Her tone was slightly
above freezing temperature.
 - Hey, Angie! Yeah, I know. I've talked to her. She'll be
here soon. - His joyful manner couldn't conceal the slight
nervousness in his voice. It caused Angie to raise an
eyebrow.
 - Well, you can wait in her room. - She blurted out,
covering her painting.
 - Don't do that, I want to see your picture.
 - It's not a picture, it's a painting. And it's not
finished yet. - Her tone now was far below zero.
 - Well, then I'll see the others. - He made a couple of
quick steps to the corner of her room and started to pull
out one of the paintings that were neatly stacked there.
 - Don't touch them. - She said firmly, trying to suppress
the building up anger.  
 - Why? Are you embarrassed?! - He asked her in a teasing
somewhat patronizing tone.
 - I said don't touch them. - Her voice shaking with anger,
she moved closer to him trying to snatch the painting from
his hands. All the while he was standing with his back to
her. When she approached he suddenly faced her, putting his
hands with the painting behind his back.
 - Put it... - She started to say.
 - You're so cute when you're angry. - He interrupted her.
She stopped in mid-stride; her stare fixed with confusion
and anger. Her hands still stretched out, around him, for
the painting. Suddenly he dropped the painting and put his
hands gently on Angie's shoulders, but with a firm grip. In
that moment a female voice called Mike and Cynthia looked
into the room. Mike, seeing her, pushed Angie away and
putting a mask of insult on his face, looked at her and
hissed:
 - What the hell are you doing? Get your hands of me. -
Turning his head he looked at Cynthia and with a surprised,
but also a conspirator's look approached her.
 - Hi, muffin! You wouldn't believe... I mean your
sister... She just... well, sort of cornered me and... well
I think you saw...
Cynthia looked at Mike, then at Angie who had the aura of an
utterly confused rabbit who sees the headlights of an
oncoming truck but doesn't know what to make of it.
 - Is this true? - Cynthia asked Angie. - What are you
think you're doing?
 - I...I didn't do anything. He burst in here, grabbed one
of my paintings. I just wanted to take it from him when you
entered...- Her speech was a bit slow, confused as if she
was trying to find the right words to say.
 - Honey! Look have I ever lied to you? We've been together
for over a year now and I've never gave you even a reason to
suspect I wasn't faithful to you. Now do you really think
I'm that interested in you sister's pictures? - Mike
interrupted, saying the last words with mocking cynicism.
 - Mike, wait me in my room. I have to settle something
with my little sister. - Cynthia said it without looking at
him. Her eyes stayed focused on Angie.
 - Well, sure. Ok. - Mike said obediently. As he passed
Cynthia he gave her a kiss which, fortunately for him, she
returned.
The two sisters stood motionless for some time as if
preparing, each one waiting for the other to start talking.
 - What the hell was that about? What are you trying to do?
- Cynthia couldn't conceal the accusation in her voice.
 -  Nothing. I already told you what happened. Why don't
you believe me? - A hint of despair could be heard in
Angie's reply.
 - Why? Well maybe cause I saw what happened and I tend to
believe my own eyes more than you; and because Mike never
lied to me. - Her reply was becoming more and more
accusative.
 - Unlike someone I know... - She added with malice.
 - What? That's not fair... I told you dozen times that I
had no... - Angie's voice was shaking now with
uncontrollable irritation mingled with despair. She never
finished the sentence.
 - Oh, save it. I don't wanna hear your explanations. - Her
sister cut her off. She looked at Angie with unhidden
despise.
 - Damn! No wonder you're always alone... - Cynthia mumbled
under her breath, while she was leaving the room. Still she
said it loud enough for Angie to hear. After Cynthia left
the room Angie closed the door and tried to get back to the
painting but her hands were trembling so she couldn't hold
the brush steadily. She left the brush, walked to the window
and looked out. Outside she saw her mom entering the
building. She sighed heavily. Then she heard someone passing
by her door and after less than a minute the voices of her
mom and sister could be heard. "That was fast. And with Mike
here..." - She thought to herself. Now it was only a matter
of time, mostly depending on her mother's mood until she was
called out of her room to one of her mom's "serious talks".


  She heard a creak, her head turned and she saw someone
entering the men's. Seeing her he stopped on the spot,
staring at her with astonishment. She saw the widening smile
of self-complacent on his face and the sparks of instinctive
lust in the corner of his eyes. She gave last look in the
mirror, paced slowly towards the man, and then quickly
brushed past him getting out to the street. She walked fast
trying to get as far as she could. Finally she stopped,
breathing heavily and looked around. She recognized the
place. Around the corner was the favorite restaurant of her
mother to which she always took the girls on her birthdays.
She passed the restaurant, crossed the intersection and came
to the bus station. Behind it was the path, going uphill
which Angie knew well. On top of the hill was Angie's spot
to which she came every time she wanted to get away. She
took the path, going towards the peak.
  Sitting there, on top of the hill, beneath her was spread
the view of the city and the fields and mountains
surrounding its limits. As it often happened she felt as if
she was placed in a middle of a movie-set. The scenery
around seemed to her unrealistic, a bit fake even. Angie was
engulfed in a feeling that there was her and the world
around. It seemed to her there was no connection between
them whatsoever. Unlike many other times she felt this way,
this one was somehow different. She almost instinctively
knew that it was so because of the conversation - If an
agitated monologue of various accusations I received from
mom can be called that way. - She thought to herself,
interrupting her previous line of thought.

  Angie heard her mother calling her. Coming out of her
room she bumped into Cynthia in the hallway.
 -Oh... You're so gonna get it... - Cynthia said it with
almost unhidden satisfaction. Angie just looked at her and
went to the living room where her mom was waiting for her,
sitting on the end of the couch and fingering her wedding
ring nervously.
 - Sit, Angelina. We need to talk. - Her mother said when
she saw Angie, emphasizing "we". Angie sat down, noticing
her mother's eyes were red as if she's been crying. -
Crying? But why? Was it something to do with what Cynthia
told her? - Angie couldn't understand it, so she sat there
quietly waiting for her mother to start talking.
 - I want to tell you something, Angelina. - Her mother
started to say very slowly, her stare fixed on something
distant and invisible.
 - Stop calling me Angelina, I've asked you thousand times.
You know I can't stand it. What's so hard in saying Angie? -
Her mother, interrupted by this unexpected outburst, looked
at Angie and straightened herself up.
 - Your name's Angelina, which I gave to you and I will
call you this way till the rest of my life. Now you'd better
listen to me carefully; you're not in position to make any
demands. - Glaring at Angie, her mother took a deep breath
and fidgeted trying to make herself comfortable, in which
she hasn't quite succeeded.
 - Now listen, you know that your father has left us
several years ago. - Her voice was somewhat muffled, the
words coming out with big intervals between as if to make
them more significant.
 - I've never told you why he left us, but I think that
you're grown enough to hear it and to understand it. - She
continued, her eyes looking at Angie, searching for
reaction.
 - Your father met some woman at his work. She was a new
one and was supposed to work with your father. So he
obviously spent a lot of time with her, teaching her and
bringing her up to date with everything she was ought to
know. I don't know when exactly they started to be more then
only co-workers. But when I found out about it, it was
already too late. After a couple of days your father moved
out and a week or so later filed for divorce. - Her eyes
have now moved from Angie, fixed again on something distant
and invisible; in her tone was distinctly heard a slight
tremble which she hasn't even tried to hide.
 - For a long time I was devastated. I couldn't comprehend
why and how it happened. Only after meeting this woman did I
realize what happened. - She paused, took a sip from a glass
of water which was standing on a small table nearby and
continued.
 - I saw that woman and realized that your father was
seduced; Tempted by this young and ambitious witch. But he
couldn't see it. She was using him and he was flattered. -
With every word she said the spite in her voice became more
and more intense until she finally had to stop and to gain
her breath. After she relaxed she turned her head to Angie
and told her in a self-restrained, almost preaching manner:
 - Cynthia told me what happened... Your behavior is...
disgusting... How could you be so low? I simply can't find
words crude enough to describe what you did... I don't know
whether your sister will forgive you, but you must make a
lot of amends for what you've done lately... And one of the
things I know must be done is that you will stop this
ridiculous obsession of yours with painting. - The last
phrase was said in an almost impossible combination of
carelessness and determination.
 - What?! - Cried Angie in disbelief. - That's not fair...
I've been painting since I can remember myself... And why
does nobody believe me? Has Cynthia even bothered herself to
tell you my side of the story? - Unable to control her
feelings Angie jumped of the couch and went to the other
side of the living room, trying to get away from the unfair
attitude of her mother.
 - As a matter of fact she did tell me your side, but I
completely agreed with her when she said she believed her
eyes more than you. - was her mother's reply.
 - Yeah, and her boyfriend too? - Angie asked with bitter
irony.
 - As Cynthia said he never lied to her and as to you...
Well... You shouldn't have cried "Wolf! Wolf!" so many
times. - Her mother was now in full control of herself; and
of the conversation, so she thought.
 - What? I don't believe you're bringing up that story
again. I've already explained before that it was something
I...
 - Enough! I don't want to hear your excuses. You should go
and apologize to your sister at once. The sooner you will
change your ways the better. - Her mother cut her off.
 - Fine. I understand. - Was Angie's quiet reply.
 -Good, I'm glad you finally came to senses. Now go and
apologize to your sister. - Angie left without a word.
Looking at her back, her mother gave out a satisfied sigh
and a little smile started to spread on her face.
  So more was she bewildered when she saw Angie full
dressed going to the front door, only couple of minutes
after she left the living room, slamming the door behind
her.

  Sitting on top of the hill Angie heard only one phrase
her mother told her - "the sooner you will change your ways
the better" - echoing in her head. "What's wrong with my
ways?!" - She thought about that for a while. She always
felt that she somehow never fitted into the expectations of
people. Perhaps that was the reason she's been a loner as
long as she could remember herself. Her thoughts began to
jump between different parts of her life.
  The junior school was a distant, rather blurred and faded
memory though she remembered her confusion when the teachers
tried to explain to her that she shouldn't be painting
during classes, but only during the time specified for it.
She never quite grasped even later why everyone was
apparently in such a great shock when she asked them why she
was always expected to do something when she hadn't the
slightest idea what she wanted to do. Her emphasis on
herself was regarded foolish.
  Later in her life she always bumped into the same wall of
discrepancy that separated her and the outside. During
high-school it became even thicker when she tried to find
herself among all the different groups that were forming
then. It obviously had an enormous effect on her
relationships with guys which never lasted long. All her
life she was trying to reach some understanding, to find and
to achieve something or someone. It all seemed so useless
now.  
  She moved uneasily, looked around and felt so small and
lost; insignificant...Wondered if there might be even one
person out there that feels the same. She got up, went down
the hill and began to walk aimlessly along the streets. She
had no idea where she was going but some feeling told her
she should keep walking. After walking for an hour or so she
stopped and found herself standing face to face with an
awkwardly familiar guy. She looked around and felt as if she
was in that place before. She glanced at the guy again. He
hasn't said a word to her and was just looking at her,
trying to remember if he knew her.
  Finally she recognized everything. On her face had spread
a little smile and a small tear of joy rolled from the
corner of her eye.
  She was facing the painting she's been trying to finish
for over three weeks.