Every year I remember Serena. I had such a friend. Probably the saddest phrase in the world – I had a friend. was was. He and his parents lived in the apartment near the entrance, just across the wall from us. We have often heard what his father puts in order. He struck and chased the whole family, beat his wife and beat his son. And Seregha’s mother also loved drinking and drinking.
He spent most of his time out of the house and when he went to school, in addition to a backpack with textbooks and notebooks, he always took with him a football ball that his grandfather gave him before he died. After the lessons, we played football, and when people became smaller, we switched to "banana" or "square", and so on - until late in the evening. As a result, Seroga always remained alone and tapped the ball until his mother from the balcony called him home. It happened even in winter. One day after dinner, before I went to bed, I looked out the window: it was dark, there was snow, white and white, the lamp lit the helmet in the yard, and underneath it Seroga filled the "hundred".
When we were twelve, with the permission of my parents, I invited him to celebrate the New Year at my home. On the eve, my dad gave me money for a new ball for Sergio, because his old one was completely worn out. He looked around him, turned his hands and said only “Thank you.” At this time, behind the wall of his ancestors worshipped in the company of the same drunken women, and from there, and the matter was communicated maternal rhetoric. Furthermore, Sergey was red because he did not prepare any gifts himself. But by midnight it bloomed, because we went to the city tree, ride the hills, run the labyrinths and fireworks. On the way back, Sereg said it was the best New Year in his life and he will never forget it.
Since then he has been home often. My parents did not object and were even "for" because Sergio studied well and helped me with the lessons. In the rest of the time, we crashed into the Fifa on the console or chased the ball in the courtyard. Sometimes, usually on the day of important football broadcasts, he stayed with us overnight, and my mother supplied us with all sorts of chips and allowed us to watch the television until late. It was possible to turn off the sound, because Seroga and without a commentator knew by the names of all the players and coaches.
To the general surprise, after school he did not go to the sports academy, but submitted documents to the economic institute. In another city. He only told me when he needed to get to the station. Fuck, we, my father and I, took him there, not his own parents, and he promised to call, but from the moment of leaving he did not respond to the letters and did not make himself known. Later, I managed to find him on social networks, but he ignored my messages, and then even joked. I pledged to myself that at the next meeting I would definitely smash him in the teeth, at least in a plum. My father told me not to think badly about friends, and only since then I have had only two words about Serogue – “ungrateful clutter.”
I’m glad he wasn’t here at that time. Even when his father drank to death, and the elderly mother cried in the empty apartment, Seroga did not announce, in order to at least brag about the inheritance. Then for me everything just started to clarify, and a couple of years ago, when I came to visit my parents for the New Year, just like a long time ago, I looked through the window of my former room to the street and understood everything. It was night and a large snow fell, and the old lamp still lit our courtyard. At that moment I felt like a lonely boy. Everyone is sitting in warm, cozy apartments and preparing for the holiday, and this ball is filling up on the street. He is not training or preparing for a career as a professional athlete. He doesn’t need it, he doesn’t need anything: no football, no new ball, no friends. He just doesn’t want to go home. He dreams of growing up, leaving and forgetting everything. Everything, both good and bad. Now he finally broke out, and thank God.
Maybe I just invented it, maybe I’m just trying to justify a friend. Yes, a friend is the best in childhood, the worst now, but still a friend. Anyway, every New Year I recall it and wait for a call, because even the old comrades who have almost forgotten themselves come together once or twice a year. Congratulations on the holidays, wishes health, do business. They have not communicated for a long time, but at one point they are so happy to hear each other again, talk, learn what and how. Just like before, in my youth. As if the friendship had not ended. They have nothing in common except memories. At least one, about the best New Year in life. Yes, Sergey, yes, I will never forget him either. The good is not forgotten. Happy New Year, friends, with new happiness!