I have a childhood friend.

25 years of friends. When they grew up, it happened that they communicated often, or it happened that rarely, then they lived in different cities, then in one, but every time we meet, as if we saw each other yesterday, and as if there were no breaks.

As a child, I wrote her letters that went 7-10 days, received letters from her, and then there was an internet that didn't get lost.

Once we were 14-15 years old. We gathered with a large company, the summer evening smoothly passed at midnight. The company split, some went to one side, others to the other, about the hour of the night we all met, and it turned out that it was like my friend went home. I really needed her for something. At the hour of night. I don’t remember why, but I probably wanted to discuss something important for me as a fifteen-year-old.

My friend lived on the first floor. I grew up as a boy, always climbing well on trees and roofs. And of course, I went to her by the window. More precisely in the open. Somehow, slightly overwhelmed, I slipped on my shoulders into the fortress, and whispered in the darkness of the room: "Leyenna." The answer is silence. I called again. Then, thinking that she was already asleep (but the conversation, apparently, did not give me peace), I called louder.

After that, from the darkness of the room, the sleepy voice of Lenin's father heard: "Lena is not at home."

It sounded so sleepy and quiet, so ordinary, as if I hadn’t awakened a stranger’s dad at all and walked out to strangers in the street at night, and also as if I hadn’t accidentally reminded me that the time was late, and we’re all wandering somewhere on the street.

I, gently speaking, was deceived. First of all, it was not Lena who answered, but her father. Then I realized that I woke him up. Then from the realization that this is Dad Offegel, probably from the fact that I’m at his doorstep at night.

In general, a bunch of thoughts flooded in my head for a second, and with the phrase, "sorry, thank you, goodbye," (it was only to add, "I will then go later"), I pushed back into the fortress, jumped from the exhibition in the wall and broke my head into the courtyard. No one seemed to follow me.

Lene and I are 32 and 33 years old, respectively. Every time we meet, even after a break of a year, her parents always pass me a greeting, the one to me, "Lene, who walked to us in the fortress")))

And there is something sweet in it, something such native from that distant warm childhood...

Ps Lena we found that night)))

All good friends!