Communicating with women has never been a problem for Boris. When someone told him about how long he cared for his beloved girl and did not find words to confess his love, Boris grinned and spoke in the form of an experienced Donjuan: "Since you fall in love, it means you can not be too ceremonious and delay, we must immediately confess. And there, according to the circumstances, how will it go. If she doesn't agree, she'll take a tablecloth.
But one day, during lunch with colleagues, all the topics suddenly ran out, and colleagues chewed in silence. Boris also chewed and listened to the background radio, which is usually included in the public catering to create an atmosphere of "solid institution". But it wasn't the radio itself that spellbound him, but the most gentle woman's voice, like the trill of a loving nightingale singing about violets and forget-me-not. The voice seemed to him to be some kind of unearthly, magical...
He stopped chewing, pulled out his neck, and looked enchanted at the speaker at the ceiling. Even the pasta in his mouth was a barrier to the magic song. Boris wanted the speaker not to spray sound all over the dining room, but to send it only to him.
The rest of the day he stayed in oblivion. "Violets are mine, forget-me-not", - did not stop sounding in his head and he poured out in the soul. Oh, how charming the owner of this charming voice must be! He tried to reproduce her image in front of his eyes. Boris saw her, decorated with violets, singing and walking among the bushes of blooming blue hydrangeas. She was an ethereal beauty!
But when he realized it was just a dream, he was desperate and sweaty. But somewhere it exists, the one that sang! Boris thought that probably such a girl should love nature and wandered through the city parks in search of a flower garden all her free time, like a hunter who had lost his arrow and prey. The fact that he kept looking around made his neck hurt. He sat in front of the flower beds for a long time, dreaming of a place where his dream could come true. Even while he was in the army, he hadn't been on duty that long!
Every day after work, he went to the park. He'd stare at the flower beds, and he'd even think that she was about to appear and sing with her gentle voice: "Oh, my violets, forget-me-not..." Boris wandered the alleys until they became completely empty and dark. He didn't want to go home. He seemed to be looking for what he had lost because of some mistake he had made, without which he could not return.
Without thinking why, rather - by habit, after work he went to the park. On the way he imagined that when he saw her, he would tell her about how he was looking for her, how much he missed her. And she, smiling, will not answer, but only sing tenderly with his wonderful charming voice.
Every day her image became more and more evident in his consciousness: blue eyes under thin eyebrows, long eyelashes, bright, golden and thick curls flowing on a blue blouse, and - ah! yes! - tall breasts. Her legs were a work of ancient art, carved by a skilled sculptor. It seemed that he had known her for a long time that she knew him well, but then went somewhere for a moment and forgotten to return.
It got cold, and Boris decided to suspend his search. Flowers in the parks had faded. He lived in his imagination. There flowers continued to bloom in an unusual abundance for the Moscow park. It was a true Eden, not real. He represented it in every detail and in all its splendor. And suddenly he saw her, this girl, in the subway! She was sitting among the other passengers and reading a book. It was so different from the truth that Boris did not get confused: it was as if he was still in his illusions. "I wonder what she reads? - ...ran through his head. And, just like by order, the car stopped abruptly, and the stranger, in order to keep the balance, turned the book upside down: "How to reach the goal and not to let himself be led astray". What a purposeful one! Looking for high goals in life, not a slut! The girl was sitting on the back of the seat, and her blue eyes were just like in Boris's fantasies.
He had never seen such an attractive girl and could not take his eyes off her. She looked like a mermaid. Not every beauty can attract the attention of others, but now it was chained to a stranger, as it seemed to Boris. Not only young people, even the girls looked at her with some envy. "Oh, if they knew what a divine voice she had, you wouldn't be jealous, you'd just lose your voice with admiration," he thought.
It was as if wings had grown behind his back, and his chest was burning with the desire to approach her and get to know her. It seemed to him that now someone else would stand up and introduce himself to her and zero his chances. He headed towards her. Boris wanted to give his movements a catlike grace, as if he were an African lion tracking an antelope. But having suspected that the whole carriage was looking at him, they were looking at him as if he was drunk, he was shy and returned to his place. He got into some strange condition: always active and brave, Boris could not find the determination to approach. He was shaking like a fever. Ready to spit on the shyness of the master and rush to the feet of the charming woman, his heart was beating so hard that it resembled a jumping rider. Boris was thrown into the heat and cold.
The girl did not suspect about the condition in which he was, or even about his existence. At her station, she laid her finger between the pages and walked past Boris. He followed her, accelerating his move, but did not dare to catch up with her. The girl was taller than him. He had long been worried about his short stature - Boris always liked tall girls, but they liked tall guys. When a stranger walked along the branching transition, the road was blocked by a suitcase with a clumsy master. And while Boris was bypassing them, the beautiful stranger disappeared, vanished into the crowd.
To be continued on the next part