A family holiday I don’t like family…

Family holiday I don’t like family holidays And stronger than all the others I don’t like my birthday happens Every same me First, of course, congratulate the , Well how to say, congratulations Mom meets me in the kitchen not screaming, and a pathetic attempt to smile, and dad, already drunk since morning, shakes hands firmly and makes the music So I know I have passed another year of Musical taste dad’s disgusting, but useless to argue with him: the apartment door he would not open even to the police, but only prooram something that it’s Sonny’s birthday today, and all who disagree can go to a known address It is about outsiders With homemade everything is easier: if I or your mother ask you to turn it down, he grabbed by the lapels, breathe fumes in the face and answer that once a year the working can relax, the more important reason Why we don’t argue, and disgusting songs about “thieving Dole” sounds throughout the entrance In these moments I feel a bit sorry for the grandparents living close to us Well, those who are not lucky enough to live to the annual bacchanalia Closer to midday catch up the first relatives From year to year are the first to arrive is aunt Light and uncle Bob, both elephant-like, with thunder voices Shaking the folds of fat and massive bellies, they squeeze into my room and start to shout about his great love for me to be Honest, I don’t even know whose line they have relatives, but ask I do not want, because it will certainly cause fierce resentment on their part Potiskum me, folks, the elephants are removed to the kitchen to chat with my parents To the roar of the music and added laughter Over the years, I learned to distinguish between the laughter of all four: mother cackles like a proud svezhenanesenny egg chicken, dad’s probably not even laughing, and yelling, pulling the vowels in the endlessly long notes Aunt Light laugh silently, but twists the arms and pounding his palms on the countertop Uncle Bob laughing in the power of his smoky lungs, so loud, that glasses in the cupboard shake and rattle plaintively the same thing is happening at the neighbors on top, bottom and side apartments During kitchen gatherings drank the first bottle of vodka Next always comes Svyatoslav Mikhailovich He is a creative person Like an artist in a small provincial theatre Congratulates always long, tedious and solemnly, with Mat pauses, wringing her hands carefully playing with the intonation As the previous guests, he shows up without a gift for me, but with a bottle of cheap brandy by Putting it on the table, he always says: “Here…I presented delighted fans Well, and I have to say, so you do not regret” That’s a lie, because I know that he’s buying the brandy in the shop around the corner However, whatever the Company is removed to the kitchen, and to laughter, giggling and cackling is added stentorian bass Svyatoslav Mikhailovich In the neighboring apartments will definitely enjoy hearing a paraphrase of bearded anecdotes about the theater, the Bottle of cognac followed by a bottle of vodka to our Recent gatherings added my mother’s second cousin’s aunt Luba with a brood of their children, a lot of Them, and they don’t even bother greeting Aunt Luba immediately sent to the kitchen, where shrill requires a “welcome” glass of brandy, and the same shrill laughs Her children at this time, a crowd of insects scatter around the apartment, and from them there is no salvation anywhere They stamp on the floor Jump from the furniture landing on the heels of Scream, trying pereorat rattling the whole chanson They rush through the and touch, touch, touch everything with her little hands, trying to loosen, tear, steal as much booty to pull them to your meager toy I’m trying my best not to forget that they’re just kids, but rolls to her throat rage to hold back is very difficult However, I do every year, Adult of the guests last smoke on the balcony, and it’s time to Jora’s Family, joking and pushing each other, sets the table, which already in the morning placed a simple snack I put on a “pride of place” at the head table, with views all waiting in the wings bottles and food: vodka, brandy, symbolic bottle of , some salads, pickled cabbage and pickles juice, awkwardly hugging the dish of mashed potatoes conversation grinds to a halt for a few minutes until is in a hurry to fill their bellies with treats and then arise again Discussing politics, sex , birthday, reminded of the of all the absent relatives Vodka flows like water After about the third toast, the children of aunt Luba’s running away from the table to continue their destructive spree, Someone comes up to the recorder and makes screaming from the speakers chanson louder to Talk is getting harder all the participants tear the throat to be heard at the same time Particularly nervous residents in that moment you begin to pray for Those who have somewhere to go — go, Who to go nowhere — suffer Svyatoslav Mikhailovich suddenly begins to wonder if I’m gay because I do not drink vodka Dad and uncle Bob for some time in doubt, on whose side to stand in inflaming the quarrel, but still take the side of cockup I give in and drink Under the approving roar of the family starts a fight — dad still remembers that I’m his son Fight ends quickly, costing even without the broken noses I get up from the table and go into the hallway — I know that in a jacket pocket, uncle Bob is a pack of strong cigarettes and a lighter I went into the kitchen, already hearing in the room is taken by relatives to sing some song I Think I’ll have time to smoke so so no one will notice a Sharp smell in the kitchen hit in the nose, but I don’t pay attention to him Kids look at me not what to blame, but with fear, like a naughty somewhere and now I am afraid that I will expose I don’t have any work I hold the cigarette with his lips and headed for the window to open the window Strike sharply lighter And over an old gas stove fiery flower blooms I’m subconsciously waiting for a loud sound, but it is not, on the contrary, all the sounds disappear First lost baby screams I even have time for a moment to think, if they hurt Me don’t hurt Me becomes good And when finally pauses chanson — better yet I smile listening to silenced bass uncle Bori somewhere in the room, It seems, foul language Is frightened — he is frightened every time I close my eyes and then slowly opened And the world around forks And I see what was then, a few of my fifteenth anniversaries ago: flames released from the gas pipe, with a roar rushes through the apartment — a childish prank turned the death of many people breaking out Wallpaper, curtains, furniture If I look down I can see burning myself Simultaneously, I see what to our apartment over the years: there is no frame in the kitchen window, no furniture, traces of soot and soot everywhere And I sigh with relief when you feel that begin to dissolve in the silence I feel a little sorry for all those people who live in neighboring apartments, because to live in the neighborhood with damned places is always difficult, However, waiting for them another three hundred sixty-four days of calm Until next year When I’ll be fifteen again


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