Dangers, Liaisons

We open a few doors in each other, but the ones deep down will always remain locked

She didn't come to the Mátra, but we talked over the phone for hours. Finally I gave up my stances and came home a day early so I can meet her in person.
She wore black clothes, mourning. Suffering made her even more beautiful, her eyes were broken, but still emitting some sort of magic, some special force. I can't help it: I can't resist suffering women. Then I can tune to their frequency without any burdens, I can take in their femininity fully. As a writer, that's how I feed. The sexes unite in me, I become androgynous, then I separate the personalities in me and start to write their story.
With Sophie, at the beginning our love, we tuned up to each other easily, we were wide open for each other, maybe actually that was the problem, that we opened up too much, we had no secrets left. Then years have passed, we have both changed, we kept our secrets more carefully. The crisis in Sophie's family life was what brought us together again. I can feel her and she can feel me too. We open a few doors, but we don't make the same mistake: the ones deep down remain locked.
I notice I get more and more under her spell whilst I know she wants me to convince her to give another chance to her husband.
The story of us three changes directions though. I ask her, how many times did she forgive in the last months. How many last chances did they have?
- You're right – she says -, but he's still my husband.
- Who ruins your life.
- I don't know what to do – she shakes her head.
I would know it, but I can't tell it. I take her hand. I feel strong, I feel whole again.
- In there, where I can't see down, what do you feel there?
Her skin literally heats up under my touch.
- You know, that's the big thing, that I don't know myself either. I'm too afraid to open that door.
- Because you may find something else than what you want?
She doesn't answer me. I try again and again to open that door, but she won't.
Upon our goodbye - again the odd move - I kiss her. She returns it, but there's no fire in it.

On the third day, the phone rung. THAT phone. Seemingly the saying about the piper and hell is true. I went there and back. Sophie left me, took the kids with her. A horrible whirlpool took me in, carrying me deeper and deeper. I tried to fight, but it wouldn't let me go. When I had no idea where is up or down, deah or life, I was floating halfway between the two. Then I slowly started to drift towards the latter, but then I saw the kids, and I saw Sophie. I had to get them back.

I stayed.
Existence hurt. My body and my soul fell to pieces, but suffering still let me know: I'm still alive. The whirlpool still called, but I could already say no. I got stronger by the hour, and that filled me with confidence. I still didn't call Sophie. First I wanted to prove myself. I started running again, and I even pulled the dumbbells out. I decided I will lose all excess weight, I will train myself to be hard.
On the second day of my new life I took out my phone book and starting at A I systematically called all my acquaintances. The ice finally broke by D, he said he heard of some new TV channel starting the other day, he will recommend me.
The next day I already got the call:
- Would I like to...?
I didn't even listen to the whole sentence, I said yes. It's a thematical channel, the editor-in-chief is M. I have known her for quite a while, we always got along well. I didn't even ask about money or positions, it's all the same, I have to take it anyways, no other choice. That's the only way I can regain my family.
I called Sophie, but she didn't pick up. I texted her my apologies, but she didn't answer. I finally wrote her an email, telling everything. Then she asked for some time, and I asked her to meet me. I could've touched the sky when she said yes.
When I saw her, I couldn't understand how could I have let her go. She was beautiful beyond words, and I looked at her just the same as ten years ago, when I first saw her.
I have to repair everything - that's what I kept saying, so I will believe I can do it, I'll be able to. I can't lose her.

I tried to stay cool, but he surrounded me with such a genuine attention that I slowly melted up and let him court me. After all he is my husband, from him I can take it without guilt. Still my conscience was screaming, I felt I was two-faced. I think, if I didn't have children, this would be the moment when I packed up and moved a thousand miles away. But I do have them, and they ask me every day when their dad will get better. It's only for them that I declare him healed. They move home. As they jump on him and climb on his neck, all my bad feelings vanish. I think I got home, too.

It Hurts to Love, It Hurts to Hate

Till death does us apart, until yesterday.

I feel a chaos of feelings rise in me. Ten years can't just be put in parenthesis in a moment. I hate Peter for what he did. And I hate all those who did this to Peter. The hystery of recession, the downsizings, that life is no more than a mere line of a pen. And now I don't think it's a good idea to leave him. I know it sounds all sentimental, I even cry when I think of it, but I do believe in the death does us apart, I do believe you have to hold on for better or for worse... I almost turn home when I realize I'm trying to reason what he did. I pity him. But my body won't obey, I still drive the car the other direction. If I could spin time back, I would. I want the man who he was. I want a man, a strong, earnest, one who doesn't run into a high of alcohol to forget his own minority. I want the Peter who would carry his whole family on his shoulders without a thought. The one who wanted to wow me. The one who seduced me every night. The one who wanted me and was a partner for me. And my body, my guts know that this Peter doesn't exist anymore, no matter how I would command it home, the car goes another way. Maybe I should have talked about it with my father. Or my first love? I slam on the brakes. Gosh, what am I doing? Am I just looking for a reason to step out of a marriage slowed down? Maybe it's not Peter the problem but me? I don't have to go, but I want to go?

My mind comes back for the mad honking. The people behind me don't understand why I'm standing in the middle of the road. The middle of the road - I realize that from here I can still turn back. I just have to want it. But I can't want it. True enough, I can't even want to continue my journey. I stand there paralyzed. Somebody loses his head and passes everyone by, not caring about the traffic in the opposite direction. He curses with his face transforming into it. I can't start, I turn on my emergency lights. The next driver, when he sees me, brakes and stops in front of me. The man gets out of the car and comes to me. My instincts work as I press the security lock button. He leans to my window and asks something. I can't hear his words, but I see the good will on his face. I roll my window an inch down, and it surprises me as my mouth opens and I say: "I just left my husband." "Ouch" he says, scratching his head. "Why? You can tell me." He looks at me encouraging, and - another surprise - I start to list it. This can only happen to me: sitting in the middle of traffic in my car, and across a barely cracked window I lay out my whole life to a complete stranger. He offers me to continue it by a drink. This gets me back to reality. I can't just go with the first man I find. I want to leave, but he yells at me: "You can't drive like this. I live nearby, the house is big, I promise you I..." Now the alarm is ringing constantly: "You don't think I would..." - I try to jump at him, but he just waves me silent: "Don't leave him, give him another chance!" He turns around and leaves me there. I wait until his car gets out of my sight and then finally I start up my engine too.

Peter didn't write to his blog for days after Sophie left. And then it's a different person continuing. At least so it seemed. But don't go so far ahead. Roughly when Sophie was complaining to the unknown man at the road, I had this strong feeling in my guts: she's in trouble. I dialed her number, but her cell phone was switched off. She didn't want Peter to reach her, but this way I couldn't reach her either. Then.

Broken Now

Can you lie a marriage if it doesn't exist anymore?

I woke for a terrible hangover, Sophie wasn't home anymore and so weren't the kids. The images of last night start popping up: Sophie's face, she's yelling at me, but I can't quite decide if it was a dream or reality. I still remember the unemployment center. Then I called Sophie and she didn't pick it up. At that time I was already at a nearby bar. I was shooting vodka after vodka. I sent a text with the bad news, then my phone went down. A guy was sitting next to me by the bar, I was complaining to him. He said I should go on sick leave, I can still do it. I yelled all upset that I'm not sick.
- Man, just take a look at yourself! - he said something like that.
I ordered more and more vodka, then I ran out of money. The last cut I remember is leaving to look for an ATM. And there the logical line of events breaks there. I faintly remember images, but only useless, cloudy details. Like if someone used the camera the wrong way, not taking the actual scenes just the set changes.
I got out of bed terrified, fighting throwing up. I was searching through my things, maybe I can find a sign, something to start from, to find out what happened to me. But I couldn't find anything, not even the folder I took with me to the unemployment center.
All my official documents!
I kept getting the face of a furious Sophie. Well that's why: I lost everything. I threw down my clothes and not caring about the vertigo I scrubbed myself clean. It happened on the outside, not on the inside though. The worst is that I could have done anything, I won't remember. I could have killed someone or gone behind the scenes with some woman. I don't know, and the worst is, I can't ask anyone.
I went to find the papers. I hoped that the familiar spots may help me recall where I wandered. I clearly remember having them upon leaving the office.
I was lucky. The bartender at the bar was waving at me from afar when he saw me. He had all the documents

- Cure a dog's bite with the dog's hair. Want a beer?
Not a single cell of me wanted it, but I didn't want to refuse the offer of the man who saved me from hours upon hours of red tape, or even worse. And also, I was hoping that the beer may dull the furious self-blame.
I only ordered a half pint and I left all the small change I had on me for him. I finally somehow shoved that beer down my throat, but it didn't make anything better.

I wandered around a little more in the area, but I didn't find out any more about my last night.
I came home and all afternoon I buried myself into the job advertisements. I wrote myself a new resume, trying to make myself look a little more appealing. Not much luck on that. And it's especially hard when my younger daughter stands in front of me, looks at me with her eyes all wide and asks:
- Daddy, how long will you be unemployed? Lilly's mom was fired too, but she is working again already...
I try hard not to show it, but a whole world just collapses inside me. And then Sophie steps in, sends the kids to their room and softly she says only this:
- Peter, I'm leaving.

Seventeen missed calls and a text message from Sophie, all throughout a single morning. My cell phone in the hotel, strictly silenced, I'm on a vacation.
Help me! - that's all her text says.
I call her.
- I'm getting a divorce - she says and starts to weep.
I try to comfort her, to no avail. Complaints just ooze from her. When she's not crying, she's talking so fast I can barely understand her over the phone, but I can see it's deep trouble: she wants to tell her husband that night that it's all over. I try to get her to think it over once more, leave some time for herself to ripen the final decision.
- No reason to. Not anymore.
I offer her to come up to me to the Mátra mountains for a day or two so we can look through everything. I can feel she would want to, but she hardens herself.
- Now I will play with open cards - she says.
I ask her how to mean that one, but I don't get any smarter from her answer:
- Mean it as you want it.

I look into my girls' eyes, I can see they know that something horribly wrong is going on, but they still don't ask anything, they just cry silently, without tears. "Your father is sick - I lied - and I have to go on a trip, for work. You will stay with Grandma for a while.” „ But I want to be with you two... always” - begs the younger one, and her tears start to flow. On the older one's face, bitterness. „ You won't get divorced, will you?”. „No.” - I lie again. I hate myself, I hate Peter. Where did we go wrong? Who is responsible for all this?
To my parents, I just routinely dish out the lies. Peter is sick, I have to go out of town. My father offers to go over to him. I reject it angrily. "Come, girl, let's talk it over!" - he pulls me by my arm toward his study, like in the old days when they made me pay the difference between the cheapie school bag and the trendy one in my freshman year in high school. If I can't get out of my parents' house, I will cry, and that's the last think I want to do. "Thanks, Dad, but I gotta go. I have some crap going on at my office and I have to be there." Lying goes easier and easier. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" - my father asks. He can see inside me, as always. "Yyyyyyyyyeah... I think so." "I hope you know you can always count on us?" "I know."
I say goodbye to the kids. They're crying. At that point, so am I. I try to calm then, best as I can, then I step out the door. Their teary eyes haunt me to go back and reverse all. But no, it's impossible.
In the car I ask myself the question I really tried to avoid so far: And now, where?
I think of my first love, the Mátra, where we have even been together. I almost take the highway M3 towards it, then I have a better idea.

I'm Not Even Wanted As Unemployed

If he cheated on me, I may even bear that too, but he sinned against his family and that is unforgivable.

I didn't wait until the deadline, I went back to the employment center in a few days. I decided nothing can upset me, if I have to, I will wait for eight hours straight, I'm taking something to read, sandwiches for a day. I had so many papers I couldn't fit them in my briefcase anymore, I had to put them in a separate plastic bag in a giant folder. In about half an hour I even got a seat, that made me almost optimistic. The calling numbers came in a complete mess, I couldn't find a system in it, try as I might. At least one would know how many are ahead, you could just go out for a walk, get a coffee, grab a bite to eat. Time would fly by. But system, no. They call the number ten lower, then twenty higher, then the one right before me. Then 17 after me. And I just sit there waiting, I can't even read, because I look up at every beep of the display. Maybe. But seems that my number is cursed, or just the computer forgot about it. Sophie sends me a comforting text every hour or so, at least that helps.
After three hours and thirty-seven minutes of wait, my time comes. I magically put on my sweetest smile over my worn face, and I step into the shrine of bureaucracy. I sit down at the clerk's desk, I spread out my miles of paperwork, this fact sheet, that application, another certification - she just keeps asking and asking, with no feeling in her voice whatsoever. I select the needed paperwork quickly, I don't want to waste their precious time. She pounces on the corporate papers like an attacking puma. Her experienced eyes point a mistake, she busts the verdict: not eligible. I try to argue, I ask her to show me the law, governmental order, anything. She's just shrugging and changes tone:
- If you really want it, we can put in the application...
A spark of hope shines up.
- ...but it will be rejected anyways.
My brain just explodes. When I was there for the first time I wanted to ask about that point that she doesn't want to accept now. After several hours of waiting I would've deserved at least the answer from the info desk clerk, but all she could say was that all cases are different, the appointed clerk will tell everything. Another several hours of wait gives me forty seconds of answer time.
When I mention this, she just shrugs, she can't do anything, it's the rule. I groan, that I'm not holding her responsible for the rules but for the humiliating and inhumane process of letting me know this.
I curse her. I wish her to be fired too and have to go begging for financial aid, just like I have to. Now all other clerks are watching us too. And me in particular, rather offensively.
Finally the released pressure is not sitting on my brain, I can change tones:
- Ladies, I have a simple favor to ask you! - I raise my voice.

I leave a pause of attention.
- More humanity! People who come here are in trouble, have been hurt, a lot of them have been humiliated. Please treat us like people too!
Air just froze.
- See you later, ladies – I say, storming out of the office.
I hear some groans of disrespect, but I don't react. I grab the door to slam it behind myself, but in the last moment I change my mind and just close it quietly.
At the information desk I stop for a second. It's the same lady staring at me the same stupidly who didn't answer me last time. Anger fills me, I would just love to smash her fat head into the counter.
Then I gather my strength and walk out without even saying goodbye.

Of what happened immediately after this, neither of them ever wrote anything. Sophie told me a lot later what happened.
She was in the middle of a super important meeting when Peter called her. She couldn't take the call, her phone was on silent mode, so she just hung up and tried to secretly write a text message that she will call him back ASAP after the meeting, but her husband's message broke it in half. "I was denied, I'm not even good enough to be unemployed." Roughly that's what it said. Sophie felt that she can't not talk to him. She excused herself out with a lot of awkward sorry's, but she couldn't reach Peter anymore, he turned her cell off. She sent her a text message and went back to the meeting. She was hanging on the edge of her seat, but her peers just couldn't finish their discussion. She got a new text message, but not from Peter but the bank: all their bonds have been freed. Her boss looked rather annoyed, but still she went out once again. Her husband was still not available. She sat back on her place, but in a moment came the next message. All money was withdrawn. Sophie lied that her kid got sick and ran away. She drove like a madman to the bank branch where the money was taken up, but Peter wasn't there anymore. She ran home, but no use, her husband wasn't there either. He just disappeared. She called all the friends and family, but nobody has seen him.

He only got home in the early morning, drunk out of his brain. He lost all the papers, but he did have the money, at least most of it. He spent seventy thousand forints. (translator's note: about 355 USD, roughly a month's minimum wage earnings) Sophie was yelling, but the words didn't even reach Peter's brain, he just collapsed into bed still in his clothes. He never told what he wanted to do with the money. She thought he wanted to take off abroad. That night, Sophie only wrote a single sentence into her diary:

That he makes no money, I will survive, I can bear his jealousy, if he cheated on me, I may even bear that too, but he sinned against his family and that is unforgivable.

Believing It May Just Get Better

If she has something to tell, she will. And if not, I'm not even interested.

My notice time was over and still no job. I have to register for unemployment aid. We do have some savings, but even if Sophie makes more from next moth, we can't risk me not having insurance. If anything happens to me, we'll lose everything. So I take a big breath and off to the interwebs: I read everything in the topic. I carefully download and fill in all the forms to the best of my knowledge. I would need some help, as even though it's in Hungarian, it's a tough job to know the answer to all questions. I dig in the laws until I finally put the whole portfolio together. I gather all the hundred and twenty more I.D.'s, certifications, tax receipts, just in case I even add the kids' birth certificates and the dog's vaccination record too, so I won't be left ashore because of those. Our marriage certificate gets in my hand too. I pat it, smell it, in my head I run over all the happy moments together. There's not much of those in the past few weeks, but the old ones are more than enough. I don't let myself get desperate, I chase away the thoughts of Sophie and her boss. I decide I won't bother her with questions when she comes home. If she has something to tell, she will.and if not, I'm not even interested. That's the only way I can validate for myself not going in to check what she's doing in the hotel.
I deal with this unemployment aid, then I will search for jobs more intensely until I finally find one. I'll call even those of whom I didn't want to beg for a job.
When I have a job, I'll show Sophie we have a future together. His sneaky snake of a wanton boss I will just erase out of her life.
She found me in that mood when she got home. I was happy to see I must be on the right path as she was so nice with me as she hasn't been in quite a while. Of course in my brain the alarm started to ring immediately that she only wants to compensate for what she did. But I was strong, I ripped out the clapper from that damned alarm bell.

I rather just had her look through the paper to move on to neutral territories. She also thought it was all right, but it so wasn't...

In the morning she reassured me how sorry she was that I have to apply for unemployment aid. She even offered to look if we can get insurance for me in any other way.
I didn't accept it. I got in this situation, I have to crawl out myself, even if it's uncomfortable or humiliating. And then I didn't even guess how much so it is. They made me wait for three hours, out of which a full hour was on the street, outside the office, then they shoved a portfolio full of the same papers that I took there filled out, stamped them then they told me to come back in two weeks. I tried to explain that I have everything on me at the moment, we could just do the registration now, the woman just phlegmatically told me: nope, this is not how the case is supposed to go. I should go back in two weeks, I have the time anyways, no?

Sophie only has a short entry in her diary of this time:

"After the corporate weekend a new Peter was waiting for me at home. I barely even recognized him. He was sweet, ready to work, we almost jumped in bed immediately, which hasn't happened in a long time. I think he was afraid of failure, that if he doesn't go through his hard-built, paper thin confidence may just crush. I didn't force him, I found it more important that I started to believe it may just all get right again for us. I wanted to believe."

What really happened at the hotel she wrote quite later. When she didn't believe in them again.

Unsure Balance

Would you want to know what's going on in there?

- Sophie, did you cheat on him? - I asked again as she didn't answer at first. She looked in my eyes long, as if she tried to read my mind. Like if she was trying to decide whether she can trust me, whether she can tell it exactly to me. Would it change in our relationship if she told me her secret? Would it change the worth of our common past?
- No - she finally uttered.
She didn't convince me.
- Would you tell if you did?
- No.
- Well great. You just easily say no, and when I ask back, you admit that you won't even tell if it was a yes, putting that whole no into parenthesis.
She shrugged and with that she considered the topic closed. I didn't ask any longer, I didn't really want to know. I asked if anyone was following her.
- No, nobody - she answered troubled. - I just don't know anymore whom I can trust.
- In me – I said, putting my hand on her shoulder again.
I only learnt it way later, from her diary, what happened on that weekend.

After the official program I excused myself out. John, my boss was not happy, but he accepted the situation. "See you at dinner" - he said and left for the wellness center. I bumped into a few of the partners at the hall. There were a few women amongst them too. They didn't seem to care at all that the meeting continues in the pool.
I called the kids from my room. I learned that Peter passed them on to his parents. At that point I was sorry that I didn't join the others, but it was too late to reconsider. I laid down on the bed and I was thinking what we could have done wrong and how could we get over this whole thing.
Dinner turned out great, the two sides got closer to each other and the initial distrust seemed to melt away. We drank champagne and chatted. The boss of the advertising agency asked a lot about my job, but he wasn't too pushy. Then they went back to the pool and I retired to my room. I was clicking around on the TV, but I found nothing I would like. I didn't think of bringing a book with me, so finding nothing better I was leafing through the next day's presentation. I turned my cell phone off, I didn't want Peter to reach me. I simply had nothing to say to him. I didn't want to admit that he won, I again met his expectations, even if nobody meant a meat market here.
I was just dozing away when the hotel phone rung. „Peter, so he did reach me” - that was my first thought, so I didn't take the call. In two minutes, somebody was knocking on my door.
It was John. He asked me to talk over the next day's to-do list. I stepped in his way.
- I got a few important info tidbits. We need to change the strategy – he said, just as if we were in the office. - Come, I'll buy you a goodnight cocktail and we can talk it over – he stepped back from my doorway. - We are about to make the deal of the century.
I didn't move, I could just see the blame in Peter's eyes.
- Bring tomorrow's pressie too! - John smiled cunningly. And I followed him obediently. Peter's image disappeared into mist.

My father came around eleven for the kids. He didn't ask anything, I'm sure he saw I need to go. Father and son can understand each other without words. I went over to my neighbor and asked for my buddy's bike. He wasn't too happy to lend it, but I didn't care. I told Sophie myself to go with our own car. The long drive can give a lot of opportunities, and her boss would've only been too happy to come and pick her up. I didn't want to borrow my parents' car, until then I was too much in love with the thought of blazing down the highway on a bike. Sophie undermined my idea of commuting on a motorbike when we had the money for it.
- The kids need a father, not an organ donor – she said every single time when I mentioned my idea.
Victor is about the same size as I am, so I begged off his leather suit too. He was very close to saying no, but he could see that in this situation he just can't do it to me. I topped out at 150 kph on the highway (translator's note: legal speed limit is 130kph) and after long long weeks, for the first time, I was happy. It was mercilessly cold, but I didn't care. Finally I felt like a man again who can keep his and his lady's fate in his hands. I arrived at the hotel around 2pm. I let out a sigh of relief: our car was there in the parking lot. At least she didn't lie about where she was going. I parked the bike far away, even though I knew she would never recognize me in this outfit.
On the road I imagined it a hundred times or more to storm into the hotel and ask about Sophie. The receptionist is all confused, then he tries to keep me from rushing to the pool.
But I got unsure. I thought over what I could find.
1. I find Sophie in the pool, her boss yanking his paws out of her bra with a scared face. (This one I didn't want to see anyways.)
2. Sophie gets cheered up by my arrival and we end up in bed. (This one I didn't count on as it hasn't happened in so long.)
3. Sophie gets upset that I'm spying after him. (This one was the most likely, but understandably I didn't really want to go through that one.)
So I left for home, but after a few miles I reconsidered: if I came so far, I really have to investigate it.
In the hotel parking lot I got unsure again.
I tried to decide what would be more cowardly. Going in or not going in, this is the question. I was staring at the windows, I tried to guess which one is Sophie's.
Finally I didn't go in, but it wasn't all my decision: the security guard pointed me out, I guess he found the helmet-covered biker staring at the building. I didn't wait until I got kicked out, I just hopped on the bike and rode home.

All the way home I was thinking whether or not I would want to know what's going on in there.

Walls of Blames

Words have their weight. Those never uttered even more so.

The night before the trip I was laying on the bed, staring into the darkness with my eyes wide open. Our lives reached a turning point, and I knew I had to decide. If she goes, everything will change. Doesn't matter if anything happens or not. I felt that even if it's just a harmless presentation, I will still be branded by the doubt forever... Sophie and her boss, in two, in a hotel... I couldn't bear the knowledge. Around 1am I got to the decision: she will cancel the trip. We will say it was some sudden illness. From that I felt better and I finally fell asleep. But at five I was up again. I couldn't rest my brain, I thought Sophie has to decide. On her own. If I force her to, it's not worth a damn thing. She has to know what pain she causes if she goes.
But Sophie got up and started to pack her suitcase. I was watching silently, and I was waiting for her to suddenly stop and announce the no. Even the kids were rowing my boat: they were openly begging their mother to stay. But she just kept packing. I almost said I WON'T LET YOU GO when she started to sort her make-up things.
- I hope at least you take a few condoms? - I let it slip.
- Go f**** yourself! - she burst in front of the kids. - I go there to work, understand? Even if YOU don't know what that's like.
I let the irony pass my ears. I stepped towards her and tried to hug her, but she turned away and started to sort in her bathing suits with large, theatrical moves.
- You know, at first I thought I would say I'm on period and I won't go to the pool party, but after this I'm not so sure I'd do that – she hissed with her lips tightened, and tossed her tiniest, barely covering bikini in the suitcase

- Well if you won't even do so much for me, don't even come home! – I answered quickly and tried to snatch the bikini from her luggage.
She was faster than me and slammed the lid of the suitcase.

- Well then I won't! - she said pouting.

- Mom, come home! You will come home, won't you? - the girls were begging.
- Don't worry, there won't be anything wrong. Mom goes to work. Be good!
She said goodbye to them - not to me -, and she rushed away.
- Daddy, what's gonna happen now? - my younger daughter asked, distressed.
- Nothing – I said, then added: - She goes just to work..., at least so I hope.
Ten minutes later my phone was ringing:
- If you want to swill, ask my father to take the kids! - she said coldly.
- I won't! - I answered and hung up.
„But not because I want to be a good babysitter” - I told myself, and I called my mother that I have a work meeting, Sophie is WORKING too, would she take the kids.
I had a better idea then sitting at home, chewing myself on what Sophie may be doing at the moment...

She arrived late to the cafe at Franz Liszt Square. She wore dark sunglasses, even though it was nasty and rainy outside. She didn't come to me immediately, first she carefully checked out all the locale. Maybe another two or three people were sitting there aside from us. First she looked through me as if I wasn't even there. I was about to stand up when she gave me a barely visible hand motion to stay still. She suddenly walked back to the door and looked back on the street. Just after this she sat down to the table. She looked worn, she must have lost a few pounds. The grey suit she wore to work was way loose on her. She had thick makeup on, but it still couldn't hide the bags under her eyes.
She called me an hour earlier, that we need to meet immediately. I asked her on the phone, but she wouldn't tell me why. I would've had an important meeting, but she begged me so hard I cancelled it.
That's when she told me about the morning of her trip:
- He watched me with blame in his eyes, I knew he was waiting for me to stop packing and tell him I'm not going anywhere, I won't leave you here. But then I had already decided: I only go to the official presentation, from the rest I will just pull out because of feminine problems.
The waiter came and Sophie went silent. She only continued after we ordered:
- He was watching with a keen eye what lingerie I take. It angered me to no end that he even thought anyone would see it, but still I tried to find my least sexy pieces. I don't know if he noticed it or not because he just kept staring with a blank face, never saying a word. Once I was done with the underwear, I asked him to bring me my towel. "You have to solve that yourself” - he answered, not clearing what he means on purpose, and he didn't move. But I didn't want to take the towel because of the wellness things. I always take one, because I had ended up without one before in a hotel, expecting they had one but no. I went out and grabbed one, about the size of a hand towel. I even laid it out so he can see it. No reaction. When I started to sort my makeup, he suddenly ordered me to put in a few condoms too.
Something broke. How can he be so profane?
She started crying. I put my hand on my shoulder and I tried to comfort her, saying that I know of a lot of people who always keep one on them. If it does happen, at least it won't have those kind of consequences.
- If it happens, it's all the same anyways – she said darkly and looked at me. I tried to read her eyes – not much luck.
She told me how bad a fight they had, and that Peter told her if she doesn't fake period, she shouldn't even go home. Sophie didn't even want to answer that then she won't, but she said she was unable to control herself. After this she couldn't reverse it in words, but she still tried to send messages to Peter on a level of gestures. She theatrically checked her bikini line in the mirror, and then she just flicked her hand and left it as-is. (I remembered from our old times that Sophie has always been maddeningly accurate about this, she wouldn't even wear a swimsuit in front of me if everything wasn't in its proper order.)
So I asked her, why is she telling it to me.
- Don't you see?
I didn't, but I didn't want to go into the spiel. Instead I gave the question straight:
- Sophie, did you cheat on him?

The Hell of Jealousy

Business meeting in the jacuzzi. Survivor camp with the co-workers. How much of you do you give to the company?

I'm jealous of Sophie's success. Finally I dare to say it. I know it sounds bad, but I don't care anymore about the silenced half-truths and the soul-killing lies. Think what you want to, that's the truth. At least I say it. This is the first step. The next one will be to tell her too. I have a hard time handling it, because whilst I have to face rejection from every direction, that no one wants my work, she gets wings. Or maybe she's being flewn? Or being run? Okay, just leave that one. The next step will involve clearing up all that too.

I needed days to finally give birth to all these thoughts. I retired into and live an ascetic life inside the guest bedroom, so there won't even be an accidental little fight, so she won't see that I can't be unconditionally happy about her successes. I just have to get over this crippling feeling so our life can get back on track.
Obviously, being jealous of her success can not be apart from being jealous of my woman. I know she jumped so high on the ladder because her boss wants something from her. I only don't know if he's good with just the body or if he wants her soul too? And I can't talk to Sophie about it, because as soon as I mention it, she snaps.

No, I don't think that Sophie abuses the situation, nor do I think there's anything between them. I trust Sophie, but not the guy. I'm going crazy from not being able to do anything if fate or if his maneuvers would move them into each other's arms, because we need that damned money Sophie makes, we would croak without that. Even though I would love to just go up to the guy and yell into his face that he can't buy Sophie, because I don't let her, I won't give her.
A line from a novel is in my head: "man doesn't give another man an opportunity; not even from laziness, carelessness or lack of attention." But in our case it's not laziness, but money, and it's wrong. I have a feeling that we sell our relationship because of this damned recession!
*
I wrote all the above in the afternoon. Now it's night. A night of hopelessness. She came home only at eight. I didn't say a word. We talked about neutral things, and about the weekend. And then she mentioned it: she's leaving on Saturday for two days, to some wellness resort where they will do a presentation for the strategic partners. I only asked:
- So they want you to show off around in bikinis? In front of your boss, your colleagues, all those perverts of partners? Let me guess, they are all men! Do you think it's normal? I hope you sent them to Hell?
She said it's embarrassing to her too, but she couldn't say no. If they want new partners in these hard times, they need to do something memorable.
Yup, serving up my naked wife! What a genius!

It wasn't in Peter's blog where I first heard of these "business weekends". I have to say, I don't think these "creative meetings" are so great. Meetings are for offices, maybe for dinner tables. Since it's questionable whether an employee can say no to the offer.
Employee. Many use this term as "be a slave!" We bought you by the pound. Because in today's Hungary, for many corporations that's what employees mean. They ask for unconditional accommodation. Teambuilding in the weekends, get-togethers, psycho-dramas, role-playing games, meetings in the jacuzzi. Doing your job is not enough! Give all of yourself! You can't have a weekend, a private life. Don't have doubts or questions! Throw in everything, seduce the possible partner if the sales graph is not rising well enough. Throw yourself in! Do everything for the company, and believe in it. Your office is the temple where you have to make the due sacrifice for the Greater Brand. If you ask questions, if you have doubts in the latest corporate bible, if you don't trust the visions of the head priests that by 2018 the concurring companies won't even see your backs and you will become the monopoly, you're misbehaving, you're disrupting the ritual. If they notice you don't give yourself so easily, if you stick to individual thoughts, if you don't believe unconditionally, they will fire you. You don't belong with us if you don't worship the Greater Brand, you're not "brandy"! They will excommunicate you and in a moment they will escort you out of the temple. They will erase your name from the list of brand-believers, and write you up in the book of enemies instead. It will all happen so fast, that even after months you mistake the pronouns: our brand... at our company... we invented... we wrote it too... we built that house. You realize, cough quickly and disturbed, and correct yourself: they built it, they wrote it, they showed that movie.
Whilst you're a good follower, instead of ME, HE, YOU, it's US. If your loyalty is not self-surrender, in moments YOU will be out, outside of THEM, where you can be ME again, though without money. Trap.
How much of yourself do you give to the company?

The ramblings of my first love, Sophie, about jealousy:

"I got caught between crossfire, I have to accommodate to the standards of my company and my husband. I can't say no to the weekend trip, because the ink hasn't quite even dried on my promotion yet, and they do really need me for the meetings. However, I'm also a married woman, they can't expect me to act as a hostess. I didn't even think of this whole bikini thing until Peter pointed that question at me. Afterwards it did shine up that John mentioned something that if we can't win them over at the presentation, we can work on them during the evening relaxation.
For one thing, Peter's stances absolutely upset me, but on the other side I can completely understand him. Do they really expect me to slip into my little bathing suit and splash around together in the pool? Is it my duty to do so? On the other hand, why does Peter think that if I go to the wellness center with my colleagues for the weekend it automatically means I want to sleep with them? I guess Peter doesn't even think with one, but all of them whilst I'm there... Why doesn't he trust me? Why did his jealousy become unbearable, whilst he's emailing with fifty other women? If I ask anything, he just yells it's business mailing, and attacks me for digging into his mail. But I don't dig, it's only the computer being shared, and he always keeps his inbox open. And what's seen can not be unseen.
I know he's in a really rough place now, so again it will be me compromising, even though I can bear the cheap little compromises less and less. How long do I have to bear? Will it ever be better at all?"

Cooling Bedroom

Everything has a price. The seemingly-peace too.

The rejections are coming right in: "Thank you for applying, but this time you were not chosen." "You did not get chosen for the second round of interviews. Thank you for your interest, please keep watching our job bulletin and apply again if any positions interesting you should open." At least they would say something tangible: your language skills are not enough, not ambitious enough, not young enough, too fat, your gaze is too strict. You are too aggressive, or instead, too undecided. Over-educated, or under-educated, or even both. Whatever, but say something, so I can realize I need to pick up on English, I'll become ambitious and young, I drop off a few pounds, and in front of the mirror I will practice a mild but reassuringly firm gaze.
And still, not these rejection letters are the worst, but silence. Over half of the applications get absolutely no answer. Not even something as small as we got it, thanks. We don't want you. It's not you we meant. But nothing. Justt keep bugging yourself, why there's no reaction. Because the advertisement was just bluff, the candidate was chosen long ago, they only posted it for the formalities? So many applicants, their servers can't keep up with sending out the automated we-got-it-will-contact answer? Are they just getting a thrill? The HR manager is testing how many people would apply for a given job so they can threaten the current employee with the data? If you don't work efficient enough, not to mention fast and cheap too, if you don't really want to spend all your Sundays with work too, you may as well know that 4542 people are currently applying for your job. Out of which 2125 would be perfectly suitable to replace you, 742 would do it for half of your salary even. So, what is exactly the matter with the weekend overtime shifts?
I wouldn't even be surprised about that. At least it would give a reason for the skipped answers: after all, they can't just write "thank you for being a cool little... incentive tool in our hands, but our raging colleague has quickly leaned to appreciate what he has, calmed down and now he's working like a miracle. Thank you for your help, we will contact you whenever we need you again to discipline someone. Especially that then you will give an even lower estimate, being really hungry."
And I am starting to get hungry. I hate that we don't have any money, I hate that Sophie supports me.

Peter didn't mention the previous fight, but Sophie couldn't get over it. Peter went all out in the job hunt and acted as if he didn't notice the change in their relationship. The jealousy scenes started to get more few and far between. From Sophie I know that he didn't quit drinking completely, he waited until everyone went to bed and then he started to have his beers. He said his brain works better at night, so he moved in to the guest room. He moved in the computer and the TV set from the kitchen, and Sophie remained all alone in the bedroom:

We are getting further on the speed of light, and I can't reverse the whole progress. On the morning after the fight he didn't even come out as long as I was at home. He never called me throughout the day either. In the evening I went home with my stomach being smaller than a pinhead, I was so scared what I would find at home. I decided that if he's drunk again, I won't say a word just pack up the kids and go. But he wasn't drinking, he just acted as if nothing has happened. He was even a lot more bearable than before. He wasn't whining or blaming others or me, he wasn't even being jealous. He was cold and proper. He asked me what happened at work. I was scared, but I mentioned a few meaningless little things (geez, will I have to be scared forever if word turns to my job?). I was waiting for the explosion, but he didn't even pay attention. He told me how many places he applied at that day. I praised him for it, but it still didn't break the ice. I knew that if I don't mention the fight, that we parted with anger, something will go irreparably wrong. Before we always talked it over, after each standoff we kept analyzing each other and our behavior until we finally just laughed at it. We parodied each other, the whole situation, and we ended up in bed. But now I just didn't have the willpower to break the seemingly-peace, I rather just held my peace. Come night he said he still wants to work, so he slept in the guest bedroom again. I was curled up on our bed and wept soundlessly.
The seemingly-peace stabilized for days. Of course I did see the bottles hid in the garage, but I respected that he didn't drink in front of the kids, so I didn't say anything. I decided to give him some time to pull himself together. And to myself so I will dare to tell him where I'm going next weekend.

I Don't Want To Be Your Life Lie

If a man is promoted, he does his job well, but if a woman, they just want to bed her?

I got the first serious rejection today. (I'm not trying to draw in negatives by saying first, so that there will be more, but I'm realistic. Everyone says in this situation now it will be damn hard to get a job.) I put in an application for a bigger commercial channel, for a pretty high position. I matched all their requirements, and I even had connections at the company. Just a few days after applying my phone rung and they were glad to tell me I was past the first round with my application. Soon I also had my interview, I thought it went well, though when I answered the HR manager's question about my ideas of a salary, he just pulled his eyebrows together. I know the prices, I didn't overestimate myself, and I added that I'm open for discussion as circumstances, possibilities for promotion or further education, managerial rights and duties, etc. are more important than money. And I really thought so.

But even still I got the letter that I didn't get to the second round. This wasn't good especially because there was also a third round, so I can't even comfort myself by saying "almost". I didn't call Sophie, I didn't have the strength to tell her. She was so hopeful that they will choose me. I would've started next month, so I could've had some time to relax, and we wouldn't have had to touch the reserves as my notice time is still going.
I have to be honest, this is the first time I really got scared. What happens if I don't get a job until the money runs out? We can't live from a single income, even if we pull all strings and belts. What if we won't be able to pay the mortgage on the house? I tried not to show my fear in front of the kids, but obviously they got it that we're in trouble. I said my tooth hurts bad. Even when I started to drink at home. I sent them to their room to play. I didn't want to get all drunk, but hours just passed, and Sophie just wasn't coming. I called her, but she didn't answer. It was well past eight when she got home. She immediately noticed I had been drinking.
- I was rejected -I tried to explain.
I saw that she was shocked by the news but she tried to comfort me:
- It's okay, the next one will do it. Did you take care of the kids?
- Yes - I answered quickly. - Do you want a shot too? - I took the bottle out.
- No, and you shouldn't drink either! It doesn't solve anything.
I answered that I need it to get my calm back.
That's when my younger daughter ran out and in a single sentence she babbled that they haven't had dinner yet and that Daddy has a tooth ache.
We had an epic fight. For the first time since I was fired, we yelled and screamed in front of the kids. She was all about why I lied, I was all about why she got home so late. She told me she was promoted, and I - even though I know I should be happy because this way she will make more money - just said sarcastically that at least this way we will see her even less and I can just stay at home to babysit. For that she got really upset, I was anything but a good boy. I know I was a scum, but it really did bother me that her boss only fought for her promotion as Head of Communications so that they can spend more time together. He has a huge crush on Sophie, and I can't just tell her to leave the place before something bad happens, because then we go bankrupt in a week or two. When she just yelled I shouldn't have gotten myself fired, I got totally upset, because so far I thought at least she was on my side. When I told that to her, all I she said was that we have to quit the life lies. I walked over to the guest room without a word, slammed the door and just dropped on the bed, but I couldn't fall asleep. I sobered up completely and I decided to write down everything. I read it all back and I was ashamed of ourselves even in Sophie's name.

Sophie was truly worn by this fight. She was still talking about it when we met, quite a bit later. She was feeling guilty for going into such a humiliating fight, and to make it worse, did it in front of the kids. As an explanation of her rush of fits she said that when she entered the house and saw a half-drunk Peter, she just got the feeling she's living with a stranger. And this was the first time in the ten years they spent together. She especially hated that she had to deny the joy of her promotion. She told me she could already see how Peter would react, what he would feel, so in the heat of the argument she just decided not to act any longer, her husband will deal with the news however he wants to. She had been hiding it for so long, she didn't care any longer how Peter feels or thinks about it. I agreed with her: she can't just swallow it forever just because her husband is having a bad hair day. She has to release the tension. But not in front of the kids, screaming inarticulate - she answered. She was especially sorry for starting the yells:

I noticed immediately that he's been drinking. He didn't come to give me a kiss, rather he took two steps back. He never drank alone before, he always waited for me and talked me into joining him. Then something has already broken in me. He must have seen it on me because he started to explain things that he got the letter from that channel and he didn't even make it to the second round of interviews. I took a deep breath and acted like it didn't shake me too bad. But it did really affect me bad, but I tried not to show it. When he saw I'm not upset, he tried to drink again, and pull me into it like if everything was okay. And in the meantime he didn't feed the kids, didn't put them to sleep, and he lied to them, saying he's drinking because he has a tooth ache. I hated lies, and I told that to him. I didn't want to yell, but all this made me so upset that I just couldn't contain my anger. If he at least tucked the kids away first, and then he started to drown his sorrow, maybe I would've joined him to quietly complain about fates.
And instead of saying sorry he was feeling higher! He was blaming me for coming home too late. I even let it slip that alas, if he doesn't make any money, I will have to make up for it. So then he just told me that in my contract it says pretty clearly that my hours are nine to five. So I had to admit that it's not like that anymore, because I was promoted. (So much about celebrating with champagne, dinner and some cuddling). I work flexible hours, for a lot more money. And for that all he could say was congratulation, now the kids will see me even less. "But they will see you more - I answered - until now they barely saw you anyways." "Now what do you want me to do? Do you want me to work or rather just stay at home and be a babysitter?" - he riposted. Before I could've answered him, he went on: "I hate how you make traps: make a boat load of money, but be at home a lot. Like if there was such a job! But if you stay in until late night to flirt with your boss for a few more bucks, that's fine, the kids don't need a mother because her majesty is completely fine at her office!”
Looking back I don't even understand why I didn't quit. He was drunk. But I couldn't stop: "So you think all I do is to shake my butt at my job, rather than working hard so we can stay afloat?" - I yelled. "Your boss only appointed you because he wants to screw you, he only wants you to be within reach at all times!" "You have no respect for my work. You didn't even think I may be appreciated for doing a good job? Of course, if a man is promoted, he's doing his job well, but if a woman, they just want to bed her? Eh? You can't even imagine that you can even work at a job, not just flirt around and get yourself fired." "That was under the belt" - he said softly. "I'm sorry, it really was, but so was all that you said before." He suddenly got all emotional: "Understand me, I'm jealous, I don't want to lose you." "Me neither" - I said and I started to hug him. "So far I thought you were on my side, not on those who fired me. But now you're on your boss's side, so my whole envy is all justified." - he threw it at me hating. This was just so stupid I started laughing. "It's time to quit the life lies" - I joked, opening my arms for a hug and preparing to say "I'm always with you, you fool", but he was quicker than me, grunting only a hurt sentence: "I don't want to be your life lie." He slammed the door behind himself. I didn't go after him.

The Terror of Fear

Cramp in your stomach, more and more poisonous air around you... Revolt or resign?

A week after being fired we went on a merit vacation. No pun intended. I got it when I was still a great asset to the company, two or three months before I was kicked out. I have the cover letter to the coupon even now: congratulations on your outstanding performance. It was for two, but with a little extra payment we could take the kids too. I could see they didn't understand this whole thing: if their father was such a good employee, why was he fired? The answer, of course, was simple: I got the bonus when our old CEO was still at his place. And when he was stood up from his chair, they used the recession downsizing to get rid of all his men too. But you can't just take back a gift.
After the leave of the CEO the gossip started immediately about a certain list being made by the new guys, listing all who will have to go. I didn't quite believe it yet, but in a few weeks I heard it with my own ears from G. (who was on the winners' side) that there's not only a list but also a lot of backstage haggling about who stays on it, who gets off, who gets on. G. also told me I was on it too.
By then the atmosphere became unbearable. The editorial office was completely split into two camps. The later winners sat down in a corner to discuss things multiple times a day. And the others were just guessing what it can be they talk about. Only the years of routine was keeping the crew together. And the fear. It did matter whom you shared a word with, whom you sat with at lunch. I would never have thought that only a few people in only a few weeks can poison the whole life of the channel. One evening I went home totally upset. Sophie got it immediately, that something must be completely amiss. As I told her what happened that day, I had to realize that I had nothing specific, nothing tangible about it. Just a lot of guesses, hints, unfinished sentences and even more speculations. I decided I would ask my question in front of everyone the next day: What is happening on the unannounced meetings? If they are about the future of the channel, why don't they call the others too? Is there really a death list? If there isn't, what made the atmosphere so bad that everyone would talk about it still? Where did everything go wrong?
Sophie tried to calm me down, she said I shouldn't look for trouble. If I grasped the situation wrong, I will just ridicule myself. And if I am right, what do I win on facing them to it? My argument was that I needed it for my own peace of mind, to see if there is anything to be revealed. Sophie just tried to tell me not to be naive, I can't win anything, but I can lose a lot on yelling. She didn't quite convince me, but I kept quiet. Especially that the next day the corridor gossip was about the new guys having spies on the loser side, who will tell them who said what about them, to whom, when and why, who meets the old ones outside the channel and whom they meet. Of course at first I thought it was an exaggeration too, but when I wanted to ask G. about this and the death list, he asked to meet outside the office, as in the current situation it wouldn't be fortunate. On the agreed day he still didn't call me, if I called him he hung up. Days later, after recording a show he pulled me aside, took a deep breath and just poured it all at me, that he didn't turn up because he was trying to get me off the list, and in that case it wasn't a good idea for us to be seen together. I didn't quite understand what he meant, why can't we talk, since we're good buddies. He thought they don't know that's why he wants to get me off of that list? Or he had to deny me to be able to stick to the winners? I didn't ask anything about it, I rather just kept making myself believe that me, my work is needed, will be needed. I'm not in danger.

Whether or not there was a death list, I don't know. I suspect they have reached their goal just by spreading the gossip of the making of it. As also I was contemplating going on my ownr. Of course it was more just playing with the idea: during a recession you don't just leave a secure job without another one already waiting.

I was fired roughly a week after I talked to G. I've been waiting for his call since then...
So, merit vacation with the kids. They are having a ball, the hotel life, the buffet dinners, the jacuzzi are still all new for them, but my mood still touches theirs too. And also Sophie's. I can see how stressed she is, I am trying to comfort her. But also I'm infinitely desperate, I'm constantly thinking where I went wrong.

Peter decided to write his blog about the story of his firing this weekend. (Many of you have asked where the original blog is, but no use to search anymore, it was taken off. I have the whole thing, but no, I won't publish it all at once, because the timeline and Sophie's reactions are crucial to understanding why everything happened this way. It's not a book where you can just jump ahead, and the very end is still unknown to all.) Sophie didn't like the idea of blogging, she was afraid Peter would burn up bridges in his disappointment:

The "merit trip" was horrible. Peter was unbearably stressed all weekend. He kept yelling at the kids even when they gave him no reasons. He kept just thinking and thinking how he could take revenge on those who, in his opinion, screwed him up. We were sitting in the jacuzzi, I was waiting for him to finally calm down for a second so I can tell him the good news, but he just chased himself deeper and deeper into his fits. And then he came up with the idea of the century: he will write a blog about how he was messed with. Well that was all we needed! Even this way I could barely keep him somewhat calm, how will it go when he will keep himself on edge with the writing? All he will do is to get the whole business on his back. He has no political sense whatsoever, and if I would try and smoothen his words a bit, he will just yell that I've always been way too compromising. I remember how long I was arguing for his most important job being finding a new job at the moment and that he shouldn't run his chances with spreading out the dirty sheets. I thought I won him over. He gave up on the idea and he started to calm me with saying that things will soon turn around. For a moment he was so nice I almost even told him the great news, but then I had a better idea: after the kids go to bed, I will seduce him with a glass or two of champagne - I even made a few hints at that - and tell it just afterwards. And then nothing happened according to plan. Instead of champagne he had a beer (he knows how much I hate when his breath smells like beer when we cuddle up), then he refused my advances "because of the kisd". He said the walls are thin, they would hear us. The walls were exactly the same as at home. And he was just the same distant as at home since he was fired. But it was an old ritual of ours to try out every hotel bed we slept in. In ten years, this one was the first time we didn't.

First Love

What would you do for it?

You would think it's just freak chance that she was the first. After all, this is no more than a chronological order, usually the first one has nothing to do with the true one. Love is the emphasis here, first is just an ordinal, followed by more and more until you find that true one, your mate - if you find it at all.

But it's not like that. The first one will follow you all your life, no matter how it was or how it ended. The first one will take a piece of you along, if you're lucky, it will go nicely gift-wrapped with a ribbon and a bow, if your fate is not that, bitten, ripped out, tearing a big chunk out from the living flesh.

For years I don't even think of Sophie, then she just pops to my mind from something small, a straw tipping out of the glass or a drop of rain rolling down the window glass.
It wasn't an easy break up, we both got our share of injuries, we didn't even talk for long months afterwards. Then one day - you would think it's by chance, but believe it, it's not - we ran into each other at Moscow Square. Maybe if we notice each other earlier than the last moment before literally bumping into each other, maybe if we have some time to prepare ourselves, take a deep breath and decide, everything would've been different: most likely we would've just hung our heads down and get out of each other's sight.
But this way we were just standing there, stammering and stuttering, and of course the old and well-practiced move swept our faces together, a superficial, accidental - but of course! - kiss on the lips, that of course made everything even more difficult. Then slowly we start to chat, question after question, even the fifth tram leaves us. When we freeze through, we continue the talk in a nearby coffee shop.
We were surprisingly honest, and even though I did think of how good the familiar touch would feel - just like in the old times, after a long and nice talk ending up in each other's arms, but somehow it didn't fit into our re-dimensioned, reborn relationship. I just wanted to talk, complain, laugh, play without a mask on.
It was already dark when she realized she had to run, we quickly exchanged phone numbers, agreed that we won't lose sight of each other this time. And then and there we were absolutely serious about it - not so much the next day.

Years passed by. I heard that she got married, from an old girlfriend of hers I heard she was happy.
Then she came to the opening night of my first book.
She waited through the official part, got her copy signed and told me smiling that in one of my heroines, Soph, she recognized herself. I tried to say it was just coincidence, she just flicked her hand. "Nothing is coincidental" - she said with a mysterious face. I get the shivers if I think that she may have sensed it then, what will happen to her, them, us...
Altough I invited her to the banquet, she didn't come. She gave me her number and we agreed to stay in touch.

Another two and a half years passed, so I was absolutely shocked when I heard her voice over the phone. She asked me to meet for a talk. She said she was afraid.
We met four our five times, I'll tell about those later.
I felt she was exaggerating. But if I paid more attention then... (Three cheap, stupid dots - like if it solved anything that I swallow the end of it, like if I could make all of it never happened, all that I messed up so bad.)
I will be honest, in this blog I want to atone, I want to pay honors to the woman who - now I know - was not the first in my life just by freak chance.

The first is always a reference point. Not just for you, also for your later lovers who want to own your past, they want the selfless, giving flame, the flame that was high in you before you first got yourself burnt, so you dared to, you wanted to fly close to the fire, you weren't worried about your personality, you opened up, you melted, you gave. And no one is capable of doing it again spontaneously. Maybe consciously, learning to make yourself believe you do, but if you look deep inside you, it's just acting, miming to give up your stances.
It's hard to tell your partner that you're meeting your first lover. He knows it too, but you know it too, that you're searching for your past, going back to the springs, you want to relive the irreversible past armed with all the knowledge you have since then. Like if you could go back in time and change your fate.
Of course, it's a dead end to think it can succeed.
I don't believe that. That's why I never looked for her. But now she came to me, she asked for my help. And she didn't want to just hang on to me, she didn't want to rewrite the past to redefine herself. She wanted to save her marriage, and I didn't help her in that, but in the meantime we swerved onto dangerous paths where it's easy to lose your way. And maybe we did...

Her girlfriend looked me up a few weeks ago, she told me what happened. She gave me a CD and asked me to write the hell Sophie lived through, because she deserves to be seen as the victim, not the cause of the events.

The disc had a single document on it. My first lover's secret diary. I decided that, no matter how much it hurts, I will make it public. Just as I will publish her husband's blog too, that I found online. Crisis Manager - that's how Peter called himself. Irony of fate:

After two weeks I even started to think of suicide. I can't fulfill my duty of supporting my family, so why live. But I do love Sophie. Do I love Sophie? Everything's value changed. In one moment, you work for a cool company, in the media to top it off, and in the next instance you're on the street. I sent my resume to everyone, and the first answers came in. We are sorry, but it's a recession... I called a few acquaintances in the media business, but all they kept saying was that it's hard times for them too, they fight for their jobs day to day too. And all our friends, when I mentioned it, just thought I wanted to borrow money, so they shook me off quickly. The noose started to tighten, and I was left there alone.

I found no mentions of this period in Sophie's diary. Perhaps then she didn't quite sense how grave the problems are.

Who Would Want Someone Who's Rejected By All?

I think he was ashamed about it with his friends. He told himself nobody likes losers.

The secretary still kept herself to the story: she said the boss takes the employees three by three for a little talk. We went to the old office of the CEO, I had two of the ladies I worked with on my side. The desks, the shelves were all empty, dust everywhere. The editor-in-chief seated us on the sofa.
- Well, you all know about the recession - he started.
I didn't even hear what he said, I was watching one of the colleague ladies, she was fighting back tears. I was sorry for her, because I was firmly sure that I'm only here because of some fatal mistake, they will re-check the list again, and then they will find it out. But my renunciation was there in the pile, too. Meanwhile, the editor-in-chief gave over to the HR representative. She tried to be really sympathetic, but to me she was only the hangman, promptly and immediately executing my capital sentence. The little show's last act was the lawyer, asking us politely to sign the renunciation notice before leaving the room. The other lady tried to argue, to call her lawyer, and I was just staring in front of myself, not believing that this whole thing is happening to me. I'm not even sure if she could finally talk to someone. I thought, what would happen if I ran out of this room, down the corridors, out to the street. There's none of this whole thing, no renunciation, firing, execution. I later heard that some would escape into temporary disability leave so they can extend the whole procedure. I didn't say a word, I just motioned for them to give me the paper and I scratched my name on it. I get my salary for two more months, and then it's over. Ten years' work goes into the trash with a single line of the pen.

- Also, you are exempt of work from now - the HR rep showed us to the door. Which means that the next day we don't even have to come in. The editor-in-chief called us in to his office one by one. He told us the clichés that must be just the same at any given point in this world: you did your job good, but certain external conditions... According to some gossips, he could have saved at least half of the people fired now if his position doesn't weaken in the inner fights. That "if" has been echoing in my head a million times and more since then. If I tried and positioned myself better, if I picked up more hours, if I was more aggressive, if I chose a different profession, if I learned something more tangible, if I'm not born in this country, on this Earth... eh, forget it. I didn't want to show him how it hurts, so I just answered him I already was thinking about going. I saw the relief on his face. I'm sure he wanted to believe it. The survivors just tried to disappear into their monitors, the fired ones were standing in the middle, talking and complaining. I went to my computer, but I couldn't log on anymore, my password was cancelled. I emptied my drawers, tossed my inside papers into a trashcan, my personal matters into a small blue plastic bag. I threw my jacket over my back and I walked out of the editorial office. The clerk who coordinated the "death run" was really nice. I just named it a death run, the last walk around the company, going to each and every department to sign a paper that we have no company property on our hands anymore. Nice little jog, but at least the boss's secretary had some pity on us and offered to just take the signed sheets to each department. Just go back the next day when she has them all collected. Only one thing was left: handing off the picture ID badges. It couldn't wait till the next day, we had to take them immediately to the board of trustees. Not to the reception, where you could just drop it on the counter with a casual smile "thanks, I won't need it any longer". Nope. We got a brand new card to replace it, with a single word on its face:

EXIT ONLY

Peter's blog had not a trace left of the casual tone. Sophie took the first week with an enormous empathy, she tried to calm Peter by saying he should just take the notice time as well-deserved holidays. Don't do anything else than sending his resume everywhere, resting and meeting old friends. But Peter closed up. Sophie lived it like this:

I should have been suspicious when he didn't get out of the house in the first days. He was digging online feverishly for jobs, even though Zsolt, the head-hunter told him clearly that he won't ever find an editorial job online. Only through friends and acquaintances, maybe with a head-hunter company. But Peter just kept saying that secretly he has been looking for a while, and he has seen four or five offers each month that he may have even taken. But it's a recession, and possibilities shrink by the moment.
He was more and more beside himself. He never went anywhere, no matter how I was encouraging him to look up old friends and acquaintances. Then he always just shut my up by saying that he will never go begging for alms. They know he's out of his job, they can call him. I think he was ashamed of it with his friends. He told himself that nobody likes losers, who would want someone who was rejected by someone else - by everyone else. I tried to tell him he's exaggerating - to no avail, and truth to be told, no acquaintances really popped up when it leaked out what happened to him.
Something else has changed then, too. At first I didn't even notice it either that days are passing, one after the other, and he's not making any advances to me.