In May there are quite a few public holidays in the Ukraine. On these days the streets in the town centres are closed off to traffic, in Kyiv this was particularly welcome - the loud and aggressive SUV's having already become tedious. The population turn out in their droves although the carnival atmosphere is pleasantly subdued. Old patriotic songs and soppy love ballads fill the airwaves as heavily medalled Generals with their grandchildren, canoodling couples, and fashion conscious przyjaciolki stroll along the main promenades and make merry.
I sat on a boulevard bench enjoying the serenity and the sun, watching the stream of passers-by and writing postcards. A tall girl in a crimson jacket and holding a golden balloon gave me a lingering glance and sat down nearby. Not one to stall at a green light I hastily gathered my things and sidled up next to her. Her name was Varvara and she was indeed beautiful. She was from the south of the country and had been in Kyiv for a year studying English. She had no family or friends in the city. She had some sort of boyfriend, but rarely knew where he was. On this day, it seemed as if it were only us on our own. She didn't go to clubs but preferred walks in the park. Melancholy, graceful, entirely exquisite... and quite alone.
We soaked in the warmth and her balloon played sentry above us. The sun and the setting gave the scene a dreamy vagueness. After an hour or so it turned cold and she got up to go. She said goodbye and I watched her recede from view until she became obscured in the crowd, her golden balloon merging with others. A last flash of crimson and she was gone. Then followed a hazy moment, a blur, and I was overcome by an enormous sense of sadness, like I'd lost something, or something in me had flickered and died. I began to hear people walking and talking, footsteps and voices close to me, a faceless motion, and I became aware of the day again.
Word of the week: Przyjaciolki meaning close female friends.
