A guy with an incredibly strong character and a beautiful smile overcomes the difficulties that life endowed him with from birth. He meets a girl from whom fate took away something important, making her even stronger. Together they decide to create an organization to support people who are just as strong and resilient to the trials of fate. This project gives them family warmth and support, but the price for happiness is high for everyone.
“Mom! Can I go outside to play?” he asks, looking out the window.
“Did you see someone you know?” his mother taunts indifferently.
“No. My peers have other concerns now,” her son smiles sadly.
“Then why go outside?” she lies on the bed, eyes closed.
“There are younger kids playing out there. I’ll hang out with them. Please,” he begs his mother.
“Do as you wish,” the woman whispers coldly.
“Does that mean I can?” the boy holds back his joy, clarifying.
“I said, do what you want! I don’t care,” she turns to face the wall. She doesn’t worry about her son at all. She would even be happy if he didn’t come back, freeing her from him.
“Thanks, Mom!” the boy says joyfully. He is happy at the mere thought of being able to play with other children. He hurries to get dressed. He somehow manages to put on what clothes he has. Kids haven’t worn things like this in a long time. He’s not a child anymore himself, but his clothes don’t grow with him. “I’m off, Mom!” he listens. When there's no answer, he opens the lock. He tensely steps over the threshold. “Out of the house means I’m already out,” he encourages himself in a whisper.
He calls the elevator. The noise cannot drown out the laughter and joyful shouts of the children he imagines in the yard. He presses the lowest button. He waited longer for the elevator than it took to descend from the second floor. Of course, he could take the stairs, but the descent would take ten times longer. With cerebral palsy, running up and down steps isn't an option for him. Even getting to the elevator is not easy.
He somehow manages to descend the four steps to the exit of the building. He pushes the door open with his crutch. He hurries to the playground. The children’s shouts were real only in his young imagination. No one is outside. Everyone is at school and kindergartens, and it’s only noon. They will return in a few hours. The children he saw through the window are gone. He has to wait. He strongly wants to play with other children.
Stumbling on the flat ground, he reaches the swings. He grabs the bar with a death grip. He sits down. He makes himself as comfortable as possible. He has a long wait ahead. He props his crutches against the bar. Of course, they immediately fall; the bar is slippery and won’t hold the crutches. This isn’t the first time. He’s more surprised when the opposite happens.
“It’s nothing,” Ryan smiles, not losing heart. Such minor things can no longer spoil his mood. “The children will come soon and help if I need to stand up.”
The first ten minutes pass in joyful anticipation. A happy smile still shines on his face. He can smile as widely as he wants. After half an hour, he gets a little tired of swinging. His smile narrows and fades. But his mood doesn’t change. Almost. He’s happy just because his mom let him go out by himself. This means the boy is grown up and independent enough. This thought helps him maintain his smile for another hour while waiting for the children.
He imperceptibly begins to play in his mind, imagining the children have come home from school and how much fun they are having together. After a while, he notices two boys nearby with backpacks and bags for their change of shoes. He is so happy. He wants to jump up but hesitates; his crutches are in the sand, under the swings. He smiles as friendly as possible to attract attention with his openness and good nature. The boys pass by without noticing him. He keeps smiling, watching them go, hoping they will return. His mother watches from the window. She maintains an indifferent gaze and returns to bed.
The smile disappears for a moment. The boy is sad, examining the footprints in the sand near the swings. Several girls pass by. They look at him. Their diligently cleaned white teeth gleam in the sun. The girls exchange glances, giggle, and walk past. His posture gradually bends into an arc. He tries not to get upset. He still saves his smile for those who might want to play with him. Boys and girls pass by. Older and younger. Some look at him with a strange gaze, others don’t notice him at all. He still gives everyone a beautiful smile. But no one needs it.
All the schoolchildren have returned home. Children from kindergartens begin to return with their parents. The undaunted boy still has reserves of smiles, which he generously shares with the passing children, hoping that at least they will play with him. No miracle happens. The children look at him even stranger than the schoolchildren. Some turn away, others ask their parents why this boy is playing alone on the playground.
Some open and friendly children ask their parents to play with him. But the parents all do the same thing. They tightly squeeze their child’s hand, quicken their pace, and reduce their children’s eye contact with the “other“ boy. It’s as if they fear he will have a bad influence on their perfect children and they will become the same. The boy doesn’t quite understand why he is treated this way. He guesses, he heard it from his mother. He doesn’t want to believe it.
It’s hurtful. Just a little bit. With that word “little bit,” he tries to calm himself, to not let the gnawing resentment escape. He tries to comfort himself with the thought that this is the first time he has played in the yard by himself. He is incredibly proud of himself. The younger children no longer appear in the yard, and the older ones go out to play. But not to him, to other places, outside the yard. Ryan doesn’t dare to go there alone. And his mother definitely won’t allow it. He hasn’t asked, but he’s sure why, somehow.
He spends half the day waiting for company, swinging alone. It is getting dark; it is time to go home. While he waited, he so vividly imagined himself as a normal child that he forgot he couldn’t just jump off the swing and go home. He remembers that his crutches fell in the sand under the swings. He reaches out with his left hand, holding tightly to the bar with his right. His arms aren’t long enough. He can’t help himself with his legs. He reaches for so long that his right hand sweats and slips from the bar. The boy falls. He hits his head hard. He even seems to hear a ringing. It’s lucky that there is sand under the swings, not hard ground.
He dusts off his hands, brushing sand from his face. Not all the sand falls off. In some places, it is wet and sticky. He looks at his hands. His fingers are covered in sand, abundantly soaked in blood. He looks under the swings. A thin layer of sand hides the iron base. Around Ryan, everything is covered in red drops, gathered into sandy balls. A man approaches from the road.
“Are you alright, kid?” he examines the wound on his head.
“I’m fine,” Ryan tries to smile with the friendly smile he prepared for the children he wanted to play with. His smile is sad and difficult to manage after the long, meaningless wait that ended in such an unpleasant fall. A bloody trickle from his forehead runs down the corner of his mouth.
“You’re a strong one,” the admiring man smiles.
“What’s your name?” the boy pulls his crutches closer. He hopes for a new acquaintance. Then the wait and the fall will not have been in vain.
“Curtis,” the man smiles, helping Ryan to stand. “And what’s your name, young man?” Curtis smiles respectfully.
“Ryan,” the boy’s smile becomes even more beautiful, despite the blood.
“Nice to meet you, Ryan,” the man says sincerely. “Where do you live?”
“In this building,” the boy immediately points to his windows.
“Let’s take you home,” Curtis calmly offers, helping the boy stand on his crutches. “Your parents are probably worried.”
“No!” Ryan replies with adult firmness.
“Why?” Curtis doesn’t hide his surprise.
“I’m independent. You can’t return home defeated,” this answer was born in him after reading a book about Greek warriors, whom he chose as role models. In the twilight, he notices his mother by the window, watching him through the curtains.
“That’s the right spirit,” the man admits, respecting the boy more and more. “Then I suggest we treat your battle wound at my military camp.”
“I agree,” Ryan replies confidently. “If it’s not too much trouble, of course,” he says more gently, realizing that such words might seem arrogant coming from him.
“Let’s go, soldier,” Curtis smiles, escorting the bloody warrior to the next building. “Please,” he opens the entrance door for the boy. “Can you manage from here?”
“Yes, thank you,” Ryan says politely, diligently making his way forward.
“Excellent,” Curtis doesn’t stop the boy from climbing the stairs and reaching the elevator by himself, watching carefully so he can help if needed. This is extremely important to the boy. The man understands perfectly. “We’re going to the ninth floor,” he prompts the independent boy.
“Fasten your seatbelts,” Ryan jokes. Curtis smiles, trying not to notice the blood on the boy’s face. The elevator ascends to the ninth floor. The man walks towards the door, subtly glancing at the boy’s difficult steps. He lets the fighter in first.
“Daddy’s home!” Curtis’s daughter rejoices, greeting him with open arms.
“Hi,” Ryan greets, smiling shyly.
“Hi,” the girl stops, recoiling slightly. Not from the boy. She just didn’t expect the terrifying sight of blood.
“Don’t be scared, sweetie,” Curtis hugs the girl. “Meet Ryan.”
“Nice to meet you,” the girl composes herself, trying not to notice the blood, like her father. “Alex.”
“Nice to meet you too,” Ryan smiles even warmer, wiping blood from his face. It makes it even worse.
“Ryan got a little hurt,” Curtis says calmly. “We’re going to get him cleaned up now. Please bring everything necessary for first aid to the bathroom. Like I taught you,” the man asks seriously. “And a towel.”
“Okay, Dad,” the girl runs to the medicine cabinet.
“And we’re going to the bathroom,” Curtis carefully takes the crutches and puts them in the corner. He helps him walk. Now the boy doesn’t even think about resisting. He needs help now. Blood got into his eyes. Poor visibility reduces his eagerness for independence. While they wash the wound under running water, the girl brings everything needed.
“It’s all here, Dad,” Alex carefully sets everything down beside them.
“Thank you, sweetie,” the father thanks with a smile. “Want to help?” he offers the girl a test.
“Let’s see what we have here,” the girl seriously examines the wound. “No need for stitches. It’s just a small opening. That’s why there’s so much blood,” she reassures the patient.
“We’re lucky,” Curtis says seriously. Smiling, he supports Ryan.
“We’ll clean it,” Alex says. “And put on a bandage,” she bandages the boy’s head according to all the rules.
“Excellent timing,” the father praises, looking at his watch. “You’re going for a new record.”
“We got lucky with the patient,” the girl smiles. “He doesn’t fidget like some others,” she smirks, looking at her father.
“And you can’t argue with that,” Curtis admits to lacking talent as a patient. “Let’s go,” he escorts Ryan to the kitchen. “Daughter, you know what to do,” he gives a serious task. “I’ll clean up in there,” he returns to the bathroom. He washes away the bloody traces, puts everything back in the medicine cabinet. He subtly glances at the children. He’s never seen Alex like this. Usually cheerful and talkative, now she’s calm and modest. “Does it hurt?”
“No. Everything’s fine,” Ryan, in that bandage, inspires respect rather than pity. His legs are not visible under the table. Before them is a boy who bravely endured a wound.
“Then, for prevention,” Curtis gives him pain medicine, understanding that it hurts. He himself had fallen many times as a child. “Are you dizzy?” he peers into his pupils.
“Everything’s fine,” Ryan replies calmly, glancing at Alex. “I need to go.”
“Do you want to offend my daughter?” Curtis looks seriously. “Maybe she cooked dinner especially for you today, and you want to leave?”
“I’m sorry,” Ryan returns to his seat, flustered.
“Dad! Don’t embarrass our guest. Or me,” she smiles, placing plates on the table.
“Don’t worry,” Curtis reassures him. “We’ll eat, and I’ll walk you home. I’ll take the blame for you being late.”
“It’s okay,” Ryan says sadly, remembering his mother’s gaze from the window when an unfamiliar man led him away, covered in blood. “I don’t think I’m being eagerly awaited.”
“What’s wrong, boy?” he is surprised by such a sudden change of mood.
“It’s fine,” he smiles again. “Let’s not talk about it,” he requests seriously.
“As you wish,” Curtis immediately agrees. “Then, enjoy your meal, everyone.”
“Thank you. You too,” Ryan replies. He eats hesitantly, unsure how to behave as a guest. This has never happened to him before.
“Don’t be shy,” Curtis says, noticing the boy’s modesty. “I don’t know what’s with my daughter today. Usually, she eats faster than me.”
“Dad, stop,” Alex blushes.
“Alright, sorry. Let’s eat and not be shy,” he continues dinner in a good mood. He’s glad everything turned out well. “So how old are you, young man?”
“Sixteen,” Ryan breaks from his dinner, showing seriousness.
“The same age as my Alex,” Curtis smiles. “Why were you playing outside? Don’t you go to school? Or are you after lessons?”
“I don’t go anywhere,” Ryan admits.
“You’re not interested in anything?” Curtis says casually, so Ryan doesn’t get tense.
“It’s that nothing is interested in me,” the boy says sadly.
“What makes you say that? Did everything just tell you?” he jokingly steers the sad conversation.
“They don’t take kids like me to school. And I’m not eager to go. I have enough books at home,” the boy says self-sufficiently, continuing to eat.
“Understood about school. Do you have any other hobbies? Besides falling, of course. Although,” he smirks with interest. “Just kidding. So what interests you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. All my thoughts revolve around two crutches,” he looks at the crutches in the corner, the way his mother looks at him.
“That’s a shame. Everyone has two legs, but you have four. Look at everything not as an obstacle, but as an advantage. If you have no interests, it’s time to acquire them,” Curtis clears the plates from the table. Alex sets out cups and pours tea.
“I need to go,” Ryan doesn’t want to leave, but he knows it’s time.
“Won’t you have tea with us?” Alex asks, surprised.
“I’m sorry, it’s late,” Ryan hurries to get up from the table.
“Alright. We understand,” Curtis says understandingly, handing him his crutches. “Alex.”
“Here, take this,” the girl gives Ryan a bag of cookies.
“My daughter baked them herself today. You’ll like them, I guarantee,” Curtis ties the bag to a loop on the boy’s pants.
“Thank you very much for everything,” Ryan thanks with a warm, sincere smile.
“You’re my best patient,” Alex smiles, speaking more boldly than in the first minutes of their acquaintance. “Come by later, I’ll change your bandage,” she offers thoughtfully.
“Great idea,” Curtis supports. “And you’ll have some tea with us.”
“Okay,” Ryan agrees happily. “Good night.”
“Good night,” Alex replies.
“I’ll be right back,” Curtis goes to see Ryan off.
“Okay, Dad,” Alex watches them go to the elevator, then closes the door.
“You did well,” Curtis praises.
“Did well?” Ryan asks, surprised. “With what?”
“What do you mean, with what? Was this your first time meeting a girl? I wish I had such a heroic image for my first meeting,” Curtis dreams dreamily in the elevator.
“What was your image like?” Ryan glances cautiously.
“A self-conscious, stammering boy,” he laughs, remembering that day.
“And how did it end?” the boy asks, interested.
“Certainly not with the same success as yours,” Curtis says seriously.
“Do you think Alex liked me?” Ryan quietly ponders, afraid to even think about it.
“Alex doesn’t let anyone near her except me,” Curtis exits the elevator, waiting for the boy at the bottom of the stairs. “She wouldn’t have bandaged a boy she didn’t like like that,” he opens the entrance door. “Just don’t relax,” he says seriously. “You’ll always have to be strong in spirit and body with her.”
“Then I have no chance,” Ryan’s happy smile instantly disappears.
“What do you mean, no chance?” Curtis asks, surprised. “You have no less chance of walking normally than my Alex does.”
“Of course,” Ryan says skeptically.
“If you haven’t noticed anything, it doesn’t mean everything is so simple,” Curtis smirks.
“What are you talking about?” Ryan asks suspiciously.
“Ring the bell,” they reach the door.
“I have a key,” Ryan opens the door with his key. “I’m home!”
“Alright,” his mother says joylessly.
“What’s your mom’s name?” Curtis whispers.
“Ruth,” the boy says quietly, kicking off his sneakers.
“Excuse me, Ruth,” Curtis steps into the apartment. “It’s my fault Ryan is late. Something happened to him.”
“Again,” the woman sighs, not surprised, coming out of the room.
“My daughter treated the wound. Not even a wound, just a scrape. Everything’s fine,” Curtis continues to justify himself.
“Yes,” the mother looks indifferently at her son and the guest.
“It would be good for Ryan to come to our place tomorrow to change the bandage,” he arranges a new meeting for Ryan.
“Let him go,” Ruth agrees immediately.
“Thank you. Then, see you tomorrow, young man. I’ll be coming home from work at the same time. Be in the same spot, just try not to get blood everywhere,” Curtis shakes Ryan’s hand.
“I’ll try. See you tomorrow,” the boy glows with happiness.
“All the best,” Curtis bids farewell to the boy’s mother.
“Yes,” Ruth closes the door behind him. She looks coldly at her son.
“It’s okay, Mom,” Ryan looks guiltily at his mother.
“I see,” Ruth returns to the room.
“Can I really go to their place tomorrow?” Ryan clarifies, making his way to his room.
“Do what you want,” his mother says indifferently, turning to the wall.
“Thanks, Mom,” a happy Ryan enters his room and closes the door. He lies on the bed in his blood-stained clothes. He doesn’t care about the clothes. It wouldn’t be a shame to throw them away. And a day like this happens once in a lifetime. Plus, it’s his first time meeting a girl. “Best day of my life,” the boy whispers, looking out the dark window.
He remembers how eagerly he waited for the children to play with them. The feeling of independence, replaced by a feeling of being unwanted. The fall. Not so much painful as it was hurtful. Blood. He rarely saw so much blood. He used to fall a lot. It always ended with a small bruise or scrape. Alex healed the wound on his forehead and in his heart with one glance. Just now he was unwanted, and now they are waiting for a second meeting. Miracles do happen after all. And today, miracles happened in Ryan’s life. He now has friends. He falls asleep, unable to take off his clothes.
“Take off your clothes, I’ll wash them,” Ruth enters her son’s bedroom.
“Is it morning already?” Ryan wonders how quickly the night passed.
“A long time ago,” his mother says irritably, taking the clothes her son struggles to remove. “Washing in cold water again.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll wash them myself,” he says with a sense of guilt that hasn't disappeared overnight.
“Wash them,” Ruth puts the clothes back on the bed and leaves. “You know where the powder is.”
“Okay, Mom,” joy and sadness fight within Ryan’s soul. For now, joy wins.
Ryan gets out of bed, trying not to use his crutches. He picks up his clothes. He walks, balancing, to the bathroom. He immediately soaks everything in cold water with detergent. He proudly looks at himself in the mirror with a bandage on his head. Either the blood stopped immediately, or Alex bandaged it up so well that the bandage isn’t soaked with blood. He lightly presses the injured spot. It hurts. It’s a good thing Curtis didn’t believe that it didn’t hurt. Without the painkiller, it would have been much worse. Even worse than now, after the effect has worn off.
“I wonder what I didn’t notice?” he ponders aloud, looking in the mirror. “How beautiful Alex is? Caring? Special? I noticed that. Curtis wasn’t talking about that. It’s something else.”
“Who are you talking to in there?” his mother shouts.
“No one,” Ryan answers uncertainly.
“Are you having problems with your head too? Or did the fall affect you? Have you lost the last remnants of normalcy?” Ruth presses harder.
“Everything’s fine, Mom,” the boy tries to ignore such phrases. This is better than if she paid him no attention at all or got rid of him completely. “Let it soak for a while,” he leaves the clothes to soak in cold water. He makes his way back to his room. “What kind of hobby could I have?” he looks around, carefully examining what he used to be interested in. “Definitely no talent as an artist,” he pushes aside his drawings. “I’m no sculptor,” he critically examines the figures he once made from clay. “My fingers weren’t suited for origami,” he hides the failed crane back in his desk drawer. “What can I do?” he realizes he wasn’t interested in anything else. And what he was interested in didn’t succeed. “I fall well!” he rejoices at least one talent. “And how can I use this skill? And no visible bruises afterward. A useless talent. Or a habit, given the number of falls. What if my body just gravitates to the ground? Why do I stubbornly get up? Another habit. No talents, just habits,” he smirks, looking out the window at the empty playground. Today, he doesn’t feel like going out. He’s waiting to meet his new friends. He doesn’t need others now. “What should I do then? I wonder what Alex likes? I didn’t even ask. I only think about myself. Selfish.”
“Stop talking to yourself!” Ruth snaps. “You’re interrupting my TV.”
“Sorry, Mom!” Ryan apologizes habitually. “Here’s another talent — annoying Mom,” he whispers to a houseplant on the windowsill. “And how do I use that? The only thing that might happen is she’ll kick me out so I don’t bother her. Not the most useful talent. I could use that painkiller now,” he holds his head, closing his eyes in pain. “I’ve got it. I need to go eat breakfast. I’m good at that,” he rejoices at the cookies Alex and Curtis gave him yesterday. He takes the bag and carries it to the kitchen. “Mom, want some tea with me?”
“No!” Ruth replies, short and dry.
“Well, I’ll drink it myself,” he tries not to get discouraged, putting the kettle on. He holds onto the table more firmly with one hand to hold the kettle with the other and stay steady himself. “I should have stayed with them yesterday and had tea together,” he regrets the wrong decision made out of unfamiliarity with not being home. “Today, when I arrive, I’ll have to ask for tea right away so I have enough time. They fed me well yesterday. And it’s good that they fed me,” the boy rejoices, looking at the empty pots. The fridge is also empty. “I should get a cat,” he whispers, looking at a calendar from two years ago. “Then I’d have someone to talk to. Mom wouldn’t be so angry that I’m going crazy. She’d be angry at the cat. Then I’d feel sorry for the cat. Better not to get one so it doesn’t suffer,” the kettle boils. He brews weak tea. Without sugar. Mom gets angry when he uses too many groceries. Especially sugar. “So delicious,” he rejoices at the sweet, fragrant cookies. “Mom, want a cookie?”
“No!” Ruth has one answer to most questions.
“I’ll leave some for you. Eat them when you want,” he sets aside the packet of cookies. He keeps a few for himself to have with his tea.
“Ryan!” he hears a quiet voice from outside the window. He hesitates to look, thinking he imagined it. No one can call him from the street. No one needs him at home, and this is the street. “Ryan!” the cry repeats, a little louder.
“Who’s shouting out there?” Ruth says unhappily.
“I’ll go see, Mom,” Ryan tries to look out the window quickly. Alex waves, noticing the boy. “Can I go out?” he asks his mother.
“Stop asking me,” Ruth gets annoyed. “I told you, do whatever you want!”
“Thanks, Mom!” he signals through the window that he’ll be right out. He quickly finishes his tea and cookies, hurries to his room, and finds clean clothes. Not newer, but cleaner. “I’m leaving, Mom! Bye!” he says goodbye to no reply.
“You came out so fast,” Alex says, surprised.
“I hurried so you wouldn’t have to wait long,” he smiles shyly. The girl gazes at his warming smile.
“I just came out. I called you right away. And next time, don’t rush, or you might fall,” she warns seriously. Not out of pity, but with care.
“Okay, I’ll try not to rush. And why aren’t you at school?” he looks around. He doesn’t see a single schoolchild.
“As you said, they don’t take kids like us to regular schools,” she smiles mysteriously.
“I was talking about myself. What do you have to do with it?” Ryan asks, surprised.
“Do you think you’re the only unusual one?” Alex lifts her pant leg.
“Beautiful. I like it,” Ryan examines the shining leg. He understands what Curtis was talking about, what the boy hadn’t noticed.
“Thanks,” the girl eagerly accepts the compliment.
“Is that an obstacle for school?” the boy asks, surprised.
“Is this an obstacle?” Alex hints at Ryan’s legs.
“More like an obstacle for them, not for us,” he answers thoughtfully.
“But we can play outside as much as we want,” Alex finds a silver lining.
“Don’t you study at home?” Ryan asks, still curious.
“I do. Homeschooling is enough. You said you study at home too,” she recalls yesterday’s conversation.
“I study. And my problem doesn’t hinder me at all,” he states proudly.
“Don’t call it a problem,” Alex says seriously. “Dad says these aren’t problems, but opportunities.”
“What opportunities do you have because of it?” Ryan asks, not suspecting what good could come of it.
“The opportunity to interact with good people, like you. It turns out there are many of us. And to not interact with other people who don’t understand that this isn’t some horrible contagious deviation from the norm that makes a person completely abnormal. I go out a lot. I study what I like. I spend more time with my father instead of doing homework all night. I have the opportunity to do things I love.”
“Like what, for example?” Ryan wants to decide what to do.
“That’s where I’m headed now. I thought you might like it,” Alex rejoices at the boy’s interest.
“Is it far? Tell me where, and I’ll come later. You’ll be late because of me,” Ryan decides to sacrifice his walk with the girl for her benefit.
“You can’t be late there,” Alex smiles. “And I told you right away, don’t rush. It doesn’t matter if you’re rushing or late, you always arrive at the right place at the right time. My father tells me that often. And I notice it’s true. So, don’t worry. Let’s go as we are.”
“Because of me, people look at you badly too,” Ryan notices the sideways glances of passersby. Regardless of age.
“Don’t worry about it at all,” the girl reassures him. “You should have seen how people stared at me when I walked down the street as a legless girl,” she laughs, remembering.
“You recall it so cheerfully,” Ryan says, surprised.
“Now it’s funny to look back at my old self. I used to worry and get nervous all the time. Then I got used to it. I started taking everything more lightly. Over time, my father put in a lot of effort and helped me get a prosthetic. That made things easier. I only limped a little.”
“And now it’s not noticeable at all,” Ryan observes closely.
“And now no one notices me at all. It even made me a little sad after so much attention. It’s strange to notice such changes.”
“Better without some attention,” he pretends not to notice the passersby’s glances.
“Be glad that people pay attention to you,” Alex says surprising things.
“What’s there to be glad about?” the boy asks, surprised.
“If you pay attention, nobody pays attention to normal people at all. Except for the most beautiful ones. It’s the abnormal that attracts attention.”
“Do you think beauty is abnormal?” Ryan clarifies.
“Look at people. They’re all so average. Nothing outstanding. That’s considered normal. Anything worse or better is already abnormal,” Alex explains.
“Can you only stand out and attract attention with your looks?” he tries to understand. He used to view people’s attention completely differently. And he waited for attention from only one person, who never indulged him.
“Only the terrible or the outstanding attracts attention with its abnormality. Do you know who started the Second World War? Or the names of great composers and artists? Names surely popped into your head immediately,” Alex smirks, not waiting for an answer. “Now, tell me the name of the janitor in our yard. Or do you know the name of the saleswoman in the shop near our house?”
“I do,” Ryan says confidently. “They’re good people. Kind.”
“We know that. Others don’t. Ask any passerby. They’ll definitely tell you at least a dozen world-famous names. And none of them will know the name of a single person from our yard.”
“So, if I’m abnormal, I’ll become world-famous?” Ryan laughs.
“Perhaps,” Alex says seriously. “I’m telling you the main principle. If you want to be world-famous and outstanding, you have to be abnormal. Unusual. You have the makings. Think about how to use them.”
“I’ve been thinking all morning,” Ryan says heavily. “And I haven’t come up with anything.”
“I don’t know what you were thinking about, but I know something so special about you that the whole world will envy it. And will want to see it,” Alex says mysteriously, not looking at the boy.
“Are you talking about something specific?” Ryan clarifies.
“You’ll see now. We’ve arrived, by the way,” they enter a small, unnamed building.
“Should I be afraid of something?” Ryan looks around cautiously.
“Only if you’re afraid of children. Just be yourself. It’s welcomed here,” they enter a simple room with cheap children’s wallpaper. In a group resembling a kindergarten class, children years younger than Ryan and Alex are playing.
“I waited so long on the swings, and they’re all here,” the boy rejoices. “Now I understand why no one came. It’s more fun here,” he looks at the children happily. As if enchanted, they watch Ryan’s warm, happy smile. The boy turns his head left and right, and they follow his smile. He stops smiling, and they become serious, lost. He smiles again, and the children light up.
“I told you, there’s something special. See how everyone looks at you,” Alex points out.
“I see. What is it about me?” Ryan wonders.
“I didn’t think I’d have to explain,” the girl smirks. “You have a magical smile. You can even warm a frosty winter. You smile, and people are happy. Do you think these children smile often? Especially the older ones. They themselves smile little, and they see a few, the same smiles. Parents rarely smile. That’s why they feel good here. Everyone who works here tries to give the best they have. But no smile compares to yours.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Ryan says modestly.
“I’m telling it like it is,” Alex replies seriously. Ryan keeps smiling and then hides his smile, checking the children’s reaction. His smile constantly mirrors, reflecting on the children’s faces. “Play with them,” the girl suggests.
“Can I?” the boy looks uncertainly.
“You waited on the swings to play. And they were waiting for you here. Don’t be afraid. They’re just kids. Like you and me,” she sits down next to the children. Ryan joins them. “Everyone is resilient. And everyone will become world-famous,” the girl says seriously.
“No one doubts that,” Ryan plays with a toy car, racing against a boy about six years old. “Is this your favorite activity?”
“Don’t you like it?” Alex smiles.
“I’m not used to it yet. It’s better than what I’m good at,” he remembers his less-than-stellar talents, which only lead to pain and sadness. “Have you been playing with them for a long time?”
“As long as I can remember. I first came here when I was five. Then, I was—“ she breaks off the sentence, pondering. “They just made me resilient,” hints at the reason. “My father brought me so I wouldn’t withdraw, feeling different from everyone else. I’ve been coming ever since. Only now, not as a ward, but as a friend to those who need friends. And I make friends myself. Everyone needs that.”
“Am I a ward or a friend to them?” Ryan clarifies.
“Everyone here is both a ward and a friend. Mutual help. Friendship is a two-way street. You’re friends with them, and they’re friends with you. And everyone is happy,” she combs the hair of a small, fair-haired girl with one arm.
“Why did you bring me here? Did you feel sorry for me because of my loneliness?” Ryan asks, upset.
“Why are you complicating things? That’s your habit from the normal world, probably. You need friends. They need friends. So I brought you,” Alex explains simply.
“Did you make friends with anyone among other people?” Ryan is noticeably losing in the game with the children. He’s not used to playing at all.
“There are a few people I get along well with. I wouldn’t call them friends. All the adults are only kind because I’m like this. They act like ordinary adults with other children,” Alex says disappointedly.
“And among your peers, are there none?” Ryan clarifies.
“There are,” Alex replies contentedly. “Now you’re here.”
“Why is no one watching the children?” he wonders, not noticing any adults nearby.
“They are watching. Unobtrusively. No one stands right next to them so that children develop independence from childhood. It’s not for nothing that you went for a walk alone yesterday,” she reminds him of the unsuccessful walk that ended in a successful acquaintance.
“What if something happens to the children and no one is around?” the boy worries, looking at the playing children.
“It happens less often. Independence makes even children more serious and cautious. And when something happens, look in the right corner behind you,” the girl whispers.
“Now it’s clear,” Ryan smiles, noticing the mirror behind the soft toy. “Is it okay that I came here without permission?”
“Everyone here is like us. Who would we ask permission from? And you came with me. Everyone knows me. If I brought you, that means you’re a good person. They trust my judgment. Everyone is taught how to choose their friends correctly. To determine if a person can be trusted. And they’re taught to trust in general. I have to say, this lesson is the hardest of all.”
“What’s so difficult about it?” the boy asks, surprised.
“Clearly, no one has betrayed your trust yet,” Alex smirks.
“I don’t know what that’s like,” the boy admits.
“You don’t trust anyone?” Alex looks more seriously.
“I haven’t talked to anyone,” Ryan says modestly.
“Really?” the girl asks, surprised. Then she realizes she was luckier because her father brought her here. No one took Ryan anywhere.
“Only with Mom. And our communication isn’t exactly communication. I only hear three answers: ‘No’, ‘Do what you want’, and silence,” Ryan sadly admits. He used to try not to think about it to avoid getting upset. It’s time to admit the obvious. “Where’s your mom? If you don’t want to, don’t answer,” he adds modestly.
“It was harder for her to deal with the loss of my,” she chooses her words carefully. “Normalcy,” she points to her leg. “It’s hard for parents to accept that their children aren’t like everyone else.”
“Your dad accepted it. You can see how proud he is of you,” Ryan observes.
“My life became a life only because of him. My mom changed everything radically. My dad turned the horror into a great life,” she understands everything pleasantly. “Where’s your dad?”
“I don’t know. I tried to ask Mom a few times. She doesn’t want to talk about it. She gets nervous right away. It’s better for me to leave right then,” he smiles sadly. The children react even to the boy’s sad smile, distracting themselves from the most interesting game.
“Have you tried to find out where your father is yourself?” Alex asks cautiously.
“How could I find that out?” the boy smiles.
“At the passport office. Or at the maternity hospital where you were born. Have you looked at your birth certificate?” she remembers the simplest option.
“I’ve heard about that certificate. I’ve never seen it. Where can I look?” Ryan asks with burning eyes.
“Most likely, your mom hid it from you so you wouldn’t find out who your father is,” Alex guesses like an adult.
“How do I find him?” the boy becomes more and more interested.
“Is your mom always home?” she asks in a whisper, trying not to look at Ryan so as not to attract the attention of the staff. The plan they’re cooking up isn’t simple.
“Almost. Once a month, she goes for her social benefits,” he recalls easily.
“When’s the next payment?” Alex asks insistently.
“It should be tomorrow. Unless they postpone it, as sometimes happens,” Ryan says uncertainly.
“What time does your mom leave the house?” the girl looks at the boy mysteriously.
“Around ten in the morning,” Ryan answers guilelessly.
“I’ll come by at ten fifteen. Not a word in front of my dad,” she warns seriously. “And don’t even think about telling your mom. You’re a naive boy. You might even ask her directly. Then she’ll hide it even more securely. We’ll never find it that way. Wait, doesn’t she take it with her? Did you go with her for the social benefits?”
“I did. Once. She showed it then. Everyone remembered. She doesn’t take anything else anymore. And she doesn’t take me,” Ryan smiles sadly. It’s getting harder not to be upset, realizing how things are in his life.
“Don’t get upset,” Alex tries to stop the destructive sad thoughts in the boy’s head. “Everything can change. And it will definitely change if you make the right effort,” she encourages the disheartened Ryan. “I succeeded. And you will too. You have twice as many chances,” she hints at his legs with a smile.
“You’ve got some jokes,” Ryan laughs, infecting all the children with his laughter.
“Dad teaches me to approach everything differently. In different circumstances, you have to approach everything differently. A rule created under normal conditions won’t work in abnormal ones,” Alex explains in more detail.
“Did your father teach you all this?” the boy is surprised by such attention from his father.
“Almost everything. Dad gave me the foundation for correct thinking. Then I built everything myself. Only sometimes he hints at what I can’t understand on my own. Without him, everything could have ended very badly. A lot depends on who is around,” Alex says seriously, realizing how lucky she is.
“I have a feeling that I’m hopelessly behind you in everything,” Ryan admits.
“Not behind, but preparing,” Alex corrects the boy’s mindset, as her father taught.
“Preparing?” the boy asks, surprised. “Will you help me change my life?” he asks hopefully.
“You started changing it yourself when you left home,” Alex smiles. “And I’ll try to help.”
“You’re already helping,” Ryan smiles, playing with the children.
“Come on, let’s go for a walk in the city. It’s time for the children to sleep,” Alex stands up by herself. Ryan stands up with more difficulty. The children follow their movements, expecting a bright, warm smile.
“I did it,” Ryan rejoices, having stood up. The children rejoice in his success as if it were their own.
“Will you come again?” a boy asks Ryan.
“Come again?” Ryan asks Alex.
“We’ll come together,” the girl promises.
“We’ll wait,” the children say in unison.
“Bye, everyone,” the boy says goodbye, smiling.
“Bye!” the children say goodbye, their enchanted gaze fixed on Ryan’s captivating smile.
“You charmed them,” Alex remarks. “And you definitely have a special quality that people like.”
“One quality isn’t enough for a talent,” Ryan says sadly, descending the steps.
“Talent appears when you develop your special quality,” Alex suggests. “Though, I don’t even know what else could make your smile even more beautiful,” she says thoughtfully. “Unless, you need to become happier. Or completely happy.”
“Will you help?” the boy asks seriously.
“I’ll do everything I can,” Alex says determinedly. “I’ll need help.”
“Your father’s?” Ryan guesses.
“Yours, first and foremost. To become happy, you must first get rid of unhappiness to make room for happiness.”
“And how do I do that?” the boy ponders.
“We need to figure out what makes you unhappy. Wait, are you happy or unhappy? Maybe we won’t need to change much at all.”
“I don’t know which,” Ryan admits sadly. “I have nothing to compare it to. Everything is just... simple. I can’t say I’m unhappy or happy. Sometimes I’m sad, sometimes,” he wants to say cheerful, but then realizes he hasn’t had much reason to be joyful. “It got much better when I met you,” he finds the best answer, one that makes him happy inside.
“So that’s your happiness. In us,” Alex says contentedly. “And we’ll have more fun.”
“From interacting with me?” Ryan asks, surprised. “How can that make things better?”
“It’s hard to explain,” Alex muses. “You’re my only friend who’s my age. My father wanted a son. Do you think he just named me Alex for no reason?” the girl smirks. “A son named Alex was supposed to be born, but I was born, a daughter named Alex.”
“I don’t think your father regrets anything,” Ryan says seriously.
“I hope not,” now the girl thinks more sadly about her life.
“How do you not have friends your age?” Ryan asks, surprised. “You’ve spent so many years in this group. By now everyone should have grown up. Don’t you keep in touch?”
“Many ended up in boarding schools. The rest moved away with their parents. Of the whole group, only I remained. Outside the group, connections didn’t really form, as you can guess,” she hints at Ryan’s unpleasant experience with other children. “And no one creates groups for our age and situation.”
“What if we create one?” Ryan suggests.
“That’s a good idea,” Alex agrees. “Where will we meet? We’ll need a place for that. You can’t really gather outside. It rains sometimes,” she reminds him with a smile. “Not all prosthetics can withstand such weather conditions. And not all crutches are stable on wet asphalt and mud.”
“We’ll figure something out,” Ryan says decisively. “Do you like the idea itself? Will we try to make it happen?”
“We will,” Alex agrees. “I hope we can do it together. I hadn’t thought of doing something like this.”
“We’ll do it,” the boy assures her, trying to walk without his crutches.
“You’re doing well,” the girl notices the boy’s efforts.
“I’m trying. I wish I could do better,” Ryan says seriously.
“If you try, you’ll definitely succeed,” Alex assures him.
“How did you manage to get so accustomed to it? The difference between your legs is completely unnoticeable,” Ryan says, surprised.
“Because they’re the same, silly,” she shows him the second prosthesis under her pant leg.
“Your legs look perfectly real,” Ryan doesn’t miss a beat.
“How do you know?” she jokes, hinting at his own legs.
“Strange. From someone else, that would sound offensive,” he says, surprised, with a smile.
“You’re on the right track,” Alex praises. “You can’t do this without humor. It’s especially important to learn to laugh at yourself and everything that happens to you. The right perception, humor, and reaction to events. My father used to repeat this phrase often until I started saying it myself when he got sad.”
“And does your father get sad often?” Ryan asks caringly.
“Sometimes. It used to be much harder. In the very beginning. When he told me how to live differently, how to deal with everything, he was also teaching himself to live in a new way. It wasn’t easier for him,” Alex says, understanding.
“Did your father teach you how to treat wounds because of your peculiarity?” Ryan guesses.
“You’re judging by yourself,” the girl smiles. “I fell often when I was learning to walk again. My father taught me everything he knows, just in case he wasn’t around.”
“Did you use your skills besides on my head?” he smiles, recalling his experience as a patient.
“I fell several times, hitting myself hard. My skin is thin. I had to treat and stitch. Sometimes, children in the group would get hurt carelessly. I helped ordinary people a few times,” Alex recalls.
“Have you ever thought that you attract these incidents with your skill?” Ryan ponders.
“Are you saying that if I didn’t have the skill, none of this would happen in my life?” she clarifies the boy’s thought.
“Possibly,” he says evasively.
“I don’t know. To me, it’s better to be skilled when something happens than to be unskilled and fear that it will happen and you won’t be able to do anything.”
“I need to learn too,” Ryan says determinedly.
“We’ll organize our own group and teach everyone everything,” Alex corrects him.
“You have things to teach others. What will I teach?” he thinks sadly.
“You have a smile. Embrace its magical properties. Learn to use it for good,” the girl suggests.
“And how do I do that?” Ryan asks sadly. “My smile doesn’t work on Mom.”
“You have time to think about that,” Alex smiles. “See you this evening,” she says goodbye, heading towards her building entrance. “Just come with the old wound, don’t make any new ones.”
“I’ll try,” Ryan smiles, saying goodbye.
“Mom, I’m home!” the boy comes home full of impressions.
“Make yourself something to eat. And wash your clothes in the bathroom,” she reminds him, indignantly.
“Okay, Mom,” he tries not to get upset, recalling Alex’s advice. “I need to think about good things,” he whispers to himself. “Mom has it hard too. Maybe harder than me. This isn’t because she doesn’t like me.”
“When will you stop talking to yourself?” Ruth snaps. “Or should I just send you to a mental hospital?”
“No need, Mom. I’ll be quiet,” no matter how much he braced himself, he still got upset.
“Just try. It’s annoying,” she shoves the bedroom door hard, closing herself off from her son.
“I wish it were evening already,” Ryan tells himself in his thoughts. “The water’s even colder now,” he thinks, scrubbing the blood from his clothes. “It seems to have come out,” he’s glad the stains are gone. “Now I can wear them for a long time. No new ones are expected,” he rinses, wrings, and hangs them. He drains the dirty, dark, gruesome water. “Now I can make something to eat,” he makes his way to the kitchen, carefully moving his legs. “Great, there’s some pasta left,” he fills a pot with water and places it on a towel spread on the table.
He drags the pot to the stove. It’s safer that way. He’s knocked over pots several times trying to carry them. He carefully places it on the burner, turns on the gas. He salts it immediately. Not moving from the stove, he looks out the window, waiting to hear his name from Alex. A memory. Now he doesn’t know when the call will repeat. The water boils quickly with thoughts of good things. He pours the remaining pasta into the boiling water in handfuls. If he takes the whole package, he might spill everything again. It’s hard to pick up pasta all over the kitchen later.
Boiling water splashes on his hands. There’s nothing to do but endure it. It’s not the first time. He stirs constantly. It calms him. And he likes the process itself. He meditates, looking at the whirlpool in the pot. He cooks pasta so often that he knows when it’s ready just by looking. Or he feels it. When you do something many times, you intuitively start to feel it. He turns off the gas. He doesn’t dare to drain the water. It could end worse than tipping over a pot of cold water or spilling pasta on the floor.
He takes a deep plate and places it next to the pot. He scoops the pasta out of the water until only boiling water remains in the pot. Then he uses a mug to scoop out hot water and, in several trips to the sink, pours out almost all of the water. He places the pot on the towel again and drags it to the sink. Now he can pour. He pours the remaining water into the sink and immediately washes the pot so his mom doesn’t scold him. The pasta has cooled and stuck together a bit.
“It’s nothing. That happens sometimes,” he smiles, mentally reassuring himself. “It’s definitely not worth getting upset over small things,” he eats the pasta like medicine. With no pleasure at all. He immediately washes the plate so as not to give his mom any reason to be upset. He makes his way to his room, sometimes leaning on the wall. “Made it,” he rejoices quietly, closing the door. “What were we thinking about? Oh, right. Peculiarities. A group for older children. A special smile?” he smiles doubtfully at the mirror. “Compared to everything else, perhaps. And why does everyone react to it that way? Everyone has a smile. Everyone smiles. Or not everyone,” he tries to remember how many smiles he’s seen in his life. Mostly sympathy from doctors and passersby. “That’s clear. The only surprising thing about my smile is that I smile at all. It’s not common. And everyone is surprised when I smile. Is that all that’s special about me?” he realizes, disappointed. “There must be something else,” he returns to thoughts about himself. So far, only bad or useless things come to mind. “I need to help others understand what’s special about them if I’m so untalented. Our group would be perfect for that,” he smiles at the bright idea. “But can I handle it? I haven’t even found talents in myself,” he is filled with doubt. “Alex is good at it. She’ll help them, and I’ll help her. Together, we’ll find all possible talents in everyone who wants to. And if they don’t have any talents,” a new doubt arises, based on personal experience. “Then there will be nothing to find. And what’s the point of all this. We’ll create a group to find talents in other people. This idea is not new at all. There are specially trained people for that. What will we do then?” this question plunges him into deep thought, offering no enlightenment. “Back to my questionable talent. I can smile. What if we look for exactly those kinds of talents? I smile, Alex can persuade. I attract attention, she uses it, influencing people to improve their lives. Then, it turns out, it’s a life improvement group. Alex and I will be the main ones. And Curtis, of course, if they deem it necessary. All that’s left is to approve the idea with Alex and start gathering people. She mentioned a place,” he recalls the main problem. “And why do all good things always come with such problems?” he gets upset and indignant at the same time. “We can’t have it at my place. I’m not sure about hers. We need a large room. Okay. Then we’ll think about it together. The main thing is to get the birth certificate tomorrow. There’s a chance to find out who my father is,” he can’t believe the thought itself. “I never even thought I had a father at all. He’s probably somewhere. And I don’t know about it. And do I need to know about him? Alex is lucky, she has a father and she knows about him. At the same time, she doesn’t have a mother, she knows about her. It’s unpleasant. She knows she’s somewhere, but not nearby. It was getting dark the same way yesterday,” Ryan remembers his agreement with Alex’s father, looking out the window. “I’m dressed, and that’s good. It will take less time. Mom, I’m going to Alex and Curtis’s! I need to change my bandage.”
“Go!” Ruth replies, irritated. Ryan no longer gets upset. His mother’s usual attitude makes him smile. He has a mother. And he could have had no one.
I am not urging anyone to do anything.
All events and characters are fictional.
Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
I sincerely apologize if I have offended anyone.
Highly Recommended Age: 18+
The author bears no responsibility for the reader's perception of the book.