Small apartment

⏱ ~3 min reading

On Saturday, Nikita was visiting Bogdan. Bogdan was a newcomer to the class and invited him in right away. When Nikita entered the entrance, he was surprised: the elevator was moving quickly and silently. When he entered the apartment, he was surprised again.

The hallway was like a whole room. In the living room there was a sofa that could probably seat ten people. On the balcony there was a real glass pool filled with water. Bogdan said you could swim there.

— Oh, you also have two children's rooms?

— Yes. I sleep in one, I play in the other.

All day long, Nikita played with Bogdan. The cars ran on a large wooden floor. The constructor stood on a special table. There was always something tasty in the refrigerator.

When his mother came to pick up Nikita in the evening, he silently took her hand. He was also silent on the way home. He looked out the window of the trolleybus.

We went into our apartment. The hallway is small — right next to the kitchen. The kitchen is small — three steps in one direction, three in the other. The living room is small, there is one sofa, an old TV. Mykyta shares his room with his younger sister Alina.

Nikita took off his shoes. He sat on a stool. He looked at the floor.

"What's wrong with you?" Mom asked. "Are you tired?"

“Mom…” Nikita thought and said. “Why is our apartment so small?”

Mom put down her bag. She sat down next to Nikita. She took off her scarf.

— Small?

— Bohdan has a big one. He has a swimming pool on his balcony. He has two rooms of his own.

Mom was silent. Then she asked quietly:

— Where are you sitting now?

— In the corridor.

— Where is Alina?

— He draws in the kitchen.

— Where is Dad?

"On the couch. I see.".

"What if there were many rooms? Where would you see everyone?"

Nikita thought. He looked into the kitchen. Alina was sitting at the table, her tongue sticking out—she was trying to draw a cat. He saw Dad's feet in socks on the sofa. He was reading a book. The kitchen smelled of buckwheat porridge with gravy—Mom was cooking it before picking up Nikita.

— I wouldn't see them.

— So. We're all here. One circle. I can hear you from the kitchen. Dad can hear Alina. Alina can hear me. We're always together.

Nikita looked again. The walls were close. Yes. But on the walls were his drawings. Photos from the sea. Alina's handprint in paint — mom left it, didn't wash it off.

"Mom. Don't you want a big one?"

"I want to, son. Maybe someday. But I'll tell you this: in the big one, we'll all be in different corners. And I like it when you're all together.".

Nikita got up. He went to the kitchen. He sat down next to Alina.

— What are you drawing?

— Cat.

— Can I help you with your mustache?

— Only thin ones.

Dad came from the sofa. He sat down at the table. Mom brought a pot of porridge. In the small kitchen, all four of them sat close together. Their elbows touched slightly. The porridge was warm, with butter.

Nikita ate slowly. It was nice in Bohdan's big apartment. But in his small one, there was something that wasn't there. Closeness. Warmth, like from the stove. The smell of his mother's porridge. His father's hand, which accidentally touched his shoulder.

It was a house.