"Random Waltz"

The last Sunday evening of August found me in the Central Park of my hometown, N-sk. I was sitting on a bench under a sprawling birch tree, enjoying the final days of my vacation. A whole month at home, trips fishing, to the dacha, and into the woods had somewhat brought me to my senses, and I had rested well, but I didn't want to go back to work. And no wonder, because this year, due to extra work at my home department, my free time would only be enough for eating and sleeping.

But work would start in a few days, so I wasn't thinking about that.

That day, it seemed the whole city had gathered in the Park: kids, of course under adult supervision, were storming the rides,

here and there you could see couples walking hand in hand or kissing, noisy groups of diverse young people of both sexes gave themselves away with running around and laughter. All in all — that's how all summer evenings passed in N-sk.

I sat and smiled, thinking my own thoughts, when I heard music from the direction of the stage hidden behind trees and rides. My smile grew even wider when I realized the music was live in both the literal and figurative sense… The sounds of a brass band began to play in the Park.

It took me about five minutes to leave behind the alleys, fountains, and part of the rides with screeching schoolchildren, and to position myself near the stage.

You know, but near the concert area, there was no room for an apple to fall! On stage was a magnificently coordinated ensemble, performing at the moment of my arrival "Rio Rita" — an incredibly popular paso doble from the 1930s. On the spacious area in front of the stage, couples of all ages were dancing: the older generation danced so breathtakingly, as if they were a dozen years younger; middle-aged couples, who knew the phenomenon of dancing to a brass band from their childhood and youth, danced right there without any embarrassment. Even the openly skeptical youth, mostly teasing each other, flitted here and there. Around the perimeter of the area, mostly near their parents, little kids were running, and also in two, even three rows, stood gawkers, passersby, and simply citizens relaxing in the Park that day.

With a foolishly pleased expression, to the rapid bass solo, I looked now at the stage, now at the dancing couples, now at the spectators. And you know, I didn't notice even a hint of ill will from the onlookers. Sincere smiles, even from a group of shift workers dressed for their day off, were a reward for the ensemble. Of course, I saw moments when some local riff-raff would start yelling and hooting, but they were gently, tenderly, and popularly explained, sometimes with a word, sometimes with a soft fist to the kidneys, that it's not good to disturb good people, that they were superfluous at this common celebration of life.

The final chords of the legendary paso doble ended with a unanimous cry of "Ooh," and for a couple of minutes, only the cheerful conversations of the vacationers could be heard. However, the musicians didn't keep us waiting long, and the tango "Black Eyes" sounded over the Park.

Here and there, people started dancing again — some modestly and with dignity, and some with passion. I watched a very beautiful couple who weren't just dancing but breathing the dance. I liked their style, their story, which they were telling, but which only a few of those present were capable of understanding.

And then I saw her — a young red-haired girl in a turquoise summer dress. She was standing almost opposite me on the other side of the dance floor and, like me, was watching what was happening, occasionally exchanging a couple of phrases with an equally red-haired woman, apparently her mother. What caught my eye about her then, I don't know even now, after a long time has passed.

I wasn't in a hurry to go home and continued standing in the shade of the birch trees, listening to the orchestra and occasionally — who am I kidding — looking in the direction of the beautiful stranger. What I learned about her was that she danced the waltz simply magnificently! During the orchestra's performance of the waltz "Autumn Dream," her mother whispered something in her ear, and both turned to a stately man standing behind them — her father?! — with a childlike smile, the red-haired beauty led the laughing man into the whirl of waltzing couples. After the dance, they stayed to watch the rest of the performance.

Then I realized I had every chance to pull off a little scheme and headed to the far edge of the stage, where the orchestra leader playing the trumpet was sitting. How, you ask, did I know that was the leader? Well, because the orchestra mainly consisted of teachers and students from the local conservatory and the music school attached to it. I myself had graduated from music school and college externally and was somewhat of a "multi-instrumentalist": I played the saxophone and had also mastered the clarinet. So, I knew about half of the orchestra members.

As for me, unlike many comrades and acquaintances, I came to my senses in time and didn't continue my studies, choosing the path of a design engineer.

Passing a couple of meters from, as I hoped, my future partner, I approached the edge of the stage just as the orchestra finished another fast piece.

"Pavel Yegorovich, good evening!" — practically running onto the stage, I greeted the leader. "Still delighting the townsfolk with a pleasant relic of the totalitarian past?"

My impudent appearance on stage was met positively by my, in a way, mentor, who shook my hand.

"Hello, Alexey! What, feeling nostalgic? When are you joining us?"

"Not soon," I sighed. "You know yourself what music means to me. You can't earn much money from it — you understand. Maybe later…"

"Parasite…" Yegorych grumbled without malice. "Shoo then, let me finish the program!"

"At the end, two waltzes as always? What will you play?"

"We decided to try out the concert version of 'On the Hills of Manchuria' and finish with 'In the City Garden' — Tradition…"

"Pal Yegorych! A big request! Not 'In the City…', but 'The Accidental Waltz,' and play it like you've never played in your life!"

"Why so? Missing the parade ground?" the conductor asked slyly.

"Yes. And the concerts too."

I only lied about the current reason for my request, but I really did miss "the hard and unglamorous life of Soviet clarinetists."

"Go on then. We'll play our best, one waltz after the other."

While the orchestra was preparing, I quickly descended from the stage and headed along the crowd standing around the area towards the red-haired beauty. Turning towards the stage, I saw the sly faces of Pal Yegorych, Andryukha, Yurka, Yulia, and half the orchestra. The conductor was giving me time to invite my chosen one to dance — I can't understand how he sees through me now and saw through me before.

Approaching the red-haired beauty closely, I was surprised to see that she was a very young girl, about seventeen. I, at that time, had just graduated from the institute a year ago… But there was no turning back and it was too late, so under three surprised gazes — from the father, mother, and their daughter — I invited the redhead to dance.

"Good evening! May I invite you for a dance?"

The redhead's grinning father chuckled merrily. She herself looked at her smiling mother.

"Go on, Oksana!" her mother nodded. "We'll wait for you."

The girl gave me her slender hand, and to the introduction of the concert version of the ancient waltz "On the Hills of Manchuria," I led her to the middle of the area.

I couldn't take my eyes off her, and the longer I looked at her, the more I was amazed by her marvelous beauty: medium-length red hair elegantly pinned up, a beautiful face, from which large green eyes looked at me with a slight challenge, worthy of the brush of a world-class portraitist, and a neat nose and sensual lips completed the picture. Silver earrings with turquoise matched her eyes and the turquoise dress, which hid a neat second-size bust. About one meter seventy tall, she had a magnificent figure, the sight of which could leave one speechless.

And so we began to waltz among the other couples. She anticipated my every movement, was always ready for a change in the waltz's tempo. The girl diligently looked to the side, and I saw her profile. How I wanted her to look me straight in the eyes! Carefully reducing the distance between us, so much so that I felt her firm breasts, I tried to speak.

"Is something wrong, Oksana?"

The girl turned at my question and, as the waltz moved towards its coda, looked into my eyes.

"No… Everything's fine. It's just… You dance so well! I understand it's not important, but tell me, what's your name?"

"Alexey," I said, looking straight into her eyes and blurting out awkwardly. "You have beautiful eyes, and not just your eyes…"

The rapidly blushing girl lowered her gaze. "Unkissed," I thought.

"Thank you…"

"You don't need to tell me that, but your parents deserve the credit. They did a good job."

Suddenly the music fell silent, and I realized I had only one dance left. Only one dance to remember her. To remember, but not to invite her anywhere — she was too young, or rather, I was much older than her.

Some might think that seven years (seven!!!) is not a big difference, but in this situation, it was simply an abyss. She needed to study, while I had graduated from the institute a year ago. The girl — precisely a GIRL — was too young, and I was already seriously thinking about marriage with all that entailed…

"The Accidental Waltz" began to play, and I, unexpectedly even to myself, heard Andryukha start singing in his trained voice:

"The night is short, the clouds are asleep

And your unfamiliar hand lies in my palm.

After the alarms, the town sleeps

I heard the melody of a waltz

And dropped in here for an hour.

Though I don't know you at all

And my home is far from here

I feel as if I'm near my home again.

In this empty hall, we dance together

So say at least a word, I myself don't know about what"

I held Oksana's weightless hand, looked into her eyes, and with an effort of will didn't allow my right hand to slide down her waist, carved as if from marble, a little lower than I wanted. I didn't hear the words of the second verse and chorus, and I could barely distinguish the music. "Smitten? No. This is something more serious than a banal reproductive instinct."

The final chords of "The Accidental…" found us in the middle of the area and at the very coda, as the orchestra began to fade, we were separated from Oksana's family by several rows of couples.

"You dance magnificently. Thank you for the dance and for THIS too." — finishing the dance, I quickly pressed her hand to my lips, slightly bowing.

Oksana flinched, but I didn't let go of her hand and escorted her to her parents.

"You dance well, young man! I've never seen such lightness in movements anywhere."

"Years of training," I sighed, remembering five years of study in a field close to defense and the military department, where they trained us so that upon arrival in the active army, the attitude towards our graduates was as towards officers, not departmental lieutenants: regulations, parade ground, theory and practice in many military disciplines, even dancing.

"Your dance was also top-notch. I must go. Thank you for the dance." I inclined my head towards the red-haired beauty and, without waiting for an answer, headed towards the stage.

***

"Nineteen!!! Nineteen years!" — under this cry, half the house began its morning. "You fool, Lyokha… You ass!"

The second day after the dance in the Park had passed, and I, unable to bear it, went online and started looking for Oksana — I liked her so much, she wouldn't leave my head. You know the result…

This activity almost disrupted my plans for that day. After breakfast with my family, who were getting ready for work and study, and wishing everyone a good day, I headed towards the railway station, where a train to N-sk was already waiting under steam — my vacation was over.

What possessed me to buy a ticket in a coupe of the express train, but I bought it anyway. I could have gone by bus or minibus, but no. Entering the empty coupe, I quickly dealt with my bags and changed clothes. The fact that I got an upper berth meant there would be at least two fellow travelers. I often, even too often, traveled on business trips and knew that much on the journey depended on the people in your coupe.

Through the slightly open coupe door came the sound of female chatter:

"To me?"

To me.

The first thing I saw, turning at the sound of the door opening fully, was a mane of red hair. The red-haired woman who entered stunned me no less than the beauty Oksana, who fluttered in after her and had occupied my thoughts for several days.

Observing the formalities, we quickly got acquainted with the woman, and to the sound of the train wheels picking up speed, I went out, giving the ladies a chance to change.

"Where are you headed, Alexey?" — Olga Alexandrovna was satisfying the curiosity inherent in women. Dressed in a tracksuit, she could pass for a senior student heading to competitions or practice, if not for the slightly noticeable wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Olga was such an attractive woman that I couldn't help but admire her.

"To N-sk. Work…"

"Graduated recently?"

"Been working for a year."

Oksana, sitting opposite us, noticeably perked up, but under my studying gaze, she turned crimson. She intercepted the direction of my gaze precisely: slender legs, short tight shorts, a fashionable t-shirt also emphasizing the curves of her body, a small, neat, high bust, on which her crossed elegant arms instinctively rested, and a proudly raised head on a slender neck.

"You're going to study? First year?"

"I'm already in my third year," Oksana suddenly spoke up. "Classes start tomorrow."

"We're also going to N-sk. I'll drop Oksana off at her grandparents' and stay with them for a bit," the woman clarified.

Six hours flew by like one — my interlocutors were so pleasant. Only once, when before another small station the girl went to get boiling water, silence hung in the coupe. The train swayed, and I only managed to catch her just below the chest from the back, but the girl, losing her balance, had already sat down with her bottom on my organ.

Jumping up as if scalded, she flew out of the coupe where we were sitting — embarrassed but smiling Olga and I, diligently covering myself with a newspaper. And for good reason! A wild desire came over me, and I tried with all my might not to pay attention to my throbbing temples and the same feeling in my lower abdomen.

"She'll drive me crazy!"

"Why are you blushing? In your place, anyone would already be sitting with a satisfied face like a March cat."