A Walr in the Fresh Air Прогулка на свежем воздухе

A Walk in the Fresh Air

The evening of December 2, 2024, cloaked Omsk in twilight.

A bulky tractor, like an awkward giant, was stirring up a mountain of garbage at the city dump beyond the outskirts. The debris, resembling shards of the past, scattered in all directions. Items bearing the marks of bygone years fell with a dull thud to the foot of this man-made chaos.

Suddenly, a light drizzle mixed with sharp snowflakes began to fall. All sounds fell silent, as if nature had caught its breath. Birds, disturbed by the storm, had already left the area, and the tractor came to a halt, pausing its work until dawn. At the top of the garbage heap, like unwilling actors in an absurd play, three discarded objects sat: a pair of glasses in a half-open case, a silver spoon, and a bunch of keys.

Raindrops and wet snowflakes slid down the glass lenses of the glasses. The first to break the silence was the clear voice of the keyring.

I believe I shall allow myself the masculine gender. I’ve always felt like a man, from the word ‘key.’ I can't quite grasp where I ended up. Chaos and complete disarray reign all around. I’ve dedicated my entire conscious life to serving one person. Then I was shoved into a shoebox and sent up to a dusty attic. Years of oblivion… They probably changed all the locks and doors. You know, it’s trendy these days to swap out doors. I was jolted out of my thoughts by a strong shove in this foul-smelling place. Still, I’m glad we’ve met. I don’t know how we’re supposed to communicate, but somehow, I can hear you. What do you think of that, dear glasses?

And I kindly ask you to refer to me in the feminine. The neuter is so... impersonal and dreary.

We hear each other thanks to wave mechanics. Everything around us is a sort of number. Each object vibrates at its specific wavelength, measured in hertz. Things don’t just sense and remember the past and present—they can also empathize with humans.

Yes, and I’m so pleased you called me “dear glasses”!
Where do I know quantum mechanics and numbers from? Of course, from books. My mistress was, and I hope still is, a passionate reader and curious soul. With her, I was never bored. I loved her. The gentle touch of her delicate hands and the light brush of a curl behind her ear. The scent of her perfume intoxicated my consciousness and transported me into dreams and fantasies.

Maybe, over time, her eyesight changed, and she needed a new pair of glasses.

And I am also glad we’ve met. But what about the little silver spoon? What secrets does it hold?

I’m sure I’m here because of some monstrous mistake. I come from a well-off family. I was a gift for a child's birthday. An old, sadly forgotten tradition. The little one grew up, and I was tucked away in a jewelry box. I don’t know how long I stayed there. I’m silver, and I can’t be thrown away! I’m better and more valuable than you! All that pomp and ambition! Yet here, we are all equal. Sooner or later, we’ll be buried in the ground or burned in hellfire.

We should try to distract ourselves from these sad thoughts. Maybe I’ll hug you with my keys. I think I’m quite a bit older than you.

All three fell into sleep.

A gloomy December morning arrived. The wet snow continued to fall. The cawing of birds woke our heroes. One large bird swooped closer, grabbed the silver spoon in its beak, and flew off into the unknown.

The keyring gasped in excitement.

Did you see that? One of us is bound to be saved! Birds are delivering jewelry to their kindly feeders. Hopefully, an old grandmother—good luck to her in her new home!

As it said this, the bunch of keys flew upward, toward a huge magnet. From there, it managed to shout:

I’ve always dreamed of being part of something big and useful!

The glasses were left alone. A sadness clouded their lenses. They longed for oblivion and non-existence. But suddenly, the sun appeared, and the outline of the dump became visible. The birds’ cries were replaced by human voices. Many people moved about, searching for something.

The glasses decided to take a nap and forget about reality.

Noise from outsiders woke them. Through the half-open case, large eyes looked out.

Strong young hands in cut gloves reached for the case. In a moment, the glasses were perched on a young man’s nose. Lifting himself from the ground, the glasses experienced a thrill—they almost lost consciousness. How wonderful it is to see the world through a human’s eyes! The young man, pulling a crumpled, not-so-fresh handkerchief from his torn jeans pocket, found a clean corner and wiped the lenses.

Putting on the glasses, he raised his hands to the sky and shouted:

Perfect! Thanks!

And thank you in return, whispered the glasses.

The world burst into new colors. The young man, whose name was Andrey, was an amateur artist, as the glasses learned. He collected all kinds of junk at the dump to create art objects from it. The glasses became his talisman, helping him see beauty in ordinary things.

One day, at an art exhibition where Andrey displayed his works, an elderly woman approached him. She gazed at a bird for a long time, then suddenly asked:

"Where did you get those glasses? They look very much like the ones I lost many years ago."
Andrey shrugged: “Found them at the dump. They help me see the world differently.”
The woman smiled: “So, they’ve found a new owner.”
And at that moment, dear glasses realized their adventure was just beginning.