Yesterday it was exactly one year since Lenya was gone. That's exactly what kept me busy for 2 days. I have even forgotten about this date somehow in the bustle of my affairs. But subconsciousness sometimes does just amazing things to us. That's why I decided to write this multi-page post in his memory.
How did this happen?
After we graduated from school, our knocked down company began to disintegrate. Some of the people were drafted into the army, while others (including me) went to other cities in search of a better life, because there was nothing to catch in our remote areas in terms of prospects. So it happened, guys still insofar as, and girls try to leave this ass right after school, but at least to study somewhere, and who does not leave - 25-30 years old, addicted to drugs or exhausted so that they are afraid to look at them.
As a result, Lenya was basically alone again. A couple of people (including me) still came to visit him from time to time, but we all grew up, we began to have new concerns: who has education, work, who has families, children, etc. Lenya started looking for another company, and probably made a big mistake with the company, because I started to see him more and more often at the local casting site with a lot of obvious hanurics, and he came up to me with the question "Nastyukh, Dolgani 20". I've tried to have a couple of "educational talks," but I think you can guess what happens in these situations: a person can only be helped if he wants to. And about some more serious measures to me then had no time to think, I have gone one relationship after another, and the relationship is quite heavy and exhausting, until I realized that a serious relationship is not mine at all, + work + part-time work, + seriously ill, and then died dad, in general, permanent employment, and I was easier to pay off another 20 than try to deal with this problem closely. It was also impossible to talk normally, on any attempt to talk about this topic, Lenya started on a new bagpipes about the girl he was in love with so long and irresponsibly, that without her he didn't want to live directly and he got drunk because for some time it became easier. He somehow learned all the details of her personal life and every significant moment in her life turned out to be another one of drunken hysteria and then two weeks of alcoholic depression for Lenny. Well, what could I do with it? What could I say to that? Tie her up and drag her to him? Punch her in the face? So I didn't even know where she lived, and he didn't tell me.
Then Lena kind of got sick with a cold while he was sick, so I called him a few times, asking if he had any food, medicine, or if he needed any help. To be honest - I was even glad that he was sick at home and not hanging around with these drunks who were drinking him up. The last time we called, Lenya said he was feeling a little better, the fever was starting to drop and we agreed that I would go over and help him clean up and wash his clothes over the weekend.
And the next day after that call, Alenka, a mutual friend of mine from the company, called me at 6am and told me to run to Lena's because the water was rushing from his apartment and pouring in water from his neighbors, nobody was opening the doorbell, and I was the only one who had the keys to his apartment. When we went to his apartment, we caught the following picture: the water flows out of the bathroom through the top, because for some reason the safety drain failed, and Lenya lies in the hallway unconscious (as it turned out later - in a deep coma). We called an ambulance, the doctors came and took him to the hospital, Alyona and I took a taxi. It turned out that it wasn't a cold in Lenny's life, and it was an infectious meningitis, and I don't know where he managed to catch it, but considering how his new "friends" looked like and where they were drinking, I wouldn't be surprised. If Lenya had been in the hospital at least a couple of days earlier, he could have been rescued, but by the time we found him lying in the hallway (he must have realized that everything was bad and was trying to reach the phone), he had already developed such a severe swelling of the brain that they did not survive.
I just remembered lying in his apartment a few years ago, in the same room, on the same bed with a strong heat. But I had someone to pull me out and take me to the hospital, and he had no one to take me to. This guilt will probably not leave me for the rest of my life. Of course, you can justify myself by the fact that if I even came in - I'm not a doctor, I still could not identify meningitis, but somehow it does not help a little from the feeling of guilt.
Also, I'm not left powerless rabies over a blatant universal injustice that makes me want to scream until I'm hoarse. I don't know why I'm doing this.
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