Sosnovoborsk, my home town, in early 1980s (source)
It actually could be a view from my apartment window, though I found this photo online.
17
Write about the first money you earned. Was it for a
chore you did for your family, or you got a job outside of home? Was it for
something you enjoyed doing? Remember the moment when you held money (or a
check) in your hands for the first time. How did it make you feel?
Marusya was sitting on the wooden stool in the
kitchen, sipping tea which was rapidly becoming barely warm, with
an open book on the table in front of her. If mama was around, Marusya would now
hear something like “Marusya, put your feet down, it’s not good for your blood
circulation to sit like this.” Marusya remembered about the blood circulation,
but still it felt so comfortable to tuck her legs under on a slightly wobbly
wooden stool, and since mama was still at work, Marusya did not change her
position.
She was not in her kitchen anyway – she was somewhere in
the jungles of exotic Patagonia which sounded as fun as the name of the
explorer with whom she traveled, Jacques Paganel. Tropical birds, big, colorful
and loud, were singing above her and Paganel’s heads. Tropical rainforest,
thick and whimsical, hung above her and Paganel. Tropical rain, a heavy
downpour, was all over her and Paganel’s bodies. But none of that stopped them
from going further and further in their exploration of Patagonia.
A ring at the apartment entrance took Marusya out of the
dreamy state. It was Tanya – she came back to return the books she got from Marusya’s
home library a couple of days ago.
“You read them already? So fast?”
“Yes, they were great. May I borrow something else?”
“Sure.”
Marusya was so surprised with her friend’s reading
abilities, but she hadn’t even noticed that she was half way through the thick
tome in two days herself.
“I was thinking,” she said when Tanya decided on her
next reading selection. “That would be so fun to become a writer. Can you
imagine how fun that would be?”
“I guess,” said Tanya hesitantly.
“Hey, we could write a book together,” Marusya continued
her daydreaming. “Let’s write about Paganel. Have you read about Paganel? We
could write about his next adventure that happened after the captain Grant’s
one.”
“Erm…”
“He could visit other continents and work on a
research project…”
“Hmm…”
“We’ll write a book and get it published. I’m sure we’ll
get famous. What do you think?”
Tanya seemed too busy settling her eyeglasses on her
nose. How she reminded Marusya of Paganel now, with this uncertain look on her face.
“Maybe you can write something for a newspaper? I saw
some kids write little articles and get published in Pionerskaya Pravda.” (*)
“Yeah, I guess. But they won’t publish about Paganel.”
“Or you can try to submit your articles to the local
newspaper first.”
“Rabochiy?” (**)
“Yes, I guess.”
“But they won’t publish a story about Paganel.
Although, I saw some stories and poems in it. Even our literature teacher
sometimes publishes her poems there.”
“Well, maybe you can write about something related to
school life.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Like how kids do recycling, or
something like that.”
Marusya was disappointed. Clearly, writing about recycling
was much less exciting an idea compared to writing about the adventures of an
explorer by the name Paganel. What Tanya was thinking? Who of the writers she loves
to read would ever write about recycling?
But the thought stuck in Marusya’s head, and after a
conversation with her family (she always talked things over with them, if the topics
were not too personal or embarrassing of course) she showed up at the first
meeting of youth journalists at the local newspaper Rabochiy, just like Tanya
suggested.
The meeting went well, though they did not discuss
anything especially interesting. There were a couple of other girls from
Marusya’s school and a girl from another school, she was the same age as
Marusya and seemed a creative type, so Marusya watched her the whole hour
during the meeting. Of course, she tried to watch her in a way that wouldn’t be
noticeable. Like she would doodle in her notebook and look down the whole time,
only glanced at the girl a few times when she was busy writing some clever
thoughts. Really, what was so clever at that first meeting to be worth writing down,
Marusya couldn’t say. Maybe it’s even good that Tanya found an excuse to not
come with Marusya.
“I’m not a writer, you see,” she’d tell Marusya. “I
love reading, but when I need to come up with my own story or essay, I never
know what to write.”
That was strange, Marusya thought. She wrote without
even thinking. It was like a separate little channel was working inside of her,
and she did not need to put much effort into it, other than just letting this channel run through
her fingers. She wrote a few stories and poems as a child, and her essays were
always considered the best in school and were read in front of her class and even
other classes, which made her blush. She thought that writing was the easiest
thing on earth, and assumed that everyone felt that way. But honestly, Tanya was right
to not come to this meeting. The newspaper editor asked them some questions
which had nothing to do with writing, Marusya thought. But she’d never be as
rude or as brave as to actually say so. So when they discussed the meaning of the
word “okay”, Marusya said that it just means “not too bad, but not especially
good either” – at least that’s how everyone she knew used this word. “How are
you?” – “Okay I guess.” She’d hear it often from others, and even said it
herself on a few occasions. Okay means I’m not even sure if I am okay.
“No,” the editor said. “Think harder.”
Another girl from Marusya’s school, who she never
especially liked, said that “okay” means “well”.
“Yes,” the editor said. “Okay means well, good, all correct.”
Marusya snorted, but only in her imagination.
Anyway, that was the sort of stuff they discussed in
their first meeting, and Marusya was even glad that Tanya did not come. She
would definitely be disappointed with this meeting. It was nothing like a meeting
of writers, real writers.
“But it wasn’t a writer’s meeting, Marusya,” said
Tanya when the friends were walking to school the next morning. “It was a youth
journalists’ meeting, remember?”
All right, all right. Tanya was right, as usual.
So little by little Marusya decided to stick with
their meetings and started thinking about words in a new light. Maybe the
editor was right about the word “okay” after all. Maybe it was intended to mean
“well” or “good”, but in real life people started giving it a slightly
different meaning. Maybe they both were right.
After the second meeting Marusya submitted her very
first article. Tanya had been spot on when she had suggested writing about
something related to school life. The topic of recycling came up during that
second meeting, and the two girls from their school had decided to write about
it. Phew! At least Marusya would not get stuck with such a dull writing assignment.
“And what would you want to write about, Marusya?” the
editor asked her.
The woman had a friendly face and voice, but Marusya still
felt a bit intimidated by her.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, think about it, and we can discuss it in our
next meeting.”
But there was no need to discuss her possible topic
because when Marusya came back home, she closed the door in her brother’s room
(who was four years older and got his own room by now, while Marusya could only
use his desk to prepare her homework, and then slept on the sofa in the living
room after all) and started writing.
She wrote about something that had happened in her
literature class that had bothered her. A few boys, those who don’t study very well
and didn’t behave very well (you know the type) had made their teacher cry. Right
there in the classroom, they had actually made the poor old lady cry. They probably
had not intended to. They probably were just fooling around and teasing her just
because she looked so easy to tease, with light yellow curls framing her little
head. Marusya was not surprised at all when she had read her teacher’s poems in the
local newspaper and found out that she loved nature and Pushkin, and that she had
some romantic feelings, probably a long time ago in her youth when she had not
needed to bleach her curls because they were naturally blond. Her lessons never
were particularly interesting, but to have made this sweet lady so frustrated, to
the point when she could not reason with the students, but could only cry quietly ... this
was something Marusya couldn’t get out of her mind for the past week. So she
wrote about all the events and her thoughts about them and submitted the
manuscript as her first article.
The editor liked Marusya’s article and said that it
would come out in the newspaper the following week.
Marusya did not read newspapers. She never was really
interested in them, and she did not feel the need to stay informed, like her
father would say. When she came to school the day after the newspaper with her
article came out, she secretly hoped that nobody would read the newspaper anyway,
because the thought that they would read it, and know her thoughts, and
probably hate what she had written and hate her too – that thought was unbearable.
But to her surprise, girls from her class, those girls
that you’d call popular girls (you know the type) actually did read the
article, and not only did they not hate it, they actually felt proud of her.
“Good job, Marusya!”
“We’ll show them!”
“Write more!”
They came to her, those girls who usually did not even
notice her existence, or so it seemed, and thanked her for her article. And the
boys did not seem to hate her either. And the teachers. And the school
principal. Everyone came to her to say that she had done a great job and that she
should write more.
But what was even less expected, (though really, it would
be difficult to say what was less expected in this story) was that later in that same week,
Marusya got an envelope in the mail box, which she checked almost automatically
every day on the way home from school. In the envelope, she found a mail order in
her name. 3 rubles and 52 kopeks. She would have to go to a post office to cash
it. Her very first earned money. More pocket money than she had ever had in her
life. It was just weird. But good weird. She wondered what she could buy with
this money. Would it be enough to buy binoculars, for instance? Or a compass? A
real one, something that Paganel would use on his trip to Patagonia.
(*) Pionerskaya Pravda (The Pioneer’s Truth) used to
be a national newspaper for youth in the USSR.
(**) Rabochiy (The Worker) was a typical name for
local newspapers in the USSR.
* * *
How wonderful! I had a job in high school writing articles on the sports teams for the local paper. I was paid by the inch! It kept me in pocket money. Oh what memories these girls from another country made me think about.
ReplyDeleteThere's something magical to me that you made your first money writing ... I just love that. :)
ReplyDelete