Cider

Another evening, your father and his friend are chatting in the living room about old times, telling you stories. Uncle Cider started talking about that girl again, about his first love. But your father, as always, waved him off, dealing out the cards. This went on until the night. The sleep was short and restless. You woke up not in your place. Not at home. Not that year. A hotel. Your gaze fell on the sign outside the window, dimly lit by street lamps. 1985. Exactly 40 years ago. Carefully leaving the room, you found yourself in the hallway, and then on the street. Your head was spinning, and it was dark outside. You didn’t even have shoes on, you woke up just as you fell asleep. That was the only problem. Or rather, it became one. Some guys were walking straight towards you, clearly hooligans. They inadvertently looked at you and decided to make fun of you. All the taller, now with a bat, now with a knife in their pocket. Not good. But as soon as you backed away, you felt someone's back behind you, a broad one. You shuddered, swallowing. The guy turned around and saw how the gang was also coming towards you. His face was not visible. Another moment and you were in his leather jacket. Leather jacket. He covered you with himself and at some point led you home, whispering to you like a girl. You were very scared, and you didn't know anything, fear paralyzed you, and your tongue seemed to be swallowed. Your throat was dry. By the time you reached the apartment, the guy turned to you and sighed heavily.

• Do you know that you can't hang out at night? And the fact that you don't even look like an adult. What if the cops caught you?

He clicked his tongue and led you into the kitchen, sitting you down on a chair. The kitchen looked quite old. But in his voice. You heard something familiar in that voice. Painfully familiar. The guy looked like he was 19-20 years old, but his voice was like an adult's. He brought a cup of tea to you. You raised your head. He was looking at you. Uncle Cider. It was him, but... So young, so handsome. The gift of speech disappeared along with fear. Their eyes met and for a moment you saw his smile, gentle and tender, which was replaced by a gloomy voice.

• What are your parents looking at? Hey... Hey, beauty, are you hanging out?