Breakfast Buddies by Ildar Daminov

Author:Ildar Daminov
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: college students, self-discovery, first love, cultural differences, writing
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2022-09-30T00:00:00+00:00

May 29, 2017

Showers

My invitation was immediately accepted—Peter S. was a great music enthusiast. Despite the fact that Peter had already become my best friend by that point, I was not completely happy about having to go to Jürgen’s concert with someone else. The reason was perhaps that I saw the performance as something deeply personal. Peter S., despite being one my closest friends, had no idea about my mental convulsions and endless vacillations. After a while, however, I came to the conclusion that having my best pal by my side was for the best, considering my emerging tendency to overdramatize certain things. Going with a friend would make the concert a bit easier—that was my final assumption.

I looked at my smartphone. It was 6:30. Just then that irresponsible Hungarian let me down, when I least expected it. I got a text from Peter saying that he would not be able to make it—his girlfriend had thrown a tantrum, saying that he was not spending enough time with her. So, I would have to go on my own. Indignation exploded inside me like a tiny atomic bomb. But I could not do much about the situation. I entered the subway station with a small sigh.

After a brief subway ride and a ten-minute walk, I was finally there. What I faced was a boring concrete box that somehow stood out among other magnificent buildings, all of which were true examples of European baroque architecture.

The concrete building’s interior reminded me of a stereotypically luxurious American hotel of the mid-sixties. There was not much light in the main corridor. Its dim lighting, along with the space’s interior, created a somewhat intimate atmosphere—a tapestry of dark hues, enormous violet curtains, and big brown leather sofas. Honestly, it was a rather bizarre place for a small Disney concert—at least to my taste—but what do I know about art? I could honestly imagine mafia gangsters or corrupt senators assembling in the smoke-filled rooms of this building to discuss their shady plans behind closed doors.

Switching my attention from the interior design to a few people at the end of the corridor, I quickly understood that I was a bit underdressed. There were elderly ladies and gentlemen in fancy suits and dresses that made me feel extremely uncomfortable, as I was wearing an old black bomber jacket, plaid shirt, and dark-blue jeans. I began to consider whether or not I should leave. My brain blasted me, insisting that I should never have come here in the first place. That was when, suddenly, Jürgen appeared from one of the adjacent rooms and saw me.

“Hey, buddy! I am so glad you came. It’s wonderful to see you,” he exclaimed and greeted me with his usual big bright smile. Once again, he was wearing an official black-and-white set, looking stunningly beautiful. A small, elegant bow tie sat above his white shirt, underlining the importance of the event. Jürgen’s curly (and usually somewhat messy) hair looked very orderly and tidy. Clearly, my friend was taking this concert very seriously.

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