Mom’s cursing brings me back to reality. She is mad again. Soon she will come in my room and start shouting because it’s a mess. I quietly shut the door, put in my earplugs and pump up the volume, pretending I’m not even there. Whatever she’s unhappy about, I want to stay out of it. Yes, it’s getting dark out there. Maybe she’s just had enough for today. Yet I don’t understand why she can’t leave me alone, let me do my thing and live in my mess, the way I am – messy, disorganized, lazy, unmotivated, dirty and apathetic. At least that is what I look like from the outside. But I suddenly switch over and start packing my bags.
It’s funny how in most music videos the misunderstood girl takes off with her boyfriend. Pussies. No stupid boyfriend is needed to run away. You can do it perfectly easily on your own. I put the most important things in a plastic bag – underwear, tissues, a spare pair of jeans, a few T-shirts and socks. I’ve seen in movies that everyone takes a knife, so I gotta wait until I can get out of my room unnoticed to grab the army knife from the kitchen. I pack my sleeping bag and the tent. My backpack is all set.
I calmly sit back and wait. In the meantime, mom has stopped shouting, and all I can hear is a soothing deep murmur and occasional clinks coming from the dishwasher. I ponder getting the knife and just slipping out the main door while at it. But I know that would be a disaster. She would notice my absence right away. I have to do it in the morning, and yes, I have to move everything to my school backpack. That way she won’t look for me until the afternoon, when I’m supposed to come home. And even then, the first thing she’ll do is call me, so I can just say I’m at Julie’s until the evening, which will give me even more time. Sounds like a perfect plan.
I look up the train schedule for the next morning, because I don’t want to waste a minute lingering on the street. I’ll set out at the time I usually go to school, not later and not earlier, either. As I am planning this, and as my journey is actually becoming reality, I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my body. My heart is racing like never before. I’m almost jumping out of my skin. Mom usually comes to my room for a good-night kiss before she goes to bed, and occasionally we talk a little bit about the day’s events. But not today. I yell that I’m going to sleep early, because I know I just can’t conceal my excitement in front of her. I don’t sleep, but it’s okay. My escape needs to be planned out right down to the last detail. Night is the perfect backdrop. By the time I finally fall asleep, dawn is breaking.
In the morning, mom comes into my room to wake me up at 6:10 as usual. By this time, I’m wide awake, trying my best to pretend I am getting ready for school. Apparently, I succeed. And when I kiss her goodbye and leave our apartment, I even manage not to cry. I hurry down the stairs, open the heavy, wooden main gate with a loud creaking sound, leave the big bang behind, and run to the tram station. This time I’m not getting off at school. I’m taking it one extra stop to the Southern Station. When I exit the vehicle, submerged in the underground passage, cross the abandoned rotunda with the Vasarely-cubes on the wall and walk up the stairs to the platforms, I can’t stop myself from basking in the glory and greatness of what I’m about to do. When I finally arrive at the train, I look back at the station before boarding. I walk through the cars and finally find a suitable spot in one of the toilets of the last car. It’s still May. Nobody wants to go to the Lake yet, and unlike in the Summer break, there are ample opportunities to find a good seat. Yet I’m a little bit scared, so I still choose the toilet. This I regret later, as I could have just bought a ticket. I sit on the toilet for the rest of the journey, and I can literally sense the unpleasant smell absorbing into my clothing. I almost throw up, but I hold it and from then on I only breathe through my mouth. After an hour or so the train reaches Lepsény, which I can see from the toilet window, and at this point I’m certain that the next stop will be at the lake. I peek out and, though I know I’m reeking, nonchalantly take an empty window seat. I’m in luck. No conductor passes through for the rest of the trip, which ends at Balatonakarattya.
I jump off the train and as my feet hit solid ground, I know I’ve embarked on the first step. Not only physically, but also spiritually. In facing the fear of the unknown. Of being alone, wanted and homeless. It’s only about nine-thirty in the morning, and a little chilly. The wind is blowing in my face with all its harsh force, yet it’s a liberating sensation. I spread my arms in the air of the empty station, in front of the white and cozy little station house with geraniums below the window. After all, it’s a town, and as such, I have to walk about a kilometer from the station to find some civilization, and another kilometer through the woods, if I want to get down to the beach. I remember this from a family vacation, which gives me confidence. I pass the “town center” with the small food store and lame boutiques, then I turn left and head down to the beach. The only restaurants I know in this town are at the Lake, so that is where I go. My route leads by the forest, just along the edge of it. This time I’m not going deep into it – looks like I’ve found a shortcut. And voila, about twenty minutes later, I catch the first glimpse of Lake Balaton.
So I’ve arrived. I tentatively open the door to the closest and biggest restaurant I see. Geez, how does one look for a job? Shall I inquire after the manager right away? Or just knock on the back door and ask if they need an extra hand? Or shall I just sit down and order a drink? Or a meal? Actually, I’m also hungry, but it doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that I’m standing there like an idiot, not even knowing what to do. Finally, a waiter approaches me. He smiles, which gives me the courage to ask for the manager. To my chagrin, he informs me that the manager is not in the building, and actually he only visits maybe once a week or so. He seems helpful and kind, so we start to chat and I tell him I’m looking for work. Any work. He raises his eyebrows and gives me a mysterious smile. He says he may be able to help me. He tells me to take a seat at one of the tables and disappears. When he strides back out, I can see he’s making a phone call. In a few minutes he returns and tells me that it’s all sorted out, I just need to wait in the restaurant to meet my new boss, who will be there in a few minutes. When I ask him what I will have to do in my new job, he gives me shady answers, while the only thing he mentions for sure is that it is in catering and that I will enjoy it.
(…to be continued…)
Transadaptation Volume 6 – Meaning? – Uncertainty, Instability and Extremes Transadapted
January: A Regular Train Trip – Mateusz Tymoszewski (Poland)
February: Growing Up – Adriana Uribe (Columbia)
March: Mess – Veronika Groke (Austria)
April: The Roads We Take – Svetlana Molchanova (Russia)
May: Need – Nadia Silva Castro (Brazil)
June: “Next Sunshine” – Jonay Quintero Hernandez (Spain)
July: Intentions – Narantsogt Baatarkhuu (Mongolia)
August: Planet Kyiv – Anastasiia Leonova (Ukraine)
September: Torn – Ulrike Bergmeister (Germany)
October: Stories of Outcast Souls – Armine Asryan (Armenia)
November: Ronaldinha – Alejandra Baccino Uberti (Uruguay)
December: Aimlessly – Krisztina Janosi (Hungary)
Background – Context
Transadaptation Volume 5: Of Flowing Vicissitudes – Life Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2024)
Transadaptation Volume 4: Material Dissent – Adulthood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2023)
Transadaptation Volume 3: Evanescent – Young Adulthood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2022)
Transadaptation Volume 2: Conceived – Childhood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2021)
Transadaptation Volume 1: In the Middle – Prelude to a Contemporary Transadaptation, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2020)
Peripatetic Alterity: A Philosophical Treatise on the Spectrum of Being – Romantics and Pragmatists by Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2019)
La Syncrétion of Polarization and Extremes Transposée, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2019)
The Codex of Uncertainty Transposed, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2018)
L’anthologie of Global Instability Transpuesta, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2017)
From Wahnsinnig to the Loony Bin: German and Russian Stories Transposed to Modern-day America, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2013)
Emblems and stories on the international community
Perception by country – Transposing emblems, articles, short stories and reports from around the world
Credits
Single left, middle and right column: Budapest, Hungary – Üllői street – That guy from Hungary (Shutterstock)
Left tripartite column (top to bottom): 1. Budapest, Hungary – By sea, by road, by rail – J. Wang (Shutterstock); 2. Velence, Hungary – At the train station – Posztos (Shutterstock); 3. Budapest, Hungary – At the train station – Csiki photo (Shutterstock)
Right tripartite column (top to bottom): 1. Szeget, Hungary – The courtyard playground – Fotogurmespb (Shutterstock); 2. Budapest, Hungary – On the rails – Jiamin Huang (Unsplash); 3. Velence, Hungary – Lake Velence – Csiki photo (Shutterstock)