Ticket

It happened on tram No. 5. He was riding along peacefully toward Cheryomushki, and the conductor, moving politely among the passengers, was handing out tickets. And in that stack of tickets, the proudest of them all was waiting for its moment to shine—because it was the “lucky” one. Of course, there were other “lucky” tickets there too, but our hero considered himself a cut above the rest. The thing is, his numbers added up like this: 010010. You might think, “So what’s the big deal?” Just ordinary numbers on an ordinary winning ticket. After all, there are others like 123321 or 505505. But our hero thought otherwise; he clearly understood that the zeros on the sides were his ears, the two ones were his cheeks, and the two zeros in the middle were his eyes. And he was so proud of it that it even stuck out slightly from the roll on all sides. A girl named Olya was riding home on the same tram. Her workday had ended a couple of hours early, and she decided not to take a taxi as usual, but to ride the tram instead. She wondered what she would do that evening, what to read before bed, and when her vacation would be so she could travel to warmer countries. And just then, her dreams shattered like beads, and she flinched. “Miss!” the conductor called out to Olya in a rough voice. “Huh?” “Two!” For the fare. “Yes, yes, of course,” Olya stammered, holding out three five-ruble coins. The conductor casually shoved a ticket into her hand and moved on, like a battleship in a shallow stream, pushing everyone aside. Olya looked at the ticket and smiled: “Lucky. Oh! If only happiness would really come my way. I’d sure know how to handle it.” And our ticket wasn’t just any ticket. Not only was it proud of its “ears,” “cheeks,” and “eyes,” but it could also read minds. And if it had hands, it would be rubbing them together right now in anticipation of the happiness in store. Olya got off at the last stop, glanced at the ticket once more to make sure it really was “lucky,” carefully tucked it into her pocket, and set off toward home. And that’s when the “happiness” began. First, some rude driver splashed Olya from head to toe, not bothering to drive carefully around a puddle; right in front of her house, her heel broke; and at home, they’d even turned off the hot water. “So much for a lucky ticket,” Olya grumbled, looking at herself in the mirror. “I was such a smart girl, and now I’m a soggy chicken. Or should I have eaten it? After all, people eat lucky tickets.” The ticket responded to this remark in the most despicable way. It hurriedly crawled out of her jeans pocket, over her belt, fell to the floor, made its way under the entryway, and hid there until better times. Olya kept looking for it for a long time, but eventually gave up and went to make coffee. Summer flew by, as always, without her even noticing, and a golden autumn began. Happiness still hadn’t come knocking, so Olya decided to go after it herself. She changed jobs and even got a promotion, dyed her hair, revamped her wardrobe, started running in the mornings, and stopped eating after 6:00 p.m.—but only on Wednesdays. Bilet had been watching all this unfold and was also feverishly preparing for his big moment. And then, one October morning, as Olya was getting ready for work, he crawled out from under the entryway, carefully made his way up her slipper and onto her jeans, and from there slipped into her back pocket. Olya, of course, didn’t notice a thing and, putting on her raincoat, left the house. The wind whipped the yellowed leaves, and the sun glinted off the puddles. As Olya walked, she thought it was about time to put an end to her lonely life, but of course, we don’t need the first person she meets either. The ticket heard this and poked its head out of the pocket. It darted its dot-like eyes from side to side and sensed that what Olya had wished for was somewhere nearby. And it found it. Summoning all his strength, our hero pushed off, fell out of the pocket, and, catching a gust of wind, rushed toward the young man walking behind Olya. All those long training sessions in the entryway hadn’t been in vain, and the ticket hit the man right in the eye. He flinched, picked up the ticket, and called out to Olya. “Excuse me, young lady. “It looks like you dropped your ticket.” Olya turned around and felt as if her heart was about to leap out of her chest and start dancing right in the middle of the street. She blinked in surprise and couldn’t say a word. “Are you okay?” the young man approached and touched Olya on the shoulder. In response, she broke into a smile and nodded rapidly. “Here’s your ticket. My name is Sasha. I live nearby.” I saw you two years ago and… I would never have come up to you myself, but here’s your ticket. It’s just that I really like you. I even… I don’t know your name.” “Yayola!” Oh… I mean, I’m Olya. Well, I’m Olya. And with that, Olya blushed. “Olya…” the young man repeated, “and I’m Sasha. Oh, I already told you that, didn’t I? So… Olya, I love you…” Many years have passed since that very day. Olya and Sasha are still together; they have a growing daughter, they’ve traveled to the warmest countries, and every evening, over a cup of coffee, they just look at each other and smile. Because they can’t understand how he couldn’t bring himself to just walk up to her, and how she didn’t notice him living in the neighboring building. And so, holding hands, they sometimes sit up until morning. Simply because they’re happy. And the culprit behind this whole story hangs in a picture frame above the kitchen table, rolling his beady eyes and rubbing his hands together in anticipation, because he’s got a few more ideas in mind for this couple.