A little while ago, my host mom invited some girlfriends over to drink, catch up, and celebrate her birthday. I walked into the apartment at 5pm that day, and was surprised to see three ladies sitting in the dining room, talking animatedly, singing, and having an all-around good time. I didn’t know they were coming and I had not met any of them before. Like usual, whenever there is a dining room party, I was immediately ushered in and offered wine and other treats. One of the women continued to look at me with the same questioning expression throughout my botched conversation attempts, making me a bit self-conscious. After a while, she hushed everyone to confidently express that I looked like the subject of a Pre-Raphaelite painting, then proceeded to look up examples on her phone. The phone was passed around and everyone crooned similar words of “oooh” , “yes, so similar”, “wow” as I sat there, not knowing which facial expression would be the most appropriate response. Of course, it was very flattering, and also confusing. It’s hard to know what to do when someone gives you a compliment like that. Is a simple smile and “thank you” satisfactory? Did my nervous laughter ruin the moment? Everyone discussed my resemblance to the painting for the next few minutes, with my host mom saying something along the lines of: “I know and, just think, I get to wake up and see this face every morning”, gesturing to my face. Meanwhile, I crossed my legs and uncrossed my legs, laughed, waved my hands too forcefully, obediently scooped some food from the dishes being pushed towards me, blushed profusely, shook my head a lot, and tossed back a third glass of wine. After two hours, I politely made my excuses so I could finish my homework. A chorus of laughter received this, as the ladies thought I was too drunk to study properly. (Ha ha haha, so funny, thanks….. )
Over the next hour or so, as I safely tucked myself away in my room with my grammar book, I heard the rise and fall of voices, along with the opening and closing of the front door, until the apartment was quiet once more. I cautiously stepped out of my room, headed for the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I closed my door, I heard Tatyana yell, “AUBREY, are you hungry?” Considering I had eaten a feast only an hour earlier, this question was somewhat baffling to me. I turned the corner into the dining room to see a table scattered with the remnants of the party that had, until very recently, occupied it – plates, cutlery, tea cups, wine glasses, shot glasses, and half-eaten dishes piling over each other. Sitting on one side of the table, with her back to me, was my host mom, Tatyana. Sitting on the other side, and inspiring a movie scene-esque double take, was a fifteen-year-old-or-so boy, who I had never seen before. He looked up from his plate of cabbage pie and candy, gave me a big wave and said, in English, “HELLOOO.” I smiled back, then hesitantly shuffled over to the table and sat down beside Tatyana to pour myself a cup of tea. “I’m…. drunk,” Tatyana sighed, settling herself more comfortably into her chair. I patted her arm reassuringly and nodded, failing to ask the obvious question: “Who is this strange boy, heartily inhaling our leftovers?” Did she see him in the hallway and pull him inside? Does he visit often and I never noticed until now? Was this a previously planned visit? Did Tatyana even know who he was???? Meanwhile, Tatyana asked him about his family and his studies as I sat there smiling and nodding along, then she paused to inform me that she couldn’t find the cat. As I began searching for the cat, the boy sprang up to help clean the dishes, despite Tatyana’s assurances that she would do it later. He had impeccable manners, I must say. Upon successfully finding the cat in the closet (of course), I stealthily retreated back to my room, socially exhausted for the evening. After a while, I heard the door open again and a “GOODBYYYYYE AUBREY!” as the unknown teenage boy left the apartment.
I eventually learned that he is a neighbor and lives with his family in the apartment below us. I still don’t know how he ended up in the dining room, however, and I haven’t seen him since that evening.
...... hm.
^^^ I would like to add that I looked very pulled together and Russian that day. Also, on the same day, when I was sitting in the metro station, a foreign photographer asked to take my picture. Just throwing that out there. My Russian citizenship papers are probably in the mail as we speak.