She couldn’t say exactly when and how this idea came into her life, an idea that gradually enslaved her and turned into her life’s goal. But for as long as she could remember, she wanted her own car. An elegant lady’s car. That was what happiness looked like to her—without any boundaries or reservations. All her conscious life, she worked towards her goal. She did everything within her power, and even beyond, to get what she so desired. And finally, her day had come. Victoria’s day. The day of victory.
She got up early that Saturday. Usually, almost half of the first day of the weekend was spent sleeping off the past week. But today, she got up with the first rays of the sun, half an hour before her mobile phone’s alarm was set to ring. How could one sleep on such a day? You might miss your happiness that way!
Victoria boiled the kettle and brewed a cup of instant coffee. Everything seemed the same—and yet, so unique that day. The same kitchen, where everything was not as she wanted. Starting with that shabby electric kettle that only turned off automatically every other time. The kitchen furniture’s color irritated her. She felt like a guest in a hotel or even a passenger in a train compartment taking her somewhere. Everything around her, like the scenery outside the window, was temporary. Although the journey was very long. Yet today was definitely her day.
Victoria made a couple of sandwiches for herself and her boyfriend Vladimir. He got up with the alarm. Reluctantly, waking up as he went, he headed to the bathroom, taking it up for a good half-hour. She was increasingly irritated by the banal little things about him. But today, as always, she needed him. It was good to have someone to go across the city with large sums of money.
They had breakfast and got ready. About an hour later, they arrived at the destination—a car dealership. And there it was—it happened! Finally, she was sitting in line at the cashier’s office, waiting to pay for her car. She was waiting for the documents to be processed and her money to be taken.
Yes, Victoria had been waiting for this moment. She thought about it. She dreamed of it. She worked towards it all her life, especially in the last two weeks. During these days, she practically didn’t work. She spent whole days on the internet and on the phone, calling dealerships. This was the third one. Now she could look back on the search with a smile: the choice was made. But dealing with car dealers had been a saga. The first place she went to with her man was a week ago.
The girl on the phone assured her they had what she needed—and at a price ten percent lower than anywhere else.
It took about an hour to find the address. There was no dealership—just a fenced-off lot with a guard booth. The guard unashamedly claimed that the car at the quoted price had just been sold. But they had others. And if the money wasn’t enough, they could arrange credit right there.
“But your employee assured me over the phone that I could come and buy!”
“We can offer you a more interesting configuration…”
Victoria didn’t fall for this tempting offer. She knew the value of money. The street market dealers had picked the wrong person. For her, buying a car was too important a step in life to pay for something unclear.
She was born in a small provincial town, one of the thousands in our country. Most likely not even a town, but a small settlement where everyone knew each other. Victoria wasn’t a top student, nor did she have any particular talents. Except for one: determination. From early youth, she knew she would leave for the Big City. She did everything she thought necessary for that. Right after school, she finished accounting courses. No, accounting didn’t interest her. And can anyone be attracted to a profession involving filling out mandatory forms and standing in endless queues at regulatory agencies? But she knew it was the bread and butter of her life. And the first step towards her dream: buying her own car.
Her parents supported her as much as they could. But they couldn’t do much. Her father worked his entire conscious life at the only large enterprise in the town. Because there was no other. He earned pennies, and most of them he drank away. Her mother somehow endured it. And with all her might, she wished for at least her daughter to have a different fate.
At some point, it even seemed to everyone that Victoria would never leave. And her life would follow the usual predetermined path. She had a boyfriend. Her first love, Andrey. In general, he was a good guy. Hardworking, not drinking much by local standards. She was hired after the courses at a small local trading company.
In general, Victoria was headed for an ordinary fate. At fifteen, we clearly understand that we will never become pilots or astronauts. At twenty, great athletes or musicians. At thirty, we regret studying something we never wanted to do. And at forty, we regret marrying the wrong person.
But none of this brought Victoria any closer to her dream. And when the chance came, she left everything and moved to the Big City.
Distant relatives helped her with a job. She solved all the other problems herself. She rented a room, paying more than half her salary for it. She enrolled in a paid institute.
That’s how her life went. From morning to evening—work. In the evening—study. Victoria didn’t love her institute, proudly called a university. Especially hard for her was higher mathematics. About five times a semester, the thick textbook flew into the wall. Sometimes she just cried over it. The humanities were closer to her. But her life path was like a road on her palm under the keen eye of a palmistry specialist. Everything was predetermined.
So five years passed. With one difference—somewhere in between, during the holidays, Victoria finished driving courses. She got her license. And now she proudly, for no apparent reason, carried her driver’s license in her bag. Just in case. Only the chance to drive practically never came.
She visited her home less and less frequently. Initially, Victoria went to her parents at least for New Year and May holidays. But it seemed infinitely long ago that her first love Andrey got married and had a child. She had nothing in common with her former friends or even her parents. Completely different interests and social circles. You could say she had passed the usual half-way mark of any migrant: for the Big City, she remained a provincial. But for her hometown, she had long turned into a representative of the Big City.
Victoria wasn’t alone. She met Vladimir online, and they had been living together in his apartment, inherited from relatives, for a couple of years.
From the outside, it might have seemed like love at first sight when they met. But of course, it wasn’t. Just at some point, Victoria thought he was exactly the person she needed. Older than her by a few years. Well-established in life. Educated. And most importantly—with his own housing. So when he suggested they live together, she agreed without hesitation.
“I want to!” she said simply and definitively.
Vladimir suited her in many ways. She blossomed with him. Lost a few extra kilos because she started taking care of herself. Glossy women’s magazines started landing in her hands more often. No longer having to pay a grumpy landlady for a room every month positively impacted her wardrobe. And finally, she could start saving money to fulfill her dream—buying a car.
It seemed her goal was almost reached: she was immensely proud of herself for achieving it. Now, the required amount lay neatly stacked in her bag.
Buying a car in our country is like a pilgrimage to church on big holidays. When a whole swarm of beggars and supplicants, under any pretexts imaginable and unimaginable, by hook or by crook, tries to extract money.
The second trip to another dealership ended in complete failure and disappointment. Finally, only on the third attempt, Victoria gained experience and found what she needed—from an official dealer.
The conversation with the manager wasn’t too long. Because Victoria didn’t have much choice. It’s good for those who have cars fall on them from the sky—like a golden shower. As gifts from parents or lovers. But Victoria earned her living entirely by herself. So when the manager suggested, “But in the Luxe configuration, we can offer you an automatic transmission, as well as air conditioning, automatic windows for all four doors…” she firmly said no. As firmly as only a woman can say when she really wants something but it doesn’t meet her interests. Besides the car itself, she urgently needed to install an alarm and buy a set of winter tires.
So her moment had arrived. Her turn came. Victoria stepped into the booth at the cashier’s window and handed over the stack of money. Plump and pre-counted more than once. To the cashier’s credit, she counted the cash very quickly, using a special machine. Victoria noted to herself that other people’s money is counted somehow easier and faster than your own. After all, she was an accountant too.
Victoria’s details were finally entered into the computer. And the document confirming the payment emerged from the printer.
That was all for today. She just needed to come back in three days to pick up the car. By then, they promised to install the alarm and process the necessary documents at the DMV.
Victoria left the dealership arm in arm with her boyfriend Vladimir, feeling complete success. And a new internal feeling for her: fear of losing what she had achieved. What if they somehow trick her? What if something happens and she doesn’t get the car in three days? She was happy. Yet something strange clutched at her chest. Made her heart beat less evenly than usual. There was now something new, an inexplicable chill in it. As if it was terribly hot outside, and she swallowed too big a piece of ice cream.
The evening of the most awaited day in Victoria’s life ended unremarkably and banally. Late in the day, they returned to Vladimir’s place. She immediately grabbed the phone to share her impressions with her friends. She was dying to tell them about her beloved car.
Her friends listened, asked the same questions, gave advice, although nothing could change now, the purchase was made and paid for. And… they envied her as only one woman can envy another. Secretly, and therefore most obviously and noticeably.
Later in the evening, she had to settle with Vladimir—he had demanded a “feast” as compensation for his services right from the dealership’s threshold. Victoria set a small table for two. Without candles, but with red wine for her and vodka for him. There was no romance in this dinner. Even the occasion—to celebrate the car purchase—didn’t warm Victoria’s heart much. Vladimir had long become her support, but not her passion. Maybe it was like that from the start? Probably, like elderly people use a cane: they don’t love it but can’t do without it, using it exactly for support.
So Victoria’s day came to an end. Everything around her was as usual. The same man, somewhat tipsy. The same apartment, which hadn’t become her home in the true sense over several years. Victoria, truthfully, had nothing in this life. A job that didn’t bring much joy, despite providing money. An education received at some fly-by-night institution licensed by who knows whom. A man whose relationship with her was gradually fading, sustained only by habit. Living in an apartment from which she could be kicked out at any moment.
But something had changed. Now she had her car, the one she had dreamed of for so long. In three days, Victoria would go and pick it up, prepared and registered in her name, from the dealership. Victoria felt that evening that life was a success.
2.
Victoria was used to doing everything right in her life. Step by step. Therefore, she didn’t plan to waste the remaining three days before getting her car. She arranged with her instructor, Sergey, to take at least three more driving lessons. To refresh everything she had learned.
Just like before, when she was still attending courses, Sergey met Victoria at the metro station in his own Lada, equipped with additional pedals.
“Nothing changes,” Victoria involuntarily smiled, seeing the familiar car with its hood open and the “Learner” sign on the roadside. As usual, Sergey was adjusting, tightening, and regulating something. “Good thing I didn’t mess with the Russian auto industry.”
Sergey was a remarkable person. It seemed like he lived in a completely different world. Entirely opposite to Victoria’s world. She dreamed of getting married—he was divorced and even seemed proud of it. She dealt with accounting, paperwork, and paying taxes. He seemed not to pay anyone or anything—except for gas stations. She lived by a daily schedule: to work, from work. He lived, it seemed, for himself, worked for himself, in general, in harmony with himself and for his own pleasure.
Maybe it’s people like him, who love their work, do it as if naturally, and bring benefits to others—who sustain our society? Thanks to people like Sergey, we endure wars and crises? Not because of, but in spite of the authorities, countless politicians, managers, and commanders? Maybe they are the ones who create the main wealth, despite seemingly working solely for themselves?
And Sergey possessed a rough sense of humor and a strange combination of kindness towards others and a sense of his own dignity.
“Well, Victoria, you’ve achieved it, haven’t you? Bought yourself a car? Now it’s time to learn how to drive?”
“Yes, finally. Actually, I thought I knew how to drive…”
“We’ll see,” Sergey smiled broadly, seated her in the passenger seat, and drove to the training ground—to refresh the basic skills.
The “snake,” “garage” maneuvers went quite well immediately. Parking took some effort. But by the second attempt, Victoria managed it. To be honest, not every experienced driver could handle such exercises. And why, when most people need a car just to drive it. But not for Victoria—for her, it was a symbol of success. A sign that life was accomplished. So she tried her best to do everything thoroughly.
Driving in the city turned out to be significantly harder. Confidence instantly disappeared, like water from a forgotten pot on the stove. Somehow quickly and imperceptibly. The car kept stalling at intersections. Drivers behind started honking, undoubtedly helping the novice to move as quickly as possible—but only by the third attempt.
In general, Victoria was extremely surprised by Sergey’s words: “Once you start driving, you’ll forget the rules, stop thinking about what to do—and everything will work out. You’re ready.” The job of a driving instructor, after all, is to explain things during the first five to ten lessons, and in all the subsequent sessions, just let you drive and calm you down.
Victoria drove like a true novice: absolutely by the rules, and therefore quite dangerously. If she had the right of way, she assumed she would certainly be allowed to go. So at least once, she almost got into her first accident. With Sergey shouting through the hastily opened window at the careless driver starting without looking.
In general, during that lesson, Victoria knew she now had a car, and in just two days, she would get it. But she was very doubtful about what to do with it next. Only one thing warmed her: how she would drive to work—by herself!—and tell her colleagues about it.
At the end, Sergey himself got behind the wheel and drove her to the metro. She thanked him and paid. At home, her Vladimir was waiting—who still hadn’t gotten out of bed after yesterday’s celebration over buying the car. Ordinary life continued. As always. And only the anticipation lingered in her soul, that soon, very soon, Victoria would finally get it, her beloved car. She waited and counted the days.
The next two days were workdays. So, Victoria spent them at her accounting office. And in the evenings, she spent at least an hour with her instructor.
On the third lesson, Sergey truly surprised Victoria. He was unusually thoughtful. And when she started talking about the car she had bought for the umpteenth time, he said something completely irrelevant that puzzled her:
“You know, Victoria, I read somewhere what vulgarity is. It turns out that vulgarity is just triviality, mundanity. Not a picture somewhere on the internet, but boring banality. You’ll have many more cars. You’ll understand. After all, it’s just a simple means to get from point A to point B—with varying degrees of comfort.”
Victoria didn’t understand or accept his words. Really, maybe he was just envious of her and her new purchase? What was he even talking about?
The day to receive her car was approaching. But the feeling of confidence behind the wheel stubbornly refused to grow. Like a seedling planted in the ground: it seems you water it and water it—but it remains the same. Especially if you sit and watch it, waiting for it to grow. The hour X was approaching inexorably, like a train to a station. And then one evening, the phone rang.
“Hello, could I speak to Victoria, please?”
“I’m listening…”
“Your car is ready. The alarm system has been installed. You can come and pick it up. Can you come tomorrow morning?”
Of course she could. She had been waiting for this moment like in those old times when people loved not only property or money but also a friend, when a woman could wait for her husband only from the war. With the fear that he might not return at all, or return injured—and with hope. After all, a car can be damaged in the service center, like in a war.
She promised to come right at nine in the morning. She called her boss at work:
“Artem Agonesovich, can I come to work later tomorrow?”
“What happened, Victoria?”
“I’m getting my car,” she explained proudly.
Of course, she was allowed. But somehow, it was without any joy. But this is the usual attitude of a director towards an employee who acquires something valuable. On one hand, joy for them, and on the other—an involuntary secret reflection and doubt whether they are being paid too much.
Everything was agreed upon. Only one night remained. An endlessly long and sleepless night. Victoria began to be tormented by strange and unusual thoughts for her: where would she park her beloved car? What if someone… What if something happens to it… She tried her best to chase these thoughts away. But they wouldn’t go. That night, Victoria was becoming a different, new person: a car owner. Sensitive, sleeping with one eye open to see everything, and with an ear not under the blanket to hear everything, like a true mother next to a newborn.
Victoria did not sleep well and arrived at the car dealership too early—ten minutes before it opened. She was asked to wait. Then wait a bit more. Then wait a little longer. And finally… The manager who had processed her purchase three days ago came out to her. He led her through the office area to the garage. There it was waiting for her! Her beloved metallic gray car. As a first greeting, the car winked at her with all its yellow headlights—turn signals. The alarm system was working!
Something tightened in Victoria. Happiness overflowed her. Her heart was ready to burst out of her chest. And it seemed a tear welled up in her eyes. But Victoria was used to restraining herself. And she managed to cope with this new feeling of extraordinary enthusiasm and joy. The fulfillment of a dream.
According to the rules of the dealership, the manager himself got behind the wheel and drove the car to the dealership gates. Apparently, there had been stories where cars didn’t make it safely out of the garage.
They switched places, and the dealership manager gave a brief final instruction—where and how everything was turned on. Maybe out of joy or fear, but Victoria seemed to forget everything.
“How do you switch gears? Where’s the front gear, and where’s reverse?”
With the calmness of a professional salesman who had done his job, the manager answered all her questions.
“Good luck! If anything, call us,” he said as he bid Victoria farewell.
He left. And Victoria gently released the clutch, added gas, and moved off—with the engine roaring from too many revs.
She had to stop again: something was wrong. A suspicious red light was on the dashboard. Before she drove too far, she opened the door and called out to the departing manager. He approached and identified the problem at first glance:
“You forgot to release the handbrake.”
The problem was resolved. And Victoria finally set off on her first independent journey. The manager was left somewhere behind. Victoria saw out of the corner of her eye that he crossed himself behind her back.
Often, we do something not quite right ourselves, although, of course, what we are formally supposed to, and then we rely on God. Of course, it’s not good and even dangerous—to let her go alone, so inexperienced—onto the streets of the Big City. But in the end, it’s just a job. And it’s not his responsibility to deliver clients to their homes in new cars.
In everything bad, there’s always something good. Thoughts about the forgotten handbrake and whether she had damaged anything in her beloved car distracted Victoria from the main thing: from the fear of driving alone, without the instructor by her side. Probably, a small child makes their first steps the same way: they would never let go of the support if they weren’t drawn by a bright toy in their parents’ hands.
Victoria was driving alone. She knew how to do it. Let others fuss about this life. It wasn’t for her. She calmly took the middle lane and didn’t plan to change lanes anymore. At least until the city center, she would be guided by the traffic. She was among them—other drivers. No need to deviate anywhere—the safest thing was to leave everything as it was.
Probably, the same feeling is experienced by a captain who takes his ship to the open sea for the first time. And gets caught in a storm. The number of cars around increased as she approached the city center. Flows merged and split, creating an inexplicable chaotic whirlpool of modern traffic jams.
Willy-nilly, Victoria finally felt her car. And most importantly, its clutch. The engine no longer roared and didn’t stall at every stop. And stopping had to be done every five to ten meters. The city was in a multi-kilometer traffic jam by midday.
But she still, step by step, or rather, stop by stop, made her way to the city center. And now she was driving through the square of the station she had arrived at several years ago. By this time, she had already become quite comfortable behind the wheel to see everything around. Victoria remembered herself—the girl she was back then. A very young lost girl, bewildered by the surrounding flow of people and cars rushing somewhere. A real Brownian motion, in which she was figuring out where to go next.
Victoria thought with pleasure that among all this flow, she knew what she wanted. And now she was driving through the same square in her beloved car. There was that very stall where she ate some awful food back then. There was the entrance to the metro where she went and stepped into a new life. One where everything was good, where her most cherished dream came true.
She literally felt like a veteran visiting the sites of her battles of glory. Only her medal was significantly heavier, and with four wheels.
For a moment, she thought about her relatives. About her mother and father. They were probably happy for her. Telling neighbors and friends what a wonderful daughter they had. She should visit them… If only they could see her now—sitting behind the wheel!
She wondered what her first love, Andrey, would say. He didn’t truly appreciate her. Maybe he never believed she could achieve all this. What did he think of her? If not a housewife, then just simple home furniture, raising children, greeting him every day after work, cooking him dinner. And all this—coming from a dull job in a town where there was nowhere to go. And he didn’t want to go anywhere with her either.
And now she was so successful and happy, beautiful, in her new beloved car. She wondered if he had at least bought himself some car. Certainly not as nice as hers.
And what would her former boss in her hometown think of her, where she worked for quite some time? What did he imagine, paying her such pennies and leaving no hope or prospects? A small-time local oligarch…
The green light turned on, and the traffic started moving. Victoria managed her car more and more confidently. At least as long as she could drive like everyone else, among others, in the general flow. She needed to turn right ahead. But no one let her in because other drivers were also going about their business. So, for the first time in her life, she missed her turn. And having missed it, she started moving to the far right lane to turn at the next alley.
She managed to turn, one might say, only on the third attempt. And she returned through the alleys to where she needed to go. She drove up to the office center—which, in essence, was the former factory administration, but the factory had long ceased to operate, and the premises were rented out as offices. Their firm was located here—one of many.
Victoria was lucky—she found a spot in the parking lot. Probably because it was lunchtime, and maybe someone had left. It was a real miracle to find a spot in this area, proudly called a parking lot. Of course, not quite straight, but Victoria parked the car on the first try—after all, she practiced doing this yesterday. However, before leaving it for good, she adjusted her beloved car several more times.
As at the meeting, upon parting, her beloved car again winked at her with all its yellow turn signals. But Victoria still couldn’t resist checking if the doors were locked, slightly pulling on the handle. And she headed to the entrance.
4.
At the office, they were waiting for her. After all, it was a significant event – accountant Victoria buying a car. From early morning, the employees were discussing cars behind the director Artem Agonesovich’s back.
The secretary Katya stood out the most. She said with utmost seriousness that no other car but a BMW would suit her. And that she would never buy any other model meant for the middle class. Especially not a small ladies’ car.
Those who actually had cars, parked in that so-called “parking lot” next to the office, not in fantasies, were praising their choices.
“Well, I don’t know, but my ‘Pug’ suits me just fine,” said manager Viktor, standing his ground.
“And I drive my … and don’t complain either,” one of his colleagues echoed him.
A couple of times in the morning, Artem Agonesovich emerged from his separate office and asked if Victoria had arrived. And each time, someone, not without sarcasm, replied that she wasn’t there, and it was unknown when she would be.
But then the phone rang, and there she was on the security camera screen at the post—Victoria. Blooming and proud. In a strict women’s suit – jacket and skirt. With her constant lady’s handbag and a separate plastic bag with documents, as it seems all accountants carry.
“Well, did you buy it?!”
“Yes!..”
After discussing work matters with the director, she returned to the team. And for a long time, she answered questions. About how she finalized the purchase. How she drove – alone, for the first time. Naturally, she was told it would be good for her to treat them. And she promised to do so next Friday after work.
Then everyone got back to their tasks. Victoria did too. After all, there was a lot to catch up on—she had been away from her desk for half a day. In the grand scheme of things, people forgot about her car—after all, who is impressed by a car these days?..
Somehow, the workday came to an end. At exactly six, the employees started to leave. Victoria finished her tasks too. She said goodbye to everyone, exited through the main gate, and headed to the parking lot…
In the next second, her legs gave way. Her heart pounded wildly. Before her eyes stood endless rows of identical cars of the same color – gray metallic. With the same body shapes. Completely indistinguishable in every way.
Despair overwhelmed her, like a sudden downpour from the sky in summer or a biting cold wind in winter. Her eyes became wet. Her legs and arms stopped listening, turned to stone, became cold and immobile like a bottle of cola forgotten in the freezer.
She had lived her entire conscious life for the sake of her beloved car. Chose a joyless job. Came to a city indifferent to her. Got involved with a man with whom she had almost nothing in common…
And now, here and now, she stands alone in the parking lot among all these cars. And… doesn’t know which one is hers.
Aleksei Sukhoverkhov (c)
