THE CLIMBER

There was a playground for children in between the three eight-storey blocks of flats, behind the Hadzhiyata Gruev petrol station, immediately next to the small market in Izgrev. We used to gather in groups there because it was the most convenient place for us all. More than twenty years ago there was no Facebook back then but among ourselves, in the in-group, we established something of a social network through writing. Exactly there, at the climbing frame between block 213 and the others (we used to call it the climber), the exchange of notes took place.

I must have been in the second or in the third grade – I am 32 now. One day I suggested for us to start writing letters to each other in the summer. There must have been fifteen of us. This is how we started writing notes daily and getting together on a daily basis, sometimes in the mornings, sometimes in the evenings, but always there at the climber. There were all of us there and everyone gave letters to the rest, most often on the topic of love. We got home, read the letters, replied, put them in envelopes and there was another round of exchanges on the day after. We had this personal correspondence with each and every one; we even had a code with some of the girls. I had a bookcase at home where I arranged the letters alphabetically according to sender and chronologically in the order of receiving them. All of us exchanged letters, boys included. It didn’t last long, five or six months.

There at the climber we organised “We’ve got talent” evenings, whereas at the entrance of my block of flats with the other kids from the block we had performances. We entertained the old ladies and gents: catwalks and dances that we learned for them and then performed publicly. We gathered them for these occasions, we notified them somehow, I forget in what manner, but we notified them we were going to have entertainment at the entrance.

Everything happened down there at the climber on the playground: we played, we got together, we gazed at the stars, and we chatted. Wonderful childhood we had. We are no longer there, we grew up. Children are different these days. And the circle climber somehow rolled out of our lives.

Vania’s story, 32 years old, from the Izgrev Quarter