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After classes, he ran for an hour home to his best friend Denis Tikhoretsky.
Denis was already discharged from the hospital, but was prescribed strict bed rest, even it was forbidden to get up to the kitchen or the toilet.
Deniskin’s mother took leave and sat with her son all day.

Once a week a nurse came in, examined and bandaged.
And Denis himself slowly but surely was getting better.

On that day, Dimka was in a hurry more than usual.
He bought a large bar of chocolate at the school canteen and wanted to quickly share with Denis.
In general, he often brought various tasty things, either apples, tangerines, or chips.
I really liked the blatant joy with which Denis accepted gifts.
Having barely waited until the sixth lesson was over, Dimka rushed headlong into the street, buttoning on the go.
He skipped on the asphalt, rushing to the goal and not paying attention to the surrounding trifles.
Taking off without an elevator to the seventh floor, Dimka rang the bell, stood for a minute, listening to the ringing trill.

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Without waiting for an answer, knocked.
Finally, the door opened and Denis’s mother met a guest.
– Hello, hello, and we’re already waiting here, – she smiled and opened the door wider.
“Draste,” Dima threw on the run, slipping into the corridor and throwing off his jacket.
The jacket probably would have fallen on the floor if Deniskin’s mother had not picked her up.
Dimka did not see this, he entered the bedroom to Deniska, as always – a little cautious and even somewhat guilty.
Still, after all, so far Dimka blamed only himself for what happened.
If then they had not quarreled, stupid, meaningless.
– Hello.
How are you today? – quietly asked Dima.
– well! Soon I can get up, the doctor allowed me.
He came this morning, examined.
Another week or two, says.
– It’s just great! – sincerely delighted Dima.
– I’ll take you outside!
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