Perlahan kerumunan orang berpakaian hitam-hitam itu membubarkan diri. Pendeta menutup doa diaminkan semua jamaah di sana. Beberapa orang di antara pengantar menggumamkan tentang kejadian tabrak lari yang meremukkan kepala Benigno, lelaki yang baru saja selesai dikuburkan. Aku mendekati istrinya, Anne.
“Aku turut berduka cita.” Kataku membuka percakapan.
“Makasih ya Don.” Anne menjawab dengan suara bergetar. Matanya yang ditutupi kacamata hitam itu pastilah merah dan bengkak, efek menangis semalaman.
“Kamu langsung pulang?” Tanyanya.
“Iya, aku ada rapat siang ini.” Jawabku.
“Aku antar ke mobil.” Anne menawarkan. Beriringan kami menuju mobilku yang diparkir cukup jauh di pintu depan komplek pemakaman.
“Don, terimakasih mau datang. Aku kira kamu masih marah, masih dendam dengan Ben.” Anne melihatku. Memastikan ekspresi seperti apa yang terlihat di wajahku. Aku tersenyum.
“Aku sempat sakit hati. Kejadian istri selingkuh dengan sahabat sendiri itu, cukup drama dan menimbulkan trauma…” Aku menarik nafas panjang.
“Maaf… Aku bukan…” Anne memotong tergagap.
“Tidak. Tidak apa. Yang sudah biar, sudah. Tidak ada dendam atau sakit hati lagi. Mungkin dulu aku yang memang tidak cukup baik untuk kamu. Sudah, aku sudah memaafkanmu sejak lama.” Aku menghentikan langkah tepat di samping mobil.
“Sekarang pun, sudah memaafkan Ben.” Sambungku lagi, sambil tersenyum. Anne tersenyum menatapku.
“Kamu… Seharusnya aku tidak pernah melakukan itu padamu.” Anne menunduk.
“Sudahlah, jangan disesali. Aku sudah berubah. Bukan lagi Donne si temperamen posesif yang mengikatmu. Kamu bebas, Anne. Bebas memilih. Aku selalu di sini. Dan Benny tetap sahabatku. Mudah-mudahan dia beristirahat dengan tenang.” Aku meyakinkannya.
“Amin.” Anne tersenyum.
Aku pamit terakhir kali padanya. Membuka pintu mobil dan bersiap pergi.
“Don? Ini kenapa di ban kok ada bekas darah?” Tanya Anne dengan kening berkerut. Aku membuka kacamata dan menjawab dengan santai,
“Oh, itu kemarin aku nabrak kucing.” Anne menggumamkan komentar singkat. Aku tersenyum dan mengakhiri pembicaraan. Pergi meninggalkan mantan istriku yang sekarang resmi menjadi janda.
Medan, 19 Juli 2010
July 2010
25 posts
Taylor Store
Latisha walks out of the store. Finally it’s done. All the preparation for her wedding is done. Tony should be arrived in town this afternoon. He texted her earlier, saying the plane is about to take off. They’re planning to have dinner together tonight. She has 4 hours to go home and rest for a while before that.
Home
She lays back on the couch. Her mind walks to the past. It’s been 7 years since he’s dating Tony. And less than 48 hours, they’re going to be husband an wife. Latisha smiles to her reflection on the television glass in front. She turns it on then, the program’s welcoming her with a breaking news about plane accident. She’s grumbling to herself about how ignorance the government is. Yet, until she realized what the news is really about. The plane is, the one that Tony rides to home.
And there his name on the passenger’s list.
“Tony Alfarouq”
***
Medan, 10th of July
I thought I had every thing planned. My duct tape, my gun, and her car.
What I didn’t plan on was her gun.
Now my life is bleeding itself out in this cold wet prairie grass while the unblinking white eye of the dragon scowls at me from the darkness and through the scornful clouds.
By: Charles Dickens
“One of the most beautiful things that ever was done, perhaps,” said Inspector Wield, emphasising the adjective, as preparing us to expect dexterity or ingenuity rather than strong interest, “was a move of Sergeant Witchem’s. It was a lovely idea!
By: Kate Chopin
A man carrying a small red box in one hand walked slowly down the street. His old straw hat and faded garments looked as if the rain had often beaten upon them, and the sun had as many times dried them upon his person. He was not old, but he seemed feeble; and he walked in the sun, along the blistering asphalt pavement. On the opposite side of the street there were trees that threw a thick and pleasant shade: people were all walking on that side. But the man did not know, for he was blind, and moreover he was stupid.
In the red box were lead pencils, which he was endeavoring to sell. He carried no stick, but guided himself by trailing his foot along the stone copings or his hand along the iron railings. When he came to the steps of a house he would mount them. Sometimes, after reaching the door with great difficulty, he could not find the electric button, whereupon he would patiently descend and go his way. Some of the iron gates were locked, their owners being away for the summer, and he would consume much time striving to open them, which made little difference, as he had all the time there was at his disposal.
At times he succeeded in finding the electric button: but the man or maid who answered the bell needed no pencil, nor could they be induced to disturb the mistress of the house about so small a thing.
The man had been out long and had walked far, but had sold nothing. That morning someone who had finally grown tired of having him hanging around had equipped him with this box of pencils, and sent him out to make his living. Hunger, with sharp fangs, was gnawing at his stomach and a consuming thirst parched his mouth and tortured him. The sun was broiling. He wore too much clothing—a vest and coat over his shirt. He might have removed these and carried them on his arm or thrown them away; but he did not think of it. A kind woman who saw him from an upper window felt sorry for him, and wished that he would cross over into the shade.
The man drifted into a side street, where there was a group of noisy, excited children at play. The color of the box which he carried attracted them and they wanted to know what was in it. One of them attempted to take it away from him. With the instinct to protect his own and his only means of sustenance, he resisted, shouted at the children and called them names. A policeman coming round the corner and seeing that he was the centre of a disturbance, jerked him violently around by the collar; but upon perceiving that he was blind, considerably refrained from clubbing him and sent him on his way. He walked on in the sun.
During his aimless rambling he turned into a street where there were monster electric cars thundering up and down, clanging wild bells and literally shaking the ground beneath his feet with their terrific impetus. He started to cross the street.
Then something happened—something horrible happened that made the women faint and the strongest men who saw it grow sick and dizzy. The motorman’s lips were as gray as his face, and that was ashen gray; and he shook and staggered from the superhuman effort he had put forth to stop his car.
Where could the crowds have come from so suddenly, as if by magic? Boys on the run, men and women tearing up on their wheels to see the sickening sight: doctors dashing up in buggies as if directed by Providence.
And the horror grew when the multitude recognized in the dead and mangled figure one of the wealthiest, most useful and most influential men of the town, a man noted for his prudence and foresight. How could such a terrible fate have overtaken him? He was hastening from his business house, for he was late, to join his family, who were to start in an hour or two for their summer home on the Atlantic coast. In his hurry he did not perceive the other car coming from the opposite direction and the common, harrowing thing was repeated.
The blind man did not know what the commotion was all about. He had crossed the street, and there he was, stumbling on in the sun, trailing his foot along the coping.
No curves. No hills. Just poles.
The important stuff’s missing; like the TV ad showing no fish in a tank, no water in a swimming pool, no dots on dice. If I took my kids to the zoo to watch Rhesus Monkeys laugh at them, how would I explain an empty cage? They’d think I’m insane if I took them to a library with no books.
I’ve…
The sun is beating today, a Friday, and I know, your most favorite time of the week.
What prompted you, Georgie? What was it about this violently sunny world that offended you so much? What kind of loneliness gripped your soul and bound you to such horrible despair? Why couldn’t you pull yourself…
By: Gibb
Disudut sebuah jembatan penyeberangan, kulihat seorang anak gelandangan duduk meringkuk, meminta-minta. Entah sejak kapan ia mulai menempati pos tersebut. Anak gelandangan yang lain mungkin akan duduk meminta-minta bersama ibunya, entah itu ibu sebenarnya atau bukan.
by Harvey Stanbrough
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”
“How long since your last confession?”
“Two years.”
“What’s the trouble?”
“I have wished death on a man.”
“You haven’t acted on your wish?”
“Not yet.”
“Who is the man?”
“He is cheating with my wife.”
The priest paled. “I forgive you.”
I shot him through the screen.
By: Mary McCluskey
In an instant, a life can divide into Before and After. A phone call, a news flash can do it. Invariably, something remains as a reminder. For Joseph, a colleague at Chloe’s office, it is Bach playing on the stereo before the screech of brakes, the crunch of metal, an ambulance, the hospital.
“I hear Bach now and think: oh, yes, I used to love that. Before. In my other life.”
For Chloe’s sister, Anna, it is a body shampoo. She told Chloe how the shower was hot and steam clouded the glass. She stood in the warm fog, then sniffed the fresh, pine scent of the new Badedas body shampoo. That clean scent of mountains and good health. Just seconds later, her fingers, tentative, pressed back and forth, smoothing the skin as her brain bristled indignantly. It can’t be! But it is, yes, it is. I think it is. A lump.
And after – doctors visits, surgery, chemo, hair loss, pain.
Chloe will be reminded of these conversations in four minutes. Right now she chooses a pretty china cup, Staffordshire, patterned with red roses. She pokes the tea bag with a spoon while she pours in the boiling water and then decides to start the laundry while the tea steeps. Dan’s shirts are already loaded in the washer but she pulls them out anyway, to shake them. She is nervous that a stray ballpoint might lie forgotten in a pocket, leave a Caspian Sea of navy ink never to be bleached away. As she shakes the shirt, something flies out, floats up like confetti to land on the lid of the dryer. She studies, frowning, a pair of ticket stubs for a New York City theatre.
She is puzzled at first. Then remembers, of course, the business conference in New York City. Seven days had stretched to ten; Dan had been exhausted when he came home, complaining about the demands of clients, the tedious conversation of his colleagues. Chloe studies these tickets with a sense of unreality, as if she is watching herself on a movie set, frowning for the camera. But her mind is seething with questions. Dan had not told her of this theatre visit. Off-Broadway does not seem appropriate, somehow. Hedda Gabler is an odd choice for an evening with a client. Or a colleague.
With cold clarity, Chloe sees that these stubs will lead to questions that she does not want to ask, but must ask. That will lead to answers she does not want to hear. Later, a Decree Absolute, loneliness.
Chloe knows as she stirs her tea, stirs what is now gungy, tarry soup, that she is already in the after. She throws the tea away, gets a fresh teabag, starts over. The tea, though freshly brewed, still tastes thick and stale.
She understands now, that she has moved in space, slid towards some other life. She has crossed that invisible but solid line. Lipton’s Orange Pekoe has joined Bach’s St. Matthew’s Passion and Badedas with Original Scent, to be forever in the before. And there is no going back.
It was the 28th of the month and usually, at this point of time, the direction of my mind points everywhere.
“Dannie!”
While walking hurriedly along Madison, I stopped in recognition of that voice. For a moment there, it’s as if everything running through my head decided to rest. His voice, the…
By: DeeDee Sabrina
“Bu, Ibu.. aku mau mati.”
“Jangan dulu, jangan hari ini.”
…
“Ibu, apa hari ini sudah bisa?”
“Kau mau mati pakai apa? bahkan peniti pun kita tidak punya.”
“Aku bisa melompat dari atas jembatan sana dan mati berantakan dibawahnya.”
“Jangan, nanti aku sedih. Anakku mati tanpa hidung, tanpa mata.”
“Tapi Bu..”
“Sudah, cari duit sana. Jual diri atau mencuri.”
“Baik Ibu..”
found via colour loverI’m real, like I’m alive, like something no one else is able to do for me. You look at me strange, like I’m abnormal, like I need help or desperate measures of medication, and in comparisons of metaphors and similes, it could be ounces of truth. When you don’t…
When he calls her a bitch and a fat ass, the words don’t really register. She has heard this all before. Eventually, after they get between her legs and into her heart, it always comes to this. He used to tell her he loved her. It has been 15 days since the last time.
She should probably respond,…
Monsoon Blues
I am baking cookies. John Mayer is playing from my ipod. It is sweaty and stifling in my kitchen, the mingled scent of my unwashed hair and melting chocolate chips glistening in the air like the sweat on my upper lip. The ferns outside my window are wiggling; there will be a…
“Heavens!” exclaimed the aunt of Clovis, “here’s some one I know bearing down on us. I can’t remember his name, but he lunched with us once in Town. Tarrington—yes, that’s it. He’s heard of the picnic I’m giving for the Princess, and he’ll cling to me like a lifebelt till I give him an invitation; then he’ll ask if he may bring all his wives and mothers and sisters with him. That’s the worst of these small watering-places; one can’t escape from anybody.”
“ Tabrak lari ! Ah..ha, if it bleeds, it leads.“ kata kameramenku.
Tapi kesumringahannya lesap seketika kerumunan manusia yang tertarik telah berubah menjadi pagar betis.
“ Tenang, aku punya akal. “ kataku.
Aku menyeruak kedalam kerumunan meniru gerakan perenang gaya dada,“ tolong minggir, kami keluarga korban. “ kataku.
Mendadak beberapa wajah paling depan berpaling, tak percaya? Hening, namun sebuah lorong dibuka, berhasil mengantarku tepat ketempat dimana korban berada.
Keheningan berlalu. Satu persatu orang mulai tertawa. Ironisnya, aku juga ingin tertawa seperti mereka. Namun tak mudah bagiku untuk tertawa dengan mulut menganga, memandangi seekor kambing tak bernyawa tergolek tepat diujung kakiku.
By: anto
For Sale: Baby shoes, never worn
by Ernest Hemingway
