Evil Seed Inside

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“Do not allow evil into your heart. It will make a home there.”
~ Hercule Poirot, “Death on the Nile” (1978)

Waves were chasing each other breaking to shore, licking her feet up to her ankles, with sand crinkling beneath her toes. The sun was hanging heavy in the west, saying its final goodbyes to welcome the darkness of night, yellow-red-orange glow reflecting into the blue waters as it gradually vanish beneath the horizon.

But all of the beauty mother nature could offer was lost to her for all of her focus was on the metal urn in her hands. The urn that held remains of her beloved.

Her beloved who she had thought would take her away from her father. Who had inadvertently sent her mother to an early grave. Had throttled what little self confidence she had. Ruled over her with his power and his fist. Her beloved who she had killed.

Violence was a familiarity to her. To her father, she was never enough. Not pretty enough. Not good enough at school. Not tall enough. Not graceful enough. Just never enough. And her mother’s effort to stop him had rather given her a taste of his strength too.

Then, one day she met her beloved. A young man she had thought would swoop her off of her feet and give her happiness, like those stories she had read in the books. She was young, with low self-esteem, and easily impressed. Yes, her own Prince Charming! she had thought. Until the night of her wedding, the first time her beloved laid hands of her as the beginning of her growing new sets of bruises.

As time went by, her father died and her mother passed away. The tiny, little evil seed burrowed inside of her had finally started to bloom. A bit late and slowl, but surely it bloomed. And yet she persevered.

Then, last month she had found out that a new life was growing inside her small, frail body. That knowledge she kept to herself, waiting for her beloved being in a better mood to tell him. Instead he added her collection of bruises that night. So it solidified her resolves; he had to go.

It was simple, actually. All the crime procedural shows she had been indulging in, added by the books she had read, it was surprisingly easy for her to construct the perfect plan. And with a calmness she had never thought she had possessed, she had made him gone. She killed her beloved. He had died in his sleep, the big oaf, of sleep apnea, they had said. The police was such a joke.

That was the reason she was on the beach on her own. With the little shrimp inside her, who now had started showing as a itsy-bitsy bump in her belly. And the metal urn in her hands. Silently she opened the cap and upturned it. The ashes poured out; some went straight into the water and got washed away, some got tangled into the wind and got carried elsewhere.

It was over. No tears, no remorse. She didn’t even think of saying goodbye. He was gone and they would be safe. That was all that mattered.

Seram

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Mereka bilang, kami yang seram? Plis deh. Manusia jauh lebih nakutin.

Mereka nggak ada sopannya; masuk rumah orang tanpa permisi, ngomong teriak-teriak, setel musik keras-keras, bawa makanan terus nyampah sembarangan, bawa benda bukan makanan yang bikin mereka mabuk, berusaha bikin anak di sudut-sudut gelap…

Tapi, tenang saja, Tuan Putri, sudah kuusir mereka semua. Bocah-bocah itu lari tunggang-langgang sambil menjerit-jerit, ‘monsteeeeeeeer, ‘hantuuuu’, ‘mamaaaaaa’.

Sekarang, mari kita kembali menikmati heningnya malam. Yah, sambil menunggu bocah kurang ajar lainnya. Lucu juga melihat mereka ketakutan begitu…

ditulis untuk challenge by NulisBuku.com
Saturday, February 1, 2014

Waiting

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Mana dia? Katanya mau jemput jam 6. Memang, sih, sekarang baru jam 5.30. Tapi, aku udah siap, nih.

Baju paling oke: check. Sepatu baru: check. Tas trendi: check. Make-up imut ala artis K-Pop: check. Uang: check (eh, tapi, nanti dia yang bayarin, ‘kan?) Oke. Tenang. Ng… Nonton TV bentar, deh, biar nggak berasa nunggunya.

15 menit lagi. Mau kirim WA, tanya dia sudah sampai mana… Tapi, ‘kan, dia nyetir. Berbahaya, ah.
Duh, kok tiba-tiba jadi keringetan, sih? AC-nya masih nyala, kok.
5 menit lagi… Ih, kok jadi kayak lagu dangdut itu? Hihihi…

Lho, sudah jam 6! Kok belum ada kabar juga, sih? Coba di-WA, deh, siapa tahu dia kejebak macet.
6.15. Kena macet di mana dia? Apa ada jalan yang banjir? Memangnya tadi hujan?

Jam 7. Keterlaluan, deh. Orang sudah dandan cantik begini, juga. Bilang saja dari awal kalau memang nggak mau ketemu. Percuma, deh, aku nunggu…

“Lydia, ngapain ngintip dari jendela terus? Yuk, pasien lain sudah ada di ruang makan. Wah, kamu kebanyakan nonton sinetron lagi, ya? Tunanganmu nggak akan datang, Lydia. Kamu ingat, ‘kan, dia kecelakaan waktu mau ke rumahmu 2 bulan lalu?” Seorang perawat memegang pundakku dan menggiringku menjauh dari jendela. “Hmm, harus lapor ke dokternya, nih.”

 

ditulis untuk challenge by NulisBuku.com
Friday, January 24, 2014

Bangku Taman

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Di bangku itulah tempat mereka bertemu untuk terakhir kalinya 4 tahun lalu. Tempat terakhir dia menyakiti hatinya, membeberkan ketidaksetiaannya, kebohongannya, dan keegoisannya. Tempat terakhir dia melontarkan pembenaran atas tindakannya tersebut. Tempat terakhir dia menyatakan untuk meninggalkannya.

Pertemuan hari ini sungguh tak disengaja. Atau diduga. Rupanya mereka telah kehabisan kata setelah bertukar sapa selama beberapa menit. Kemudian, suamiku menoleh ke belakang, menunjukku. Dari gerak bibirnya, aku tahu apa yang dikatakannya, “Itu istri dan anakku.”

ditulis untuk challenge by NulisBuku.com dengan tema “Bertemu Mantan”
Monday, January 13, 2014

A Taste of Home

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Matthew was in the kitchen cooking dinner, clad only in a pair of shorts. Once in a while, he would mumble a string of words, matching to the song he’s listening through his iPod. So focused into what he was doing, he didn’t even realize that his wife, Keiko, had arrived home and entered the kitchen just to step right behind him. Sending all of this military training into the grave crying, he jumped.

With a loud gasp while ripping his earphones out, he turned and his eyes widened. “Whoa! Oh! Hey, there, honey! You’re early!” Remembering what he was trying to do, he quickly added. “I mean… Yay, you’re home!”

Right. Sometimes Matthew swore that his wife had grown immune nowadays towards his overly-bright smile. It wasn’t working as it used to be. Such as now.

He knew Keiko was trying to hold her laughter bursting out loud, by the look of that wide grin. “Seriously, soldier, you let me get the jump on you?”

The color red obviously climbing to his ears, Matthew could almost feel the heat. He let his eyes follow the way his hands flew to show his handy work. “Can’t you see I’m trying to concentrate here?”

“Oh, so that’s what we’re calling it now?” Giggling in that way he had always loved, Keiko took a step back and laid both hands over her small hip.

Rolling his eyes, Matthew pivoted back to the stove, grumbling. “Oh, shut up.”

He caught the sound of her slippers on the floor before he felt Keiko leaning over his shoulder. “You playing chef tonight? What’s on the menu?”

“Chicken katsu curry over hot rice and matcha,” this time Matthew answered quietly.

Once again, Keiko made a step back, though minus the hands-on-the-hip. “Huh?”

And suddenly Matthew felt like he was a teenager again. Giddy, embarrassed, and excited; it wound inside him, wrecking havoc. For the first time in a long time, Matthew was nervous in front of his wife of five years.

Pushing out a long sigh, he turned off the burner and set the utensils he’d been holding down. Slowly he turned to face the most beautiful woman in his life. “Look… I found out that you’ve been looking a bit sad lately. Couple of days ago, I even caught you staring into pictures from our days back in Okinawa with this look of… I dunno… longing? And you’ve been switching into Japanese A LOT, too. So, I just thought that… maybe you’re homesick or something.”

Keiko just looked at her much taller husband. Then, she blinked a couple of times. “And then you decided to cook?”

Matthew shrugged, acting as it was no big feat. “Went shopping to Chinatown after calling your mother for the recipe from HQ.”

At that, Keiko almost popped her pretty little eyes out of the lids. “You called my mother? In Okinawa?”

Pointing to the refrigerator using his thumb, Matthew said again, “Bought a few cans of Japanese beer, too. Your favorite brand. Asked your brother for that one.”

“Bu–… But, you said…” Keiko was still flabbergasted. “You hate Japanese food. And you HATE my favorite beer.”

Matthew reluctantly grimaced, remembering his initial comments over some of the local cuisines he had tasted while he was stationed abroad. “I think, ‘hate’ is a bit too strong for it. Just can’t get my taste buds to get use to it, I guess.”

His raven-haired wife took another glance into the sauce pan over the stove as she tried holding back tears. “Smells good.”

“Well, it may not taste as good as your mother’s. Or any of those you’ve tasted back home.” Matthew warned, then continued in a much lower tone. “But, I do hope this’ll help a bit. You know… To cure your homesickness.”

“I don’t care if it tastes like cardboard. I mean… You cook! Matthew-san, you never cook!” Here, her voice was obviously cracking. “Moreover, you’re cooking Japanese food! All this…” She swallowed another sob. “For me.”

Batting long eyelashes as he smiled shyly, Matthew finally gave out his final confession. “That means, you’re gonna forgive me if I told you I forgot to put your mother’s special ingredient in it?”

Instead of the usual bear hug that she’d developed during her years in States, this time she move back a couple more step, crying all the way, before bowing deeply to Matthew. “Honto ni arigato gozaimashita, anata.”

*Japanese translation: “Thank you very much, my husband”
**Originally written for a writing workshop

Aku Bukan, Tapi……………

Bukan, bukan, aku bukan…. Itu, lho…… Hiki… hiki… Ya itulah, yang lagi banyak terjadi di Jepang itu.

Bukan, aku bukan itu kok! Suer!

Ibuku saja yang lebhay, bilang aku nggak pernah keluar rumah.

Bu, aku masih ke minimarket kok. Kadang ke toko buku. Saat pelembab dan kopiku habis, aku bahkan pinjam motor untuk pergi ke hipermarket.

Bapakku lebih lebhay lagi, bilang aku nggak punya teman.

Pak, teman dan sahabatku di dunia maya tak terhitung jumlahnya. Yang baik maupun yang jahat.

Andai mereka tahu…

Sudah berapa banyak akun sosmed yang kubuka dan kututup. Alasanku keluar dari pekerjaanku. Mengapa aku menerima job yang bisa kukerjakan di balik dinding kamarku, satu-satunya tempat yang kini kuanggap benar-benar aman.

Mereka membuatku takut, Bu. Benar-benar takut. Ya, sesuatu yang buruk telah terjadi pada diriku, sesuatu yang mengguncangku begitu rupa.

Tidak, Bapak dan Ibu nggak perlu tahu detailnya. Karena aku sudah mencari bantuan berbagai rupa tanpa hasil.

Kurasa, ini jalan yang lebih baik. Daripada aku memilih jalan yang ‘satu lagi’.

*cerpen perdana di Thumbstories yg ditulis demi dapet tas & tumbler* LOL

Lagu Itu

Ah, lagi-lagi lagu itu. Kenapa orang-orang suka banget sih sama lagu itu? Di mol, di radio, di TV, di dalam angkot, di mana-mana bisa kudengar lagu itu.

Padahal, menurutku nggak ada istimewanya. Iramanya biasa, musiknya biasa, tampang penyanyinya pun biasa. Apalagi liriknya. Biasa banget!

Tapi, ya gitu deh. Karena sekelilingku lagi gandrung, lagu itu bergaung di mana-mana.

Termasuk dalam kepalaku. Aaaaaaargh…

Aku nggak benci lagu itu juga sih, tapi… Lagu itu bikin aku teringat sesuatu yang menyebalkan, melelahkan, dan menghabiskan waktuku yang berharga.

Masalahnya, si sesuatu itu HARUS kulakukan sendiri, nggak bisa diserahkan ke orang lain. No, nggak AKAN kuserahkan ke tangan orang lain.

Cih, lagu terkutuk, radio kesayangan tetangga kamar kos setel lagu itu pula.

Tuh kan, jadi teringat sama ‘itu’. Dan harus kulakukan sekarang juga.

Dengan berat hati pun aku beranjak dari ranjang dan menuju kamar mandi. Untuk beberapa saat aku terpekur di ambang pintu memandangi ‘itu’.

Cucian, oh, cucian… Kok banyak betul sih??

*edisi usil sambil nunggu mesin cuci*

Anthony’s Promise

Little Anthony DiNozzo sat by his mother’s big four-posted bed, holding her frail hand as she dozed lightly for a nap. Even to his eight-year-old mind she looked sick and the skin around her eyes was funny-colored. His dad had said to him that his mother was very ill, but since he had a very important business meeting, he needed Anthony to be the man of the house for a while and stayed with his mother. To tell the truth, Anthony was actually bored out of his skull and he’d rather be anywhere else, but he loved his mother more than his kingdom in form of the little forest behind the estate.

“Anthony, dear…” his mother whispered hoarsely.

Tightening his hold over her hand, he scooted closer in his chair. “Yes, Mamma?”

“Have I ever told you about my home back in England?”

Anthony blinked surreptitiously over the suddenly emerging topic. “Yes, Mamma, lots of times. But, I don’t mind if you wanna tell me about it again.”

His beautiful, though sickly, mother sighed at his words. “Such a good boy, you are. All right, before that, could you pass me my drink, baby?”

“Yes, Mamma.” Anthony scrambled from his seat to the nightstand for the requested items.

But holding an almost full crystal decanter of whiskey in one hand and its matching glass in another was a bit too heavy for a boy of his age.

Growing impatient, his mother sat up abruptly and snatched the decanter off his hand. “Oh, hand me that.” She took one large gulp directly from it before continuing to berate her son, “Do you have to be so bloody slow, boy? No wonder your daddy is always mad at you.”

She used the word ‘daddy’ as if she despised it. Which she probably did, Anthony thought mystified.

Anthony solemnly went back to his seat after returning the glass to the nightstand, leaving the decanter of alcohol in his mother’s slightly shaking hands. “I’m sorry, Mamma.”

His mother dropped back into her stack of soft pillows and let loose a long breath. “You see, my dear… My father—your grandfather, that is—has this enormous mansion with lots of rooms and secret passages. Oh, I love that place sooo much. I believe you would’ve loved it there, too.”

The mention of the secret passages caused the boy to perk up. “Yeah, we can play spy, like James Bond!”

“Yes, I was happy there. Until the day I met your daddy. Father had tried to warn me, but Tony…” For a moment, her bright green eyes turned unfocused and a ghost of smile curled her thins lips as she walked down memory lane. “Tony had been such a charmer, so romantic and everything. He still is. And so I left England.”

“Why did you leave?”

Anthony’s innocent question had her snapped back into reality. She laughed mirthlessly and her free hand flopped around. “I was young and stupid. Not to mention, in love.”

Again the boy jolted as he smiled widely to share another movie. “Oh, was it like what we saw in the movies? You know, like Audrey Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart in “Sabrina”? Or was it like you and me? You always say you lo—…”

Unexpectedly, his mother jackknifed off the mattress, the hand holding the decanter waving in the air dangerously causing the liquid inside to spill on her luxurious silk sheets, and her eyes burned with impetuous rage as she shrieked at him, “Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP! Why do you always have so MANY questions? Haven’t I told you many times, your inane questions give me a headache!?”

Anthony had grown accustomed to such abrupt changes of mood from his mother, even though it still scared him a bit. Dr. O’Brien, the family physician, had said, it was one of the side effects from her medication. Although the boy still flinched every time his mother raised her voice at him, he was no longer surprised and with practiced ease, hastily offered her placating words. “I’m sorry, Mamma. I’ll be good.”

His words brought the result he wanted indeed as the rage fled instantly from his mother’s eyes. Tears started to collect in place as she dropped the decanter sloppily on the nightstand and reached her pale, skinny arms to drag Anthony to her chest.

“My dear Anthony, love, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you,” she started explaining between sobs, taking her son’s smaller hand and placed it above her heart. “Here, do you feel it? I have this constant ache, here in my chest. And I don’t know how to make it better.”

“Even if we went to the movies?”

He felt his mother shaking her head, a lock of her beautiful golden hair fell over her shoulder and landed right in front of his face. “No, Anthony, no amount of movies could take this one.”

Growing up with emotionally distant parents had had Anthony craved for such affection, especially from the woman he adored most. And so all faults were forgiven only with one hug and soothing words he didn’t understand. “It’s okay, Mamma. I’ll just stay with you until you feel better.”

With another sudden move from his mother, the boy found himself being shoved back into his chair while she swept the decanter back into her hand and took another big gulp from it. In his adult life later, Anthony would understand the dull expression on his mother’s face as one of defeat and hopelessness.

She ran thin fingers along his jaw with flitting touch. “You are such a little gentleman, Anthony. Women like that very much from a man. Unlike your daddy, though you look so much like him. Your daddy, he doesn’t like me anymore. Now, he likes the pretty young lady we met at store the other day. Do you remember her? Yes? Do you like her, too, Anthony?”

Anthony frowned in distaste. He remembered the woman his mother mentioned; the perfume she wore made him a bit nauseous and she kept on pinching his cheeks and talked to him like he was five. “Of course not, Mamma. You’re the prettiest and nicest lady I know, even from those in the movies.”

Once again letting herself back to the comfort of her pillows, his mother made a disgusted eye roll. “Eight years old and he’s tried to charm me already. You ARE your daddy’s boy, aren’t you, Anthony?” she sighed disappointingly.

She closed her eyes and stayed still for a few seconds, having Anthony to think that his mother had finally went back to sleep. But she opened her eyes to a sliver and turned her head towards her son icily giving another order. “Now, be a darling and go fetch my pills. The one with the blue label. You do know how to differentiate colors, right?”

For a split second Anthony balked, then whispered hesitantly, “But, Mamma… Daddy said, you’re not supposed to take the pills after you drink. Dr. O’Brien told me that, too. He said…”

“FOR GOD SAKES, ANTHONY!!!” His mother suddenly strike out, grabbing the tie of his pristine sailor outfit, and screamed at his face in another burst of fury, all the while shaking his rather small frame. Realizing belatedly her close proximity to her son, she let go of Anthony with a thinly disguised shiver of resentment. “You are such a pain in the arse, aren’t you? GET. MY BLOODY. PILLS. NOW!!!

As fast as his little legs could bring him, Anthony ran to the adjoining bathroom and returned to her side with her prescription. “Here it is, Mamma.”

He watched curiously, if not a bit awed, as her mother shook pills after pills out of the bottle onto her opened palm. “Why are you taking so many of it, Mamma? Is that okay?”

Next, he witnessed as his mother wordlessly shoved all of the pills into her mouth and chased it down with another big gulps of her drink.

Anthony saw how her mother’s eyes gradually drooped as she swayed in her bed. He reached out for the now empty decanter, gently pried it off her delicate fingers—he had to be careful or she wouldn’t be able to play the piano for him again—and put it away. With acclimated moves, he guided his mother to her back and pulled the cover to her chest.

She blinked at him languidly, murmuring as she smiled, a genuine happy smile that Anthony liked most. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine, darling. I just need a looong goodnight sleep. Away from your daddy. Away from here.”

Not comprehending the meaning beneath such words, Anthony returned her smile. All he knew was that his mother smiled at him, meaning that she was happy. “Okay, Mamma. Sleep tight, then.”

He was completely taken by surprise when his mother snagged his wrist as he turned to leave.

“Tony? You’re not going to leave me, aren’t you?” Anthony knew his mother was always sad lately, especially when his dad wasn’t around. But he’d never saw his mother as broken or heard her beg like so with her emerald eyes brimming with tears, her lips trembling, and her voice cracking. “You’ll stay, right? You promised me, Tony, you promised me to never leave me. You promised me you’ll always be by my side.”

Anthony was appalled. His mother had NEVER called him ‘Tony’. That was how she called his dad. Who was she actually calling? Comprehension dawned on him and suddenly he’d been pushed into the world of grown-ups. Smiling sadly to cover the building of sobs, Anthony retreated to his original seat, turning his hand so he was the one holding his mother’s. “I promise, Mamma. I’ll stay.”

A couple hours later, his nanny came to fetch him for dinner. She found little Anthony falling asleep in his chair, his upper body by his mother’s side, small hands still holding hers, and there were tracks of tears on his cheeks. Falling suspicious to the still form, the nanny scurried forward to check her employer and found that Anthony’s mother was already cold to the touch.

not my first fic, but my first on NCIS
written for a writing workshop assignment
wasn’t intended to be a Tony fic in the beginning
published in FanFiction.net

Layunya Sekuntum Padma

“Aku suka kamu,” ujar Padma tanpa tedeng aling-aling. Sejenak ia diam, mempelajari dan menantikan apa yang akan dikatakan atau dilakukan Yudi.

Pemuda itu terkesiap. Kemudian, ia tersenyum penuh penyesalan. Diambilnya tangan Padma dan digenggamnya erat. “Terima kasih, Padma. Tapi, maaf, aku nggak bisa terima perasaan kamu.”

Acuh tak acuh Padma angkat bahu. “Aku tahu, kok. Aku cuma pengen kamu tahu saja, biar aku nggak penasaran. Aku tahu kamu suka sama Krista.”

Sungguh Yudi tidak menyangka Padma akan seterbuka itu. “Padma…”

“Hei, aku suka sama kamu, itu urusanku. Kamu suka sama Krista, itu urusanmu. Nggak nyambung, ‘kan? Sudahlah, santai saja,” kata Padma tertawa.

“Benar? Kamu nggak apa-apa?” Yudi memicingkan mata, mencari kebenaran pada mata sahabatnya.

Senyum Padma malah kian lebar. “Nggak apa-apa! I’m FINE! Oke?”

Lega bercampur sedih, Yudi mempererat genggamannya. “Oke.”

“Kita masih teman, ‘kan?” Padma mengerling seperti biasa.

Mantap Yudi mengangguk. “Pasti. Kamu sahabatku yang paling baik, Padma. Nggak mungkin aku buang kamu begitu saja.”

“Oke.” Padma mengacungkan jempolnya. Dari ujung matanya, ia menangkap sosok Krista. “Tuh, pujaan hatimu. Good luck sama Krista, ya! Kalau sukses, kasih tahu dan jangan lupa traktirannya!”

“Beres, bos!” Yudi sekali lagi mengangguk lalu berlari mengejar gadis yang diimpikannya.

Walau sudah mengetahui semuanya, tetap saja hati Padma terasa hancur lebur jadi debu.

Hari sudah malam, ia menghempaskan diri ke balik kemudi mobilnya untuk pulang dari kampus. Demi mengejar waktu agar tidak tiba di rumah terlampau larut, dikebutnya mobilnya.

Jalanan sudah cukup sepi. Di saluran radio kesayangannya, mengalun single kedua Dewa dari album teranyarnya, ‘Pupus’.

“Baru kusadari cintaku bertepuk sebelah tangan
Kaubuat remuk s’luruh hatiku…”

Mendengar lagu tersebut, tanpa disadari airmata mengalir turun di pipi Padma, mengaburkan pandangannya menjelang sebuah persimpangan. Lampunya masih hijau. Tepat saat Padma bergerak untuk menghapus air matanya, sebuah bis dari arah samping melanggar lampu merah dalam kecepatan tinggi.

Tanpa ampun bis tersebut menghantam bagian kanan mobil Padma keras, menimbulkan suara dahsyat. Bisa didengar jelas oleh Padma bagaimana mobilnya meremukkan sekujur tulang-tulang tubuhnya, lalu disusul keheningan yang mencekam.

Terjepit antara jok dan kemudi, Padma merasakan darahnya sendiri membasahi seluruh wajahnya yang hancur berbaur dengan air mata yang tak sempat dihapusnya.

Dalam kesadaran dan napas terakhirnya, sayup-sayup Padma dapat mendengar Once berdendang dengan suara yang kini terputus-putus.

“Baru kusadari cintaku bertepuk sebelah tangan
Kaubuat remuk s’luruh hatiku…”

(Buat semua orang yang cintanya bertepuk sebelah tangan)

gawd, i wrote this, like, a loooooooong time ago
didn’t remember exactly when
posted it somewhere i don’t recall either…….

Harusnya Kupilih Kau

Mika terperanjat. Wajah letih-lesu di hadapannya dulu amat dia kenal. Enerjik, selalu tersenyum, senantiasa tertawa. Betapa waktu yang singkat mengubahnya menjadi laki-laki yang seolah menanggung beban seluruh dunia seperti ini.

“Hei, Bimo,” sapa Mika. “Lama nggak ketemu. Apa kabar?”

“Capek,” jawab Bimo. Lelah, tua, tak bersemangat. Ya ampun, apa yang telah dilakukan Dewi padanya?

“Oh. Gimana kabar Dewi?” Pertanyaan itu terlontar dari bibir Mika tanpa terbendung.

Kali ini, Bimo tertawa. Tapi, tidak seperti yang diketahui Mika dulu. Tawanya kosong, pahit, dan getir. “Baik. Ibu yang baik, istri setia, wanita karir yang cemerlang.”

Ini bukan Bimo. Nada sinis begitu tak pernah didengar Mika keluar dari mulutnya. “Oh, ya? Bagus, dong.”

“Paling nggak, itu yang dunia tahu,” lanjut Bimo seraya menarik lepas dasinya yang lusuh. Matanya yang dulu bersinar tajam sesaat kembali ketika ia balik bertanya, “Kau sendiri?”

Sekilas Mika menoleh ke arah area bermain di sebelah kedai kopi tempatnya duduk, di mana suami dan anaknya berada. “Baik.”

“Harusnya kupilih kau dari Dewi,” mendadak Bimo mencetus.

Kenangan manis dan perpisahan menyakitkan dengan Bimo melintas di kepala Mika. Betapa hancur dirinya, rasa sepi yang menghantui dirinya yang yatim-piatu, depresi yang berhasil dilaluinya. Yang membuat Mika menjadi orang yang lebih baik dan lebih tangguh. Yang mempertemukannya dengan cintanya saat ini.

“Maaf, Bimo, tapi kau salah.” Mika kini hanya bisa bersimpati. “Setelah kau pergi, aku sadar kalau aku lebih baik tanpamu.”

*ditulis dalam rangka ikut2an #FFdadakan di twitter @nulisbuku. tema dari lagu “Harusnya Kau Pilih Aku” by Terry*