Muhamad Iqbal Hermansyah
Her movement was as beautiful as a ballet dancer dancing on a green carpet in the old building, every stroke of her racket playing art in her game. I was still eagerly waiting the long-braided hair girl in the 4th grade elementary school while playing my device, watching her jogging on the green carpet giving it a melodic sound by every sound of the scraping of shoes and green carpet. Every now and then she looked at me, asking me to approach her to bring her a drink and wipe her sweat. The sweat immediately drenched the small red towel I was carrying, as if to witness her enthusiasm.
Twilight then became a sign took us to go home, ride this called old motor bebek. The adzan mahgrib at the time of Ramadan reverberated when we were both on the way.
’’ What food is there at home?’ she asked with a little lust to arrive at home immediately.
"I don’t know, you don’t fast either … ‘
‘’ Are you starving?’’ I asked back.
"Yes,, hurry up and take the motorbike. I’m already starving’’ she replied with a little annoyed.
I speed up the pace of this old duck motorbike along the building of the swallow’s house on the edge of the rice fields area that have seen cracks due to drought. But unfortunately, the old motor bebek got a problem.
’’Hey, how come it stops?’ ‘She asked irritably. I tried to explain it by giving my cliche reason.
"Well, this is normal, it’s usually like this, wait a minute." But after I saw it seemed this was not a problem as usual.
I asked her to be patient and tried to calm her down. I seduce her to sit on a motorcycle’’
‘’Sit down, later tonight, I will massage your hand’’ I seduce her because she looked annoyed.
‘’what the hell! I’m tired and very hungry! She looked grumpy and was very angry with me.
’’I don’t want to practice tomorrow,’’ she stressed and threatened as she walked away leaving me crying along the dry rice fields.
She just left a bag containing a racket and a drinking bottle. Adzan still accompanied this turbulent feeling, I didn’t know what would happen at home later. Considering her young age goes a long way by herself. Until I didn’t even remember a sip of water left in the bottle hadn’t wet my throat.
There is no word of tired and thirsty upon arrival at home, only fear. Afraid of how my father will scold me later. Sure enough, this whip on my right calf is a witness from the anger of my father, 8 years later, over the incident. The whip made me cry for the pain of the scar on my right calf, which I had watched at dusk this November. This wound reminded me of the innocent little girl with long braided hair I knew 8 years ago who is now hates me very much and didn’t know me anymore. What I think is now more painful than the scar I used to felt when my father strucked me with a bamboo incision because of my irresponsibility for her drills, but now I was hurt because of her soul that has gone away and was not with me anymore.
Pada tanggal Sel, 27 Nov 2018 17:14 muhamad iqbalhermansyah <muhamadiqbalhermansyah96 menulis: