Kembalilah, untukku...

Malam itu aku sendiri. Ia baru saja pergi. Tangannya mengangkut sebuah kopor kecil berisi pakaian.

Ia pergi dengan tergesa-gesa. Ia bahkan lupa mengenakan topinya.

Topi itu tergeletak pasrah di atas meja kecil di sudut kamar. Dan aku duduk pasrah di sudut kamar yang lain.

Kucoba menghalangi kepergiannya. Tapi, tidak bisa.

Ia selalu begitu setiap kami selesai bertengkar. Ia akan pergi…kadang lama, kadang kurang dari sehari.

Tapi, ia pernah mengancam untuk tidak akan pernah kembali. Tapi, ia selalu kembali.

Dan, tadi ia mengancam lagi. Dan, kali ini aku benar-benar takut ia tak kembali.

Topinya. Mungkinkah itu akan membawanya kembali ke sini?

Mungkin. Tapi, ia kembali untuk topinya. Ia tidak kembali untukku.

Knowing "It"

Does she know what I know?

That has been the question that fills my head lately. I wish I could just for get the fact that I know something that my best friend might not know. Or, might know.

Yet, I can't ask her if she knows it or not. What if she doesn't know? Asking the question will make me inform something that she might wish not to know.

Ah, I know, this is complicated.

Well, it looks simple, but trust me, it actually is complicated!

How can it not?

I saw my best friend's husband walking down the street with a girl--yes, a girl...I bet she's not even 17 yet!--holding hands.

Well, let me just assume that she doesn't know. And if finally she knows it and comes to me and cries on my shoulder, I think I won't say a thing about what I know.

Or...???

Menerima

Hari ini aku berniat untuk tidak ke mana-mana. Hawa dingin di luar membuatku malas bergerak. Dan, aku benar-benar berharap tak harus bergerak.

Gerakan itu bisa membuka kedua mataku akan keadaan yang harus kuhadapi walau aku tak ingin. Aku hanya ingin meringkuk diselimuti hawa dingin sambil memejamkan mata.

Tapi, aku harus bergerak. Aku harus membuka mata.

Mas Wan berangkat pagi ini. Aku benci setiap kali harus menerima kenyataan bahwa aku tak bisa mengelak dari tugas mengantarnya sampai di pintu dan berdo'a dalam hati agar pesawat yang akan dikemudikannya akan selamat sampai tujuan.

"May, ayo bangun dong..."

Tangan Mas Wan lembut mengusap punggungku. Aku berbalik dan memeluknya.

"May, jangan begitu dong. Setiap kali aku harus terbang, seakan itu penerbangan terakhirku. Kamu selalu layu dan tak bersemangat. Aku butuh istri yang kuat."

Ah, Mas Wan...sewaktu melamarku, kamu tidak mengatakan apa-apa soal butuh istri yang kuat. Aku memang lemah. Aku takkan sanggup selalu harus menenangkan diri dan menunggu saat-saat kamu menelepon dari sisi dunia yang lain.

Tapi, aku tak punya pilihan, bukan? Tak mungkin aku memaksamu meninggalkan pekerjaan yang kamu cintai?

Jadi, kamu juga tak punya pilihan, Mas. Kamu harus menerimaku sebagai istrimu yang terlalu menyayangimu, yang selalu ketakutan kehilanganmu, yang selalu akan bersikap aneh setiap kamu akan terbang.

The Key to The House with The Windows Closed

The windows to the small house on the other side of the hill were always closed. They were dusty. They were dark. I had never been allowed to go there.

I asked Mom once, "Who lives there, Mom?"

She didn't answer.

And then, one early morning, I decided to check it out my self. I was nine, and I thought I was big enough to make a decision. And it would be visiting the house of which windows were never opened.

It was summer. All my friends were leaving town. I was practically the only child left without any vacation plan at all. Mom said we were lucky enough to get food to eat everyday, a vacation would cost one year without food.

Monty, my best friend, asked Mom if I could go with him. But, of course, with dignity Mom said no.

So, I thought, the dark house would be my summer fiesta. Alone, by myself.

So, I took all the tools I thought I might have needed to get into the house. A hammer, some nails, and anything I could find in the attic. All filled my tiny bag.

"Where are you going?" Mom asked during breakfast.

"To the lake," I answered with a trembling voice.

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"I know it, Mark. You're going there, aren't you?"

I nodded. Mom could always tell when I lied.

"I think, it might be time for you to know."

"Know what?"

"I'm sorry I have to tell you this, Mark. But there's the place where you might find your Dad's soul. He was murdered there. I know I told you that he died as a soldier. Well, he didn't. We got robbed and he wanted to save us. You were only 7 months by then. He got shot on the head. I could not live there any longer. Yet, no one wanted to buy it, knowing the story. So, I moved in here."

I didn't say anything. It must have been painful for her to tell me that. But, I left to the house anyway, in the afternoon. With a key, given by Mom. The key to my past, to her painful past.

Bulan Hitam

"Mak, bulannya hitam," ujar Putik, anakku.

"Hmmhh..." aku tak mampu berkata-kata. Tubuhku letih, kepalaku penat, hatiku lelah.

"Mak...Mak...Emak!" tangan mungilnya mengguncang lenganku.

"Sshh..." perintahku lirih.

Ia diam. Sedetik. Dua detik. Tiga detik.

"Mak...bulannya hitam, Mak."

Kututup mata rapat-rapat. Terbayang mereka yang berdesakan bersamaku tadi siang. Mereka yang menggencet dan digencet. Mereka yang mampu keluar dari kerumunan dan mereka yang ajalnya dijemput.

Kubuka mataku. Dan, ya, memang benar. Bulan menghitam. Mungkin mereka turut berduka.

"Mak..."

"Iya, Tik...Mak tahu. Bulannya hitam kan?" sahutku perlahan, mengirit sisa energi yang ada.

Ia menggeleng.

"Putik lapar, Mak."

Kupeluk ia erat. Sangat erat.

Kami berpelukan sambil memandang bulan yang menghitam. Putik dengan perut laparnya, aku dengan rasa syukur karena masih diberi kesempatan bernafas dan berjuang demi anakku semata wayang.

September 18, 2008