ABHIMANYU WORLD

Chapter XVIII: My Weird Day

Morning greet the city of Surabaya. The sun was poking out from behind the clouds timidly. After dawn prayers, I was ready to wear the best suit. Not a discount class from the spill market in the sub-district field, or used clothes imported from abroad. Hair has also been combed slippery polished pomade Andre giving.

“Already bring that pomade. Not to be returned. Pomade is one of the powerful weapons to face girls,” explained Andre.

The first lesson I learned was from the King of Love, honored Andre Dwi Yulianto. Pomade can increase self-confidence to several levels.

I'm manut.

The next round, I had booked Farhan's motorbike from morning, as well as want-wanti not to be used anywhere.

“Don't forget to fill up the gas later! Stay a little bit,” order Farhan while throwing a motor key at me. Quickly I caught.

“Any Boss!” my answer is confidence.

Financial position is still safe if only to buy gasoline. At least a liter. Still expensive the price of a serving of rice padang lauk rendang.

The distance between Rungkut and my campus is quite far. Moreover, the streets in Surabaya are a bit complicated. Not to mention having to pick up Laras at Joyoboyo Terminal. Hopefully the road will not be jammed today.

Before 07:00, I was already hanging out on a borrowed bike. I parked the motorbike in front of the street vendors that were closed that morning. The terminal atmosphere is not too crowded because it is not a working day. Not many people pass by. Even though during peak hours, this terminal turns barbaric. The number of public transportation and prospective passengers is very uneven, so when new transportation cars come, dozens of prospective passengers have struggled to get a seat on the city transportation that is not comfortable.

I've had experience with serobot-menyerobot. Especially if the opponent plays mothers.

Sometimes this crowd condition makes us forget our existence as humans. All become monsters or zombies that have no heart. Humanity is almost extinct.

Ten minutes of sitting, I started to get uncomfortable. The ass is starting to get hot. Moreover, the sun also began to rise. The hot light begins to smell the skin. Snapping from all directions. A sweat the size of corn kernels dripped on the forehead. Imitation Seiko's kulirik is coiled on the right arm. It had been almost half an hour waiting, but Laras did not reveal the trunk of his nose.

Or maybe get lost?

There is little concern, considering this is the first time Laras came to visit Surabaya. The doctrine that Surabaya is not a friendly city for newcomers has become an open secret. Never look innocent when visiting this city if you do not want to be the months of thugs who roam a lot in the terminal.

I don't think Laras is as innocent as I thought. Back when he was a kid he liked to climb mango trees while teasing me for not daring to climb. In my memory, Laras used to be a tomboyish little girl. Unexpectedly, she was now metamorphosing into a gentle and graceful girl.

Forty minutes I'm rotting on Farhan's blind bike. Signs of Laras coming also do not exist. I opened my cell phone, who knows if there is an incoming notification from Laras.

Zonk up!

In fact, there are messages from Dahlia that are stacked because I did not reply. There were five missed calls.

I read one of Dahlia's messages.

“Bi, Mamah told me to send you a little food. But I-tuk your room no one answered. Just hang on the door, the food!”

Oh yea. Yesterday the Dahlia family home held a study. There is definitely a lot of cake and food. In my heart, I felt uncomfortable. The Dahlia family has been too kind to me. I'm afraid I can't repay all that kindness.

Let God repay all.

Laraaas, where are you?

Maybe the bus is late. Or maybe something else. But shouldn't you tell?

I decided to call Laras.

I was about to call Laras when a mother carrying a bag of groceries loaded with groceries came closer. Tiredness was painted on his face. I have intention of calling.

“Market Turi how much Mas?” ask the mother.

It needs to gather awareness to understand the question. For a moment I was silent. I saw the cool shoes I was wearing this morning. Then my shirt, pants and haircut. All I got was maximum excitement.

I'm sorry Mom, I'm not a motorcycle taxi driver! My inner.

Which part makes me look like a motorcycle taxi guy? I don't wear an imitation leather jacket. Not even sunglasses. Especially gloves.

I haven't been able to answer yet, this mother is without excuse to sit behind me. Innocently he leaned the two kilos of milkfish on my back.

Please imagine the smell yourself, brothers!

“Over-year price yes! “ she continued again while wrapping her fatty arm around my waist.

What am I supposed to do?

“I'm sorry about ma'am. I am not an ojek,”, I said in a tone as friendly as possible.

“Mosok right? How is the motor the same?” the mother half-in disbelief said. His eyes saw the motor I was riding.

Bussyet! How come ngeyel?

I think I borrowed the wrong bike today. I should have borrowed Andre's classier bike. Farhan motor is very identical to the butut motor owned by the father in the village!

“Let's not add five thousand wes..” the mother began to insist. Hugging my girlfriend, I felt her embrace tighter.

Gaff! Where's machete!!

“I'm not a motorcycle taxi driver, Mom. Sorry once...” my courtesy is starting to fade.

“If Mom wants to ride an ojek there. That's you know, Mom. Which many motors lined there,” continued me while pointing towards the other side of the terminal which is indeed the ojek base.

“How far, Mas. Just someone who sent me?” pinta the mother.

I started to bleed. Do you understand human language? Which part of my sentence says that I'm not a motorcycle taxi driver?

Unfortunately, I don't want to argue. I can only take a deep breath while taking a breath.

Gawk. I'm cooling down.

“I'm waiting for my friend, Mom. Later if my friend comes and I don't exist, piye?” mylm.

The mother fell silent. Maybe I'm starting to believe that I'm not a motorcycle taxi driver. His eyes stared intently, as if they were about to swallow me roundly. It's kind of awkward for me to make. Slowly his embrace stretched.

“Sepurane yo Mas,” [I'm sorry, Mas ] he said shyly.

.

Her face flushed. He's good at hugging high-tinged virgins like me.

Lah me?

Even so I tried to smile, trying to understand. Maybe the mother was tired so that she could not distinguish a handsome man from a motorcycle taxi driver.

Or just mode, Mom?

The motorcycle drama is over. My mother walked away from me. Before leaving he said a sentence that made me soar.

“Sampean handsome Mas...” said the Mother with a smile.

“Please Bu repeated again...” I feel unsure of what I heard.

“Ganteeeng...” repeat with a cry.

Emang! How did you just wake up? My inner.

To make sure what the mother said was right, I immediately set myself in the rearview mirror of the motor that began to fade its reflection. Did Leonardo di Caprio's shadow reappear there?

The narcissism collapsed instantly as my phone rang.

Oh, Laras called.

“Laras? Where have you been?” quickly answer.

I can't wait to meet him.

“Still in Jombang, Mas. Sorry, please, my. I read the date wrong. I am going to Surabaya next week. Sorry really I did not immediately ngabarin because of forgetfulness,” sound Baras sound flat.

Without guilt.

“Neverything Baras...” I dip a strong molar.

“Don't be angry Mas Abi,” the door.

“Oh, ndak. Just leave!”

“Still yo Mas,” close it.

I wanted to say rude, but I was afraid of sin. Not being a wife is already troublesome. I inhaled a deep breath, I let go slowly.

Have patience, Bi. That mah woman....

To treat the disappointment, I stopped by a cafe and ordered the most delicious food in the place. I just spent the money on loan from Dahlia.

I don't give a shit!

How good I am today. First case, I thought I was a motorcycle taxi driver. The second case suddenly Baras did not come to Surabaya. My preparations have gone all out.

What was my dream last night?

Next week if Laras really comes to Surabaya, then I will apply for a second volume debt to Dahlia!

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