Cracked Pearls

Go home

The time now shows at four in the morning.

Like a thief, I slipped down the stairs with a suitcase in my hand. A small black long-robed bag, also slung next to the shoulder. Rubber shoes I use so as not to cause a thud that invites anyone in the house to wake up. My head is wrapped in a hoodie that snuggles the face.

The lights are still in the dark. I hope they don't wake up before I get out of this house.

Yep! My shallow mind won't accept more negotiations. I decided to just get out of Om Krishna's magnificent house which for almost a year overshadowed and gave me a life that exceeded even expectations.

The shadow of how my existence after the events of last night will be a burden on this family, also about the sentence Om Krishna about the form of accountability Algi with the way of marriage, the statement said, both of these things made me feel sick and further away. Just think about it I'm already claustrophobic.

After I heard from Mbok Misni that the search for Algi yesterday was fruitless, Om Krishna will continue tomorrow. And that's today. I don't want everything to get worse after Algi's actually found. I don't want to undergo any more torturous compulsion.

One other thing; I still have a Zhio that I can't just ignore. Even though I'm not sure he's going to accept me anyway, once he knows what kind of moron happened to me in the past.

....

Finally, my steps reached the back of the house.

The iron door that was connected to the street where Mbok Misni used to put the trash to be transported by officers, was near the kusongsong. The key that was attached to the nail link near the barn door, was already in hand. I'm going through an iron door that's almost invisible because it's infested with vines on the edge and on top of it, to reach the highway.

The key and the hole I managed to match up to a small patch of door signs began to I could move afterwards.

From the outside, I closed the door slowly so that it returned neat as before. The key I left hanging and then left quickly lifted my suitcase in a tote.

The bright atmosphere of the complex street lights made my shadow lengthen.

A few steps away, I started to slow down.

The suitcase I pushed back.

My heart was still in a hurry for a moment before the ojek base in front of me managed to reach.

Scroll clock on wrist. It was twenty minutes from the moment I came out of my room in Om Krishna's house.

Starting to catch my vision, an old man perched on his old motorbike while watching the road slowly began to be crowded by vehicles, without a single colleague.

Brand-like jackets and helmets show their existence as motorcycle taxi drivers. I don't know what kind of life he lived until at this blind hour was alert to make a living.

I took a step closer to him. “Pak, can anterin me to the terminal?” my many.

Along with a seedy face but looks excited there, the father turned his head and greeted me happily. “Can, Neng. Come!” A strangely patterned helmet was given to me.

I accepted being accompanied by a smile, contracting his truly extraordinary spirit.

...*****...

Exactly at nine this morning, I had arrived in front of my yard in Bandung.

Ms. Saida looked at me in disbelief, as the door was busy and found me standing with teary eyes. I accidentally didn't see my house right away, because the key was in Miss Saida.

For some time I and the kind old woman engaged in a full-fledged conversation, longing for others. But not all I reveal. I was afraid I would make her anxious if I was too honest with everything I experienced in Jakarta, including the reason why I came home. Only the classic village-themed reason I missed my hometown, and it was clearly believed by Ms. Saida.

There was no Mr. Nandar there, because he was in the market, busy with his vegetables.

Almost an hour later, my stomach has even spoiled the delicious super dish of Bu Saida. And now it's time for me to go back to my house. The house that stands firmly beside the house of the woman who is currently with me, the house that I have always missed, and the house that certainly stored many memories in it.

Slowly and grubbyly, accompanied by Ms. Saida, I began to walk on the porch of my old house that always looked clean. Apparently Ms. Saida always took care of him even though I didn't.

After reaching right in front of the door, I turned to face Bu Saida. “I came in alone, Mom. No papa, kok.”

Ma Saida looked at me sadly. “You sure, Son?”

I'm nodding. “Iya, Mom. I want to rest. Mother's section also will still have to take care of vegetables in the back garden.”

Miss Saida's smile returned to me. The delicate elusan of his hand swept gently across my shoulder. “Ya, already. If you need anything, Muti stay to meet Mom.”

“Sure, Mom. Thanks.”

Bu Saida's thick body I stared at my back. He turned around and walked back to his house. Now I am the only one who tries so hard to open the door of the house that I am honestly so afraid to move. Not afraid because it has been empty for a long time, but afraid that the wound of my heart will be scratched again and become another wound. I won't be able to. But I have to!

'CLUTCH!' Sounds!' the sliding door is heard.

Slowly I pushed it wider and found that everything was still the same as it used to be, nothing had changed in the least.

A pair of my eyeballs instantly puddled in tears. The smell of this house .. I smell it again.

The empty seat where Dad used to read his subscription newspaper was still like that. My leg gulps approached and lowered my body to tears with my head down with both arms on my favorite chair.

“Daddy ...! I'm home, Dad,” my roar. My head is back. My pair of hands were busy stroking the warm single sofa in front. “I miss Daddy.” My sobs are hunting for taste.

Eating an hour of time, I circulated the motion to reveal memories in this simple house of Father's legacy, with tears fixated on every part of the room that tracks moving. Until I finally got tired and curled up in my bed, not in my room.

Immediately the shadow about my problems in Jakarta attacked again. Closely bolted tender Dad hugged, venting out as much fear and regret. If he were alive, I wouldn't have experienced such stupid things.