My madam, my poison

Where'd it go?

That afternoon somehow Lyra a little forced me to accompany her to eat meatballs at a store near the intersection of the highway.

"Three-bowl meatballs eat here, sir," I told the shop owner who is often called pak kribo. Somehow at first the nickname was triggered. In fact, the hair of the man called pak kribo was not at all curly, even tend to be straight.

"I'm being treated, Mom?" Mr. Amin looks a little awkward.

"Where might I let Mr. Amin sit quietly watching us eat meatballs." I pulled out a chair that was right in front of me, and my personal driver sat on it.

I circulated my gaze at that not-so-wide stall. Until a pair of netraku caught a plastic bag on a table in the corner of the room.

"Who's plastic package is that, sir?" manya curious.

The owner of the shop turned his eyes to the table.

"Oh, that thing must have belonged to the mothers who had eaten chicken noodles here."

After delivering the meatballs to our table, the middle-aged man approached the table and checked the contents of the plastic bag.

"really, right? This is the rice box I gave to my mother. Every Friday there is a community of young people who distribute free rice boxes. I was given two boxes of rice, so one box I gave it to him."

"Do you know who that mother is?" my many.

"No, Ma. He never seems to have come to this store. I just want to hear his story."

"If I may know, what makes you feel sorry?"

"The mother told me that her son had just been fooled by billions of dollars to make her sorry, crazy. Now her son is sent to a mental hospital. He had to leave his house because it had been sold by his greedy daughter-in-law. Ah, just like the story in the soap opera."

I was silent for a moment. I don't know why I thought the story was so similar to what Fabian and his family had experienced. I also hope that the mother referred to by the owner of the tavern is not my former mother-in-law.

"Mother .. her sauce is mostly," Lyra scolds.

"What's? Azaghfirullah." I put the bottle of ketchup back in its original place. Ah, I must have daydreamed so I didn't realize I was pouring too much ketchup into my bowl.

"Mother why?" ask Lyra.

"Ti-ti-it's okay, son. Let's pray before eating the meatballs" I said. The princess just my way was also nodding understand.

To be honest, I still wonder who the real mother that the owner of this store told me about. After finishing our meatballs, I decided to ask him back.

"Ehm .. sorry, sir. Can I know what the characteristics of the mother who had eaten chicken noodles here?" my many.

"Ehm .. The mother was wearing a dark brown dress. If it's not wrong there's a mole on the left temple."

Not wrong anymore. The woman in question is the owner of this shop must be Bu Kinanti.

"Which way did you go, sir?"

"It looks like taking public transit line 5."

"Okay, thank you, sir."

After paying, we left the store.

"Where are we going, Mom? The cake shop's going that way."

"Not to the cake shop, sir. Just walk until I tell you to stop."

"Good, Mom."

As I ordered, Mr. Amin drove the white man down the road by the blue public transport. Of course my view cannot be separated from every inch of paved road we pass.

I knew Bu Kinanti had no brothers in this town. So most likely he will find a place to live in a boarding house or rented house.

"It's near the terminal, ma'am. Are we going to the terminal?" ask Mr. Amin who actually does not know where we are going.

"Ehm .. We pulled over for a bit at that front stop, sir."

"Mom's looking for someone, huh?"

Ah, finally the question came out as well.

"Yes, sir."

"Who are you looking for?" Lyra chiming.

"Later you'll know, son."

My car has now pulled over near the stop. Some people were seen sitting on the bench. I hope one of them sees where my mom is.

"Excuse me, Mum. Sorry, I'm looking for someone. Did you see a woman about sixty years old, wearing a dark brown robe passing around here?" I asked a woman with a wide hijab like me.

"Sorry, Mom. I arrived at this stop a few minutes ago. Maybe you can ask the others."

"Okay, Mom, thank you."

Some people who were at the stop apparently no one saw Bu Kinanti.

"Where else are we going, Mom? It's almost Maghrib" said Mr. Amin.

"We'll just go home, sir. Tomorrow we continue the search."

"Wherever you are now, I hope God will always be with you" I said.

Connect …

Hi, loyal readers. Also in the work that is titled:

"MARRYING WITH THE DEVIL"

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