Scratches of Ink on my finger

Maaf

This weekend is like the previous plan, Yoga and I will play basketball at home. In my black backpack already contains equipment to play later. While waiting for the busway at the stop, a small book that became my handle became a bored release, even if just scratching a picture or a line of sentences.

The busway came, I got on and there were no empty seats, so I stood holding onto the handle at the top of the bus. Quite tight, my feet were stepped on several times by a father in front of me, I cursed him.

I finally got to the stop I was going to. I stepped down and immediately grabbed the phone to contact Yoga.

Tiin Tiin's.

A car horn right in front of a different busway stop invited my attention. From the window of the car, Yoga waved his hand and said, "Let's hurry!"

I ran there and got into the car.

"Old old?"

"No, just new."

Yoga manganese. He then took the phone out of his pocket because there was an incoming call. I heard the conversation, probably from her parents.

***

"If you can catch the ball, Bay." Yoga's voice sounded disdainful as he was in control of the ball right now.

I smiled, "All right."

TAP

I managed to pull the ball from him while he suddenly did not think that the trick I could read. He was silent for a moment and then immediately wanted to take the ball back from me. I moved quickly away the ball from him. Once, twice my drible failed to get rid of him.

HUP.. CRACKS..

The ball successfully goes into the basket. Yoga glared at the ball that fell free from his basket.

"Well, you really are, Bay."

"You're too careless, Ga. Even if you focus, you can easily brush it off before entering the basket earlier." I approached Yoga who was still in his place. His breath was wheezing as well as mine, today's weather was also quite draining of sweat.

"Oh, huh?" Yoga walks left me towards a long seat outside the field. "You're too good, Bay."

I followed him and sat there.

I reject the word.

"Eh, Bay, you know what?"

"mm?" I raised my chin watching him.

"The girl you saw yesterday took the same excrement as me."

"Oh, huh?"

"Mh.. Her name's..." Yoga interrupted her speech, waiting for me to ask back, while I quietly waited for her to continue the sentence.

"Do you want to know?" Yoga has. I still keep watching him. "If you don't need to know, I don't need to tell you."

"I have to answer first?"

"Yes, if you want to know I'll tell you. If you don't have to, don't tell."

I was silent for a moment. "What's his name?"

Yoga laughed at my question, feeling satisfied because the bait was interested. "Do you really like him?"

Instead of answering my question, Yoga adds to the question. I didn't touch him this time as I got out of my seat.

"Eh, Bay! Where you going?"

"Take a drink." I grabbed the bag I had brought before, there was a bottle of water I had prepared from home, then gulped it down.

"baby! Sit here."

I brought the tumbler to the seat earlier. "Drink?" I put the tumbler on Yoga. He grabbed it and sipped it until he was satisfied.

"Thank you."

I sat down again in the chair.

"Eh, Bay. You mad?"

"No."

"Mh.." Yoga mangosteen, after which he patted my shoulder. "So his name is... Love."

The answer made me smile. I never thought that the word 'Love' I put for that woman in my writings turned out to be her real name. A coincidence that I find funny.

"Why are you smiling?"

"No."

***

This week learning activities began to be busy, plus extracurricular activities that have been running and demand the activeness of each member. I even feel like my schedule is getting more congested. The teachers have burdened their students with various tasks that must be completed at that hour as well, there is no such thing as pr. After that, in every short break I had to pander to the morgue to do some activities as a new registrant, until I often did not get the rest.

"Hi, you.. his friend Yoga, huh?" Love's. He came to me at the wrong time.

"Yes." Yeah."

"Mh..You busy?" He looks awkward now.

I'm not good to go now, but it's urgent.

"Yes. I'm first yeah."

Love continues to pay attention to the interlocutor who has gone away.

"Cin! Why?" Another girl friend approached him.

"Eh, there's no papa."

"Yuk class."

"Yuk."

From the classroom door, Yoga noticed the incident earlier. "Woody, why did you go that way, huh?" Mumbled.

***

"Eh, Bay. Want to go home with me?"

"No need, Ga. Thanks." Thanks."

"Okedeh. By the way, why did you go that time love samperin?"

I looked at my opponent now and remembered the incident earlier.

"You know?"

"Yes, I didn't see it on purpose."

"So I had an urgent job at eskul."

"He watches you when you leave." Yoga hastened the way of leaving me.

I stopped, saw it pass. Is it true that love is?

I turned my eyes to the class of Love. Looks like there's no one there anymore. I then continued my way home.

Meanwhile from the class of Love, he just came out alone because he just finished cleaning the tools of his art practice that has not been done before.

***

Tonight my hand felt silly writing the word 'Love'. It was barely on my sheet of paper.

Is there anything better than apologizing? If there was any I wanted to know, I would have done it.

When I meet again, I want this mouth to say 'forgive me'.

If I may lie down here, my heart is suffering, for it has failed to welcome the grace of waiting.

But, other than that, I'm grateful for a short chance. Thank you, 'Love'.

August 28, 20xx

Marked

Wilted

***

"If so, mading activities starting this week must have been filled by new members. For those who do not understand the procedure and other things, can be asked to the senior." A closing sentence from the chairman of exkul mading. It seems like this school activity will get even more crowded.

A friend next door patted me on the shoulder, "Eh, you're Bayu, right?"

"Yes." Yeah."

"Know, I'm Adit."

"Greetings." Reply welcomed.

"Eh, I also know Fina."

"I'm Genta."

"I'm a wood." I replied while shaking their hands. After that, they became my close friends in this exculpation.

A few days later, the busy mading has become a normal thing. I became accustomed to pacing back and forth to the mading room to do this exculpation business.

Regarding mading, there are already some of my writings that are stuck on the mading board. Each work displayed there is accompanied by a 'fan box', which is a place for other students to appreciate the works there. It does not rule out the possibility of someone becoming famous for it. The proof, some seniors become fugitives for the fans who faithfully wait for his work. I never knew that getting that far made people famous in this school. Good thing I didn't put my real name on my work. Feels scared.

I intend to see my notes in the mading as well as want to see if there are records of other students who might want to comment. But...

"Who made this?" Bu Ita, an Indonesian teacher, was in front of the mading with a group of students who also took notice. The teacher pointed to a work there.

"Why, Mom?"

"It's so good." Bu Ita looked fixedly at the verse of the poem he pointed to. Read it again until it is finished down. "Mom remember the poem Sapardi Djoko Damono."

"That driver, huh, Mom?" One of the students asked from behind the teacher.

"Yes." Yeah." Afterwards Bu Ita took out a piece of paper and recorded something there and put it in the 'fan box' of the work. The teacher then went to the teacher's room followed by students who had interests with him.

The board was only a few visitors. At first I intended to wait for them to finish, but it had been a few minutes waiting and the doorbell almost rang they were still there, finally I followed along to be part of them in front of the mading, it was, more precisely in front of my work.

"Where was the work that Mother had appointed earlier? I'm gonna take a look." A student friend beside me asked the friend next to her.

"This one." Point his friend at my work? I spontaneously looked at them in wonder.

"Why you?" Ask one of them who feels even more astonished.

"Eh, not papa." I retreated from the crowd allowing them to re-observe the mading there.

"I'm still a long way from a Sapardi Djoko Damono." I muttered as I remembered the words of the teacher earlier.