Short Story (Cerpen)

Uniform

The tall, bright-faced man who opened the door looked amazed as he recognized me. He certainly did not expect my sudden arrival.

When then with unflattered hospitality I was invited to enter, without hesitation I chose to head straight to the amben across the room. It feels good to sit on bamboo halls with pandan mats. He also sat down, but his gaze was directed out the window, on the clove trees that lined up like our first class students when following the flag ceremony every Monday. I understand, this surprise must have made his heart filled with a novelty that he could not express in words. He needs to neutralize it for a while.

He was my best childhood friend. Almost 25 years ago we split up because my family had to boyongan to the new working town of Dad off the island until returning a few years later to settle in the county town. That I told him, as well as apologizing for having never been to it since.

So, what brings you here?

Memories.

A fake! If it's just a matter of memories, there's no need to wait 10 years after your family returns and settle 30 kilometers from here.

I smiled. It was only a moment of awkwardness between us before the chatter words slid like bullets scrambling out of the magazine.

Meeting him, inevitably reminds us of our previous experience. The experiences that made him, though not all the time, were always clinging to my memory. Of course he remembers it anyway, even I am sure the taste he suffered was greater in effect. Because as a friend, he was obviously much more sincere and loyal than I was.

That night I was here, watching him study. The clap that became the light of the room was placed on the table, almost approaching at all with his face if he looked down to write. On top of the amben, his father casually smoked. Occasionally turn on the lighter if the coals of the twisting cigarette soak meet large pieces of clove or frankincense that is not gently sliced. His mother, a woman who laughed a lot, was in the corner while working to spin coconut coir into a mine. Such moments plus any conversations that might happen between us almost every night I enjoy. That made my feelings closer to the simplicity of his family's life.

After studying, he told me to go home to look for crickets. I said I wanted to come, but he objected. His father and mother also forbade. Often indeed I heard many children go to the rice fields after the isya to find crickets. Crickets obtained later can be sold or just as a collection, placed in a box, then occasionally tickled with a stick or a stick to make a loud crackle. From what I heard, the process of looking for it was very exciting. Baby, Dad never let me. But that night I was reckless and my friend was finally unable to resist.

Not change clothes? I asked in wonder as soon as he took the lead to depart. It was Friday. The Scout brown uniform she wore since morning will still be used to go to school for another day. I know he doesn't have a lot of clothes until the school uniform is worn at any time. But wearing it to go to the rice fields looking for crickets, it feels really, really bad.

Responsibility, responsibility.

While grumbling unhappily, I took over the torch from his hand. We then walked along a large garden in the rice fields several tens of meters after passing through the garden and the gourami pond behind his house. In the distance, there are several torch light points belonging to cricket seekers besides us. The heart is calm. The dry season, cracked rice fields, real dark plus the wind whistling in the open area does give a strange sensation. I don't think I'd dare to be there alone.

We went down the rice fields to the far west. In just a few minutes, two crickets were recovered and put into a roof tied to a raffia rope around my best friend's waist. I followed enthusiastically, but the flip-flops made it difficult for me because the dry ground made it come off many times, get stuck, or even get squeezed in between the cracks. The remaining rice stalks can also sniff and hurt the soles of the feet. But seeing him calm even though he does not wear footwear, I do not complain because of prestige.

It felt like we had not been there for too long and the new roof filled with crickets when suddenly the wind changed temperament. The tongue of the fire swayed to lick my face that was bowing. Shocked, the torch butt I lifted up so high that the oil pushed the axis apart. The fire quickly moved to burn my back!

When the fire finally went out, I felt a tremendous amount of pain running from my back to my neck. The clothes I was wearing were one-third full, while some of the charred fabric fused with the skin. My friend was perceptive to cover my body in his brown uniform watching me start crying and shivering between pain and cold. Then with a quivering voice, he tried to make a gesture with his mouth. Unfortunately, no one approached and he himself later admitted that we had gone too far. Realizing I needed help as soon as possible, he carried me on his back and ran while persuading me to stay calm. His breath hunted fatigue, but such a great sense of responsibility gave him multiplied strength. Honey, arriving at home is nothing else he got except the abuse of Father and Mother. His cheeks had also hit the slap of a wrathful father.

I was immediately rushed to the sub-district puskesmas. The Scout's brown uniform that encircled my body was pushed out of nowhere by the spell. It never crossed my mind to ask Dad to replace it after that. From what I've heard for almost a month of not attending school, he was forced several times to skip Friday and Saturday because he couldn't afford to buy instead.

Your own fault, not asking for a change, I said we're done remembering the incident.

Just asking you was a mistake. I'm afraid your father will get angry later. My father wouldn't mind your father's slap, let alone the uniform. He prefers to buy a new one even if he has to wait a few weeks.

We laughed. Laughing and laughing as if the whole series of events that eventually became a lasting reminder of our friendship was not an event to escape death because time had erased all its horrors.

He then took me to the backyard where we had once made a gourami pond together. The pool was gone, diruk long ago changed into a warehouse where now creative to make crafts from bamboo. The result of his skillful hands was plus the distribution of profits from rice fields owned by others who support his wife and two children until now.

His father and mother are dead, but a serious problem now ensnare him. He told me, the certificate of home and land relics of parents was mortgaged.

That brother of mine, is still as good in nature as you knew him before. Only now, the older he got was the more he did not know himself.

His end? He's nodding.

You know, this house and land that is not how vast is ours is most precious. But I have no power to refuse his will to seek a business capital loan by using it all. I trust him, care about him. But, she doesn't have the same feeling towards me. He betrayed my trust. His efforts ran aground and now a heavy burden is on my shoulders. The figure of his older brother, a teenager dropped out of school who always troubled parents with his mischief. Now that he was growing old, he still troubled his only sister.

We will stay, he said smiling as he took me off after the afternoon. There was a seriousness in his voice.

All the way home, my mind was never separated from my good friend. I'm shy. As a friend, I have never been kind to her. Nor was it certain that he would be able to do as he did to help me that night. He has proven that great courage and a sense of responsibility can arise from a sincere friendship.

My eyes then glanced at the official uniform that was draped on the back seat backrest. As a prosecutor who has just handled one civil case, the uniform has not made me proud. The value is obviously much smaller than the value of friendship I get from a Scout brown uniform. But he didn't know, in that uniform, I was the one who was going to execute the evacuation of his land and his house.