The Thorn in the Family

The Voice of Risma

“Nek, where exactly is Dad?”

That one sentence went back on the air just like that, coming out of the mulu of an eight-year-old innocent girl. Miss Marni is still excited, she is confused about what she should explain to her granddaughter.

“Nek, if only there was a Father, mother would not have to be tired of work. Mommy can at home accompany Risma, teach Risma to learn and play together like before. Why has everything changed like never before?”

Shut up, Pure Ma'am was still trying to string the word explaining the easy thing to her grandson.

“Nek, don't be quiet. Saying something. Is it true what my friends say, if I don't have a father. My dad doesn't love Risma anymore?. Didn't Randi's father promise me time at the parlor to be my father forever?” the little girl looked up at Bu Marni's eyes, still waiting for an explanation to come out of her grandmother's mouth.

“Risma dear here nak” Bu Marni chose to embrace her grandson in arms. He rested Risma's head on his shoulders and one hand stroked the long, unbrushed hair.

“Listen to Grandma be-good ya son. Risma has a father, Risma's father is Randi. For now I'm working away from here. He works somewhere that can't be easily reached”

“But Nek, can't we still contact him? We can call or do a vidio call, such as when with Om Ipul” Risma distanced his body from the reach of Bu Srining's hand, in protest at the statement of the grandmother.

“Tap son, Risma's father is in an area that can not be reached by a telephone signal. It is far from where we live. Dad is looking for a lot of money for Risma”

“What's the use of money? If we can't enjoy with our loved ones?” again the question Risma, making Miss Marni must wave and rotate the brain quickly.

“We do’ course yes son, hopefully Father Risma soon back. May Dad always be healthy slalu” even though Bu Marni just said in the tongue. Honest in the depths of his heart he hoped not to be reunited with the family. It was enough suffering and all the lies that were done to the only daughter.

“Risma want to learn, let Grandma help ya”

Risma nodded obediently. He ran to his room to pick up his bag and school supplies.

“Grandma, I got the task of telling make an image”

“Oh yes what picture is nak?”

“Kata Bu Guru, we are told family” pictures suddenly his face back to being lethargic. He holds a blank paper that only reads his identity.

Deg.

Again the heart of Miss Marni, must be made hangers at the age of who is no longer young when dealing with the grandson.

Silent for a moment. Ms. Marni tried to swallow her saliva which suddenly felt dry in the throat.

“Yes already here Granny auxiliary” Bu Marni started opening the Risma bag, took out some stationery complete with her colored pencil.

“I first picture ya Nek. Grandma just shut up don't have to help, just look and accompany me. Okay” One hand raised giving the code to his grandmother.

“Ok Tuan Putri” replied Bu Murni by showing her thumb. He shifted his two little so that Risma, could freely draw.

Silent.

That night was silent again, only the scratches of pen and book rubbed against each other and the breath of each of them. Not infrequently Miss Marni will lift a little neck for the sake of being able to glance at the picture that has been made by Risma.

Quiescent.

Still in silence, more than thirty minutes passed, there was no interaction between the two. Risma was busy drowning in her pictures. He began to pour what was in his head and then apply it in the form of a picture. While Miss Muri, she was worried about the picture made by the granddaughter. Time and time again his fingers were squeezing each other fretfully. Hope Tari, hurry home to answer all the magic questions that will come out of her son's mouth later.

“Pink color Nek” said Risma with outstretched hands asking Miss Marni to get pink.

“It” a moment later Bu Murni gave up what her grandson asked for.

“Ah, do not see first dong nek, it is not finished” he said by closing the picture by hand. Risma sat back to Bu Murni, he did not give the grandmother a chance to see the picture even though Bu Murni had started to lift his head, hoping to see what was in the picture.

“Iya, grandma don't see. Continue with gih” first

“Ok nek”

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“Tara, already so” Risma smiled showing her neat rows of teeth. His hand held one piece of paper that had been drawn.

“Wau, nice once” compliment Bu Marni later. He looked at the picture that Risma had painted. A few seconds later he was silent for a moment.

“This is a picture of my family Nek, This is Mother, me and Granny” with enough enthusiasm Risma began to explain the picture he had made.

“See this grandma, Mommy wears a crown. Mother is like a fairy godmother in a fairy tale book. Mother never angry, Mother is beautiful and hardworking until this hour has not returned home”

“Nek look at this, hayo why are our clothes all pink? Hey guess grandma?”

“Hem what is it? It must be because this beautiful Risma likes pink. Is that right, dear?”

“Keep what lo nak?”

“This is because Risma is filled with affection. Said the teacher in the class earlier, pink as a symbol of affection. Medium red stop sign, green light sign we have to go straight with the yellow sign we must be careful in driving” bright Risma with enthusiasm.

Miss Marni was silent for a moment “since when the pink color should be coupled with the symbol of traffic” his hiss in the heart, who was reluctant to ask the grandchild, in order to avoid debate and answer questions that are beyond reason.

“Wah very good son, the picture”

“Iya dong nice, I'll pinter boy. Grandma knows no why I didn't draw Dad here?”

Ms. Marni shook her head slowly, again having to involve a question about Dad that made her have to sigh long for the umpteenth time.

“Because I've forgotten Daddy's face. Father has never come. I've never seen his picture again. So I don't know if Dad's hair is long or short. I also don't know what color dad's skin is now, what yellow tends to black huft”

“Yes, yes beautiful child. This picture alone is already great once”

“Wah see now what time it is? Risma it's time to go to bed, son. Now we pack everything, Grandma help us to clean up and we sleep” Bu Marni directs her food to the wall clock in front of the side of the bed.

“But Mommy hasn't come home?”

“No problem, let Grandma wait for Mother later. It's already night Risma has to go to bed soon so tomorrow is not late school”

With a shaky step Risma according to her Grandmother's orders. He began washing his feet and went to his room in the aftercare with Miss Marni who was behind him.

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“One hour we close yes, make sure all the cakes that will be sent tomorrow morning are ready. Don't forget to make sure the packaging is safe” the calm voice and mother began to sound instructing some of her coworkers who were overtime that night.

The night is getting late, since three years established cake shop Dance more successful. Many of the residents around ordered cakes at his store. Dance is so friendly and Hubble. His cake shop also does not set a high price but has a quality of taste that is not in doubt. So not infrequently the surrounding residents prefer his cake shop as a dish during celebration, or as a hand.

“Good Bu” compact six workers who help him answer. All the workers in his bakery were none other than local residents. Dance has always wanted to contribute in the village where she lives. It empowers some mothers and young teenagers who do not have jobs.

Jemari Tari, fighting with each other helps to put one by one the pieces of the cake on the cardboard.

Tired up?

Do not ask what kind of tiredness torments his body. But this is life. This is what he was looking for a few years back. Sure enough, Tari sought fatigue and busyness so that he could eliminate the heartache that had hurt his heart at that time.

“Bu, rest. Let us take care of all this” said one of his work. He felt awkward, especially when he saw that Dari had to step in to clean the kitchen, wiping the kitchen where they were producing at that time.

“Not a problem” Dance chose to shake her head slowly. One hand is still holding a washcloth to clean the remaining flour.

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An hour passed, one by one his workers began to resign. At that time the time had shown at nine more nights. The streets began to look quiet, considering the shop was in the village, where the curfew there ended in the range of eight and nine hours, the rest of them will close the door of their respective homes. Not infrequently from the villagers will turn off their yard lights in order to reduce the electricity bills that exist later.

Dance remained silent for a moment. He sat at the cashier table starting to count the expenses that went in and out this week. His fingers began to busy to do the buttons on the calculator machine to calculate the profit this week. Long enough he sat there drowning in busyness until he did not realize the time was getting late.

Rows of stars and moons began to dissolve swallowed by the thick cloudy that night. “Gosh it's ten o'clock more, I have to hurry home” he started packing, put some of his important luggage into the bag. His eyes began to circulate looking around what seemed to be quiet first night drizzle came to say hello.

“Ah how is this, au did not even bring his stub umbrella” back after turning off the store lights.

Greek Greek Greek...

The sound of the harmony door starting to close. The dance pulled firmly the remains of the door that had not closed that night. He quickly locked the door and immediately left the store.

Dance began to ring the motorbike parked on the front page of her store.

Set.setttt.

The sound of double stater began to echo.

“Jeez, what else is this. Why use the event strike everything, where the night drizzle anyway” he monologues himself by trying to re-stater his bike.

“Hah can not also” lamented after several times tried but never lit his bike.

“Hay..”