I'm scared.
Should I be so scared?

But she's scared. It really kills me when I looked her eyes. She tried so hard not to cry, but the eyes never tells lies: they held mountful of gleaming tears, making a soft stream drowning me deeper and deeper into the sea of sadness in her eyes that I couldn't even know the deepest depth:
she's afraid that she's not going to make it.
I'm afraid that I will think that she's not going to make it.

Don't go, she said to me before entering the room, please stay... She, still lying on the bed, said that to me like it was her last wish, like she said that with her very last breath.
I didn't say athing. No, I couldn't say a thing. I only nodded a little and held her hand. It was so hard for me to hold the tears from falling, especially when I felt the little tremble on her hand. It was shaking: she was trying to fight her apathy with all her courage left, with all her guts that she might had.
But I won't cry for good. I didn't want her to see my cry.

We still held hands while silentness comfortably filled the room, like the shadow crawling from the bottom corner of the wall making the whole room blackened. But the dim light from the bulb was still glowing.

My heart crushed. It was like the shadow climbed from underneath my feet to the toop. The shadow opened my chest and ripped it apart making me could see what lies within: the lungs, the bones, and others. The shadow stopped to look around when it saw my heart. It took out it's black hand slowly then pulled my heart out. I saw blood spilled everywhere, on the floor, walls, on the bed, the white uniforms, on the sad faces, everywhere. But nothing spilled. There were no reds on the floor, walls, on the bed, the white uniforms, on the sad faces. No reds anywhere. But I saw them.

I felt like I was going to collapse. How could I even stood when my heart just being crushed like that?

Had my eyes conceived me, or it's just their eyes lying them, she had to go into the room. Her eyes telling me, No, I don't wanna go there, but she had no choice. She didn't have enogh power left to fight, she stayed still.

The people on the back came forward, leave it at God's hands, and, God be with you! still they said to her. I heard so many God words, but do You really hear their wishes, oh, the One they called God?
I tried to look up but found none except the light and the ceiling.
...I guess I didn't have choice but to trust You.

They pushed her bed into the room. She still held my hand while the bed moved forward. It was the kind of holding you never want to let go. Until the distance forced you, it forced me to let her hands go.

And the door was shut.

Dear Frosti,

I just like it when you smile,

it drives away her misery for a while.

And I like it when you touch her,

it’s like both of you will stay close like that forever.

I’ve seen her sad a thousand times actually,

but I don’t consider it silly. She’s not a crybaby.

I know that she’s a tough girl,

it’s like nothing underneath the sky can crushes her world.

She’s lonely, like a sheep separated from the shepherd,

Don’t you know that she only wants to be heard?

She’s wanting for someone to have a nice chat on,

while drinking coffee in her room with all the lights on.

Oh Frosti, at the moment you appear,

suddenly she feels everything so clear.

No more despair, gloom, or depression,

you give her the perfect kind of needs and affections.

Don’t you know that her cheeks blush red,

everytime she replies your messages on her bed?

Now she wakes up with a happy face,

the picture of you is the only images she could trace.

Oh, somebody please tell me how juvenile,

how sometimes love can make us run mile and mile.

And when her winter night haven’t still over,

suddenly you make her feel like it's already summer.

I don’t know the messages you sent or how you first met,

but I’m quite sure you still keep it and will never forget.

Just stay beside her, don’t go away,

Make her smile grows bigger, every night and every day…

[Maybe she’s just curious,

Or maybe it’s already conspicuous.

But may the best things come for you,

For both of you.]

*Goodnight Frosti, it has been a pleasure to know such people like you.

Hmmm.
Serba salah.
Mau ketawa, nanti dikira ketawa merendahkan. Padahal memang ingin ketawa karena tidak menyangka komentar yang main-main itu berbuntut serius. Dan bagaimana mereka malah marah-marah dengan serius. Dan bagaimana mereka serius marah-marah karena menganggap saya telah menghina dengan sengaja. Dan bagaimana orang-orang dengan serius menganggap masalah orang lain menjadi masalahnya.
Saya hanya bisa tertawa.

Hmmm.
Serba salah juga.
Mau ketawa, nanti dikira menghina. Tetap saja lucu melihatnya. Katanya sih tidak marah, tapi malah marah-marah. Katanya sih tidak ada masalah, tapi minta maaf malah ditolak. Katanya sih tidak peduli dengan apapun kata orang tentang dia, terus kenapa harus marah-marah kalau begitu? Sudah dibilang tidak sengaja, tetap ngotot dianggap menghina.
Atau memang lebih baik harusnya saya hina ya?
Ah, sudahlah buat apa cari masalah, toh sudah selesai masalahnya.
Atau mungkin di(a)anggap selesai tapi masih jadi masalah ya?
Haha, lucu sekali bagaimana tindakannya selalu berlawanan dengan kata-kata. Tapi kalau saya bilang itu juga, nanti dianggap menghina.
Yah, mungkin hanya orang berpikiran terbuka saja yang mau mendengar kata-kata buruk tentangnya. Kebanyakan anak kecil memang masih labil, mentally, emotionally.

Hmmm.
Serba salah.
Mau nulis ini, salah. Mau nulis itu, salah. Kebebasan berekspresi saya dirampas oleh orang-orang yang terlalu menggunakan perasaan dan menyangkutpautkan tulisan dengan diri sendiri.
Saya jadi tahu perasaan Inul yang selalu diprotes Bang Haji Rhoma kalau bergoyang sedikit saja.
Bisakah saya cuek saja?
Hmm, saya pasti bisa.
Pertanyaannya: bisakah mereka?

Du du, du du du du du du.*


*sumpah, saya tidak mau berniat nyari masalah. Ini sih murni curhat perasaan doang..
** Beck, The New Pollution

Gara-gara kejadian akhir-akhir ini dan juga pertemuan kembali dengan seorang lain yang bernama Albert, membawa pikiran saya bertualang ke masa lalu. Seperti membuka laci dan menemukan mesin waktu, mungkin Doraemon yang meletakkannya disitu. Memulai perjalanan pikiran ke masa lalu.

Saya jadi ingat versi berantem anak SMA (dulu namanya masih SMA): tawuran.
Keroyokan vs keroyokan.

Entah kenapa anak SMA kalau berantem senangnya beramai-ramai. Atau sekarang anak SMP juga sudah ikut-ikutan tawuran? Dasar anak kecil yang suka tawuran.
Saya tidak suka tawuran: bikin macet jalan.

Hal yang membuat saya teringat ketika saya SD dulu, ketika saya bertanya kepada Papa,
"Pa, bolehkah saya berkelahi?" Mungkin saya masih belum bisa memutuskan apakah berkelahi itu sesuatu yang buruk atau baik. Bodohnya.

Papa hanya menjawab, "Kamu terlalu kecil untuk berkelahi, nanti saja kalau sudah besar sedikit."

Jawaban yang tidak memuaskan. Jadi pertanyaan itu selalu saya simpan untuk ditanyakan kembali..


..ketika SMA, pertanyaan sama keluar dari mulut saya,
"Pa, bolehkah saya berkelahi?"

Papa yang lagi membaca koran di teras depan menurunkan korannya dan melirik saya.
"Kenapa kamu harus berkelahi?"
"Ada teman yang punya masalah dengan anak sekolah lain. Saya diajakin ikut tawuran."
"Kenapa harus tawuran?"
"...entahlah Pa, memang seperti itu anak SMA sekarang mungkin.."
"Kalau kalian kalah, gimana?"
"Ngg, balas dendam lagi paling nanti."
"Tawuran lagi?"
"Iya."
"Bisa-bisa sekolah kosong kalau kalian tawuran semua. Terus siapa yang belajar? Yang wanita saja?"
"Iya kali, Pa." (diiyain lagi, begonya saya..)

"..."
Kalau teman kamu yang punya masalah, kenapa kamu harus ikut campur? Jangan suka mencampuri urusan orang, itu tidak baik.."
"Tapi nanti namanya nggak setia kawan, Pa. Bisa-bisa saya dimusuhin deh sama anak-anak.."
"Kamu mau nggak sih ikut tawuran sebenarnya?"
"Malas sih Pa."
"Terus kenapa harus ikut?"
"Ngg, atas dasar pertemanan dan setia kawan Pa."
"Terus kalau teman kamu ngajak terjun ke jurang, kamu mau ikutan?"
"Ngg..."
"Kalau misalnya ada yang menantang kamu berkelahi, berkelahilah dengan jantan sebagai lelaki, satu lawan satu. Tapi tidak boleh ada dendam dari pihak yang kalah, dan masalah kalian selesai. Kamu bisa seperti itu?"
"...mungkin?"
"Mungkin? Papa butuh jawaban ya dan tidak, bukan mungkin."
"...nggak kayanya, Pa."
"Ya sudah, kalau begitu kekerasan tidak akan menyelesaikan masalah. Kecuali ada yang bisa tidak mendendam kalau kalah."
"Oh.."
..."

Terus saya harus bilang apa ke teman saya?"
"Bilang saja, selesaikan masalah kamu sendiri, mau berkelahi kek, panco, main karambol, apapunlah. Kalian boleh mendukung dia, tapi jangan suka ikut campur urusan orang, Nak. Kalian sudah dewasa, bukan anak kecil yang suka penasaran sampai-sampai ikut campur urusan orang."
"Kalau dia marah sama saya Pa? Nanti saya nggak dianggap teman lagi."
"Teman sejati nggak sedangkal itu menilai temannya sendiri."
"..."

"Kalau dia nggak mau tahu, ya kamu tinggal cari saja teman yang lebih banyak lagi, susah amat."
"Tapi saya masih nggak tahu mau ngomong apa ke dia, Pa..."

Papa melipat korannya dan menatap saya tepat di mata. Tatapan yang saya suka. Tidak marah karena pertanyaan saya, tidak tertawa karena pertanyaan saya. Tatapan bijaksana mata seorang ayah untuk anaknya...

* * *

"Saya tidak suka berkelahi dan tidak suka melihat kamu berkelahi. Tapi kamu tetap teman saya. Datanglah kepada saya jika kamu terluka, tangan saya akan selalu terbuka."

Ia berkata di perbatasan nada antara kesal dan tenang,
"Kalau emang itu prinsip lo, gue hargain, jangan sampai lo berantem kaya gue. Mending sekarang lo pulang aja ke rumah, nggak usah nungguin kita lagi deh."

Saya tidak mengerti arti kata-kata itu. Tapi saya sudah siap diteriaki atau dimaki-maki lagi oleh teman-teman yang lain. Tapi ternyata mereka diam saja. Ada tatapan tidak suka dan kecewa, tapi tidak ada yang berbicara. Mereka pergi, saya hanya melihat kepergiannya dari warung rokok di depan sekolah. Lalu kembali menyeruput es teh manis yang belum habis.

Hati saya tidak tenang. Ada perasaan lega karena tidak melakukan sesuatu yang saya suka, diikuti perasaan bersalah karena tidak menjadi teman sebenarnya menurut mereka.
Lagipula, apakah arti teman sebenarnya?

Saya pergi ke ruangan ekskul band. Terkunci. Saya mengambil kuncinya di guru pembimbing ("Mau bersih-bersih studio, Pak!") dan kembali ke sana. Masuk ke dalam ruangan.
Sendirian.

Saya mengambil bass saya yang sengaja saya tinggalkan disitu.
[Memainkan lagu.]
Saya tidak tahu kabar mereka saat itu.
[Mengiringi perasaan sendu.]
Atau mungkin lebih tepatnya, saya tidak mau tahu.

Esok harinya saya dengar kabar, teman saya mati ditikam.
Saya terdiam.
Mungkin Tuhan tertawa ketika perasaan saya remuk redam.
[Benarkah begitu, Tuhan?]


*In memoriam of Al.

The Tale of A Desperate Guy and The Desperate Girl

Desperate guy, desperate guy

Who desperately wants to get back with his girl

He thinks that love is something he can buy

With a new car, or necklace from a pearl.

It doesn't work; he tries something else

Because her heart didn't melt, it stays like ice

So he always stays beside the girl

A tactics to make her thinks that she's his only world.

He tries to look so hopeless

Like a sea turtle hoping to touch the moon

Presuppose that she will be clueless

And poorly gives her love soon.

But he gets jealous when she nears another men

He yells at them, don't you dare to lay a finger!

He looks like a fish without a fin

He's a fake, he's not even her lover.

Desperate guy, desperate guy

Just look at how desperate you are

Looking for love so desperately, is that all you can try?

Go have a drink and sit yourself at the corner of the bar.

With a desperate girl, desperate girl

Who desperately wants to remove the memory of her man

Seeing new guy(s), she thinks she's in the love twirl

Like drinking love beer from a love can.

When he appears, she grows a big smile

After he leaves, she send him messages of love and fascination

She thinks she's in love after a while

He becomes her only obsession.

She doesn't know that he only plays, he's a player

He tells me that he already gives another girl his passion

But she still thinks that she's his love twister

And the love has to end because of somekind of bad situation.

She thinks that the males love her

But she never knows what's on their mind

They have never been so much interested with her

She is only a place to play, then they leave her behind.

Sadly, she doesn't have any guy around

Noone interested with her while there's so many guy in town

Oh, she desperately wants to have a lover

Then she notices the desperate guy sitting beside her.

She doesn't want him but doesn't have any option

I just want to be loved, it's her mind's commotion

Oh desperate girl, desperate girl

Could you be so desperate like this than you ever were?

A desperate guy, with a desperate girl

Having seats on a table at the corner of the bar listening to the band

Desperate people are meant to be together

Go have yourselves a fake-love-drink from your fake-plastic-beer can.

PS 1: I dedicate this to both of you...

PS 2: Thank you for Tim Burton's The Death of The Oyster Boy.