AKU INGIN HIDUP SERIBU TAHUN LAGI

Chairil Anwar, 26 Juli 1922 - 28 April 1949.

AKU

Kalau sampai waktuku

'ku mau tak seorang 'kan merayu

Tidak juga kau

Tak perlu sedu sedan itu

Aku ini binatang jalang

Dari kumpulannya terbuang

Biar peluru menembus kulitku

Aku tetap meradang menerjang

Luka dan bisa kubawa berlari

Berlari

Hingga hilang pedih peri

Dan aku akan lebih tidak perduli

Aku mau hidup seribu tahun lagi

------

Apa yang menjadi doanya untuk hidup seribu tahun lagi benar-benar terwujud. Walau raga kembali dikandung bumi, namun jiwanya tetap menjadi sebuah inspirasi yang terus hidup.

Dilahirkan di Medan, Chairil Anwar merupakan anak tunggal. Ayahnya bernama Toeloes, mantan bupati Kabupaten Indragiri, Riau, Sedangkan ibunya Saleha, berasal dari Situjuh, Limapuluh Kota. Chairil masih punya pertalian keluarga dengan Sutan Sjahrir, Perdana Menteri pertama Indonesia.

Semasa kecil di Medan, Chairil sangat dekat dengan neneknya. Keakraban ini begitu memberi kesan kepada hidup Chairil.

Dalam hidupnya yang amat jarang berduka, salah satu kepedihan terhebat adalah saat neneknya meninggal dunia. Chairil melukiskan kedukaan itu dalam sajak yang luar biasa pedih:

Bukan kematian benar yang menusuk kalbu/ Keridlaanmu menerima segala tiba/ Tak kutahu setinggi itu atas debu/ Dan duka maha tuan bertahta

Chairil masuk sekolah Hollandsch-Inlandsche School (HIS), sekolah dasar untuk orang-orang pribumi waktu masa penjajahan Belanda. Dia kemudian meneruskan pendidikannya di Meer Uitgebreid Lager Onderwijs (MULO), sekolah menengah pertama Hindia Belanda, tetapi dia keluar sebelum lulus.

Pada usia sembilan belas tahun, setelah perceraian orang-tuanya, Chairil pindah dengan ibunya ke Jakarta di mana dia berkenalan dengan dunia sastra.

Meskipun pendidikannya tak selesai, Chairil menguasai bahasa Inggris, bahasa Belanda dan bahasa Jerman, dan dia mengisi jam-jamnya dengan membaca karya-karya pengarang internasional ternama, seperti:Rainer M. Rilke, W.H. Auden, Archibald MacLeish, H. Marsman, J. Slaurhoff dan Edgar du Perron. Penulis-penulis ini sangat memengaruhi tulisannya dan secara tidak langsung memengaruhi puisi tatanan kesusasteraan Indonesia.

Chairil seorang "penggila" buku yang rakus. Ia melahap karya-karya W.H. Auden, Steinbeck, Ernest Hemingway, Andre Gide, Marie Rilke, Nitsche, H. Marsman, Edgar du Peroon, J. Slauerhoff, dan banyak lagi.

Menurut H.B. Jassin, kalau sudah membaca buku, maka buku itu akan dibacanya dari malam sampai menjelang pagi.

Bersama temannya, Asrul Sani, Chairil sering mencuri buku di toko buku yang dulu bernama Kolf dan van Dorp di daerah Juanda, saat ini telah berubah menjadi kantor Astra.

Suatu kali mereka melihat buku Friedrich Nietzsche, Also Sprach Zarathustra.

`Wah, itu buku mutlak harus dibaca,' kata Chairil pada Asrul Sani. `Kau perhatikan orang itu, aku mau mengantongi Nietzsche ini.' Chairil memakai celana komprang dengan dua saku lebar, cukup besar untuk menelan buku itu."

Buku-buku filsafat, termasuk buku Nietzsche tadi, diletakkan di antara buku-buku agama.

Kebetulan buku Nietzsche ukuran dan warna sampulnya yang hitam persis betul dengan kitab Injil.

"Sementara Chairil mengantongi buku, saya memperhatikan pelayan toko," kata Asrul.

"Hati saya deg-degan setengah mati.”

Setelah buku berpindah tempat, kami lantas keluar dari toko dengan tenang. Tapi sampai di luar tiba-tiba Chairil terkejut, `Kok ini? Wah, salah ambil aku!' sambil tangannya terus membolak-balik buku. Rupanya Chairil salah mengambil Injil. Kami kecewa sekali."

Begitulah tulisan tentang Chairi Anwar, yang dicuplik dari buku Chairil Anwar: Sebuah Pertemuan, karya Arief Budiman.

Lain cerita ia pernah mentraktir temannya makan dengan menggunakan uang hasil menjual jaket temannya itu yang beberapa waktu lalu ia pinjam.

Chairil pemuda yang urakan, selalu kekurangan uang, tidak memiliki pekerjaan tetap, penyakitan, tingkahnya menjengkelkan. Walaupun begitu dia bisa menjadi contoh yang baik dalam ketotalannya berkesenian.

Berbeda dengan Sanusi Pane, Amir Hamzah, Rustam Effendi, dan M. Yamin hanya menjadikan kegiatan menulis puisi sebagai kegiatan sampingan, di samping tugas keseharian mereka sebagai redaktur sebuah surat kabar, Chairil menjalani hidup semata-mata hanya untuk puisi.

Teman dekat Chairil Anwar semasa kecil, Sjamsulridwan, pernah menulis di majalah Mimbar Indonesia, edisi Maret-April 1966. Katanya, salah satu sikap Chairil yang menonjol sejak kecil adalah sifatnya yang pantang kalah.

"Keinginan, hasrat untuk mendapatkan itulah yang menyebabkan jiwanya selalu meluap-luap menyala-nyala, dan boleh dikatakan tidak pernah diam."

Di luar rumah, Chairil tumbuh menjadi pemuda yang lincah dan penuh percaya diri. Di samping karena kedudukan ayahnya, otak yang tajam dan cerdas serta sifatnya yang terbuka, tidak mengenal takut atau malu-malu, membuat ia dikenal dan menjadi kesayangan banyak pihak, baik di kalangan guru maupun di antara teman-temannya.

Di kalangan gadis-gadis, Chairil juga disukai karena wajahnya yang tampan dan menyerupai orang indo. Meskipun dia angkuh dan selalu merasa hebat, dia selalu mudah sekali berkenalan dengan siapa saja, tanpa pernah membedakan status sosial, status ekonomi, dan intelektualitas.

Wanita adalah dunia Chairil sesudah buku. Tercatat nama Ida, Sri Ayati, Gadis Rasyid, Mirat, dan Roosmeini sebagai gadis yang dikejar-kejar Chairil. Dan semua nama gadis itu bahkan masuk ke dalam puisi-puisi Chairil.

Namun, kepada gadis Karawang, Hapsah, Chairil telah menikahinya. Ia menikah dengan Hapsah Wiraredja pada 6 Agustus 1946. Sayangnya rumah tangga mereka tidak bertahan lama. Akhir 1948 mereka bercerai, dan putri tunggal mereka, Evawani Alissa, dibesarkan Hapsah.

Tanggal 28 April 1949, setelah sempat diopname selama lima hari di CBZ (sekarang RSCM) karena penyakit TBC yang dideritanya, Chairil mengembuskan nafas terakhir pada usianya yang hampir ke 27.

Ia meninggalkan warisan karya yang tidak begitu banyak, yaitu 70 puisi asli, 4 puisi saduran, 10 puisi terjemahan, 6 prosa asli, dan 4 prosa terjemahan. Kepada Evawani, putrinya yang masih berumur satu tahun, Chairil bahkan hanya mewariskan sebuah radio kecil, berbentuk kotak warna hitam, bermerek Philips. Dan seperti memenuhi pesan profetik dalam salah satu bait puisinya: "di karet, di karet sampai juga/deru angin", Chairil dimakamkan di Pemakaman Karet pada hari berikutnya.

( dari berbagai sumber)

Yang Esa adalah Sang Jujur, setidaknya bagi saya, terima saja.

 

Illustrasi  oleh La Tessa Dwandiandra 

SATU SETENGAH

Short Story By Endra Rintovani


*Satu setengah dalam aljabar mungkin berarti 1 + 1/2 atau jumlah bilangan pecahan bisa juga hasil pembulatan. Sedangkan ibu-ibu di pasar dan para pedagang memaklumi satu setengah untuk ukuran berat, jumlah atau sejumlah uang. Dan mungkin saja untuk hitungan apoteker ya takaran dosis obat resep dari dokter  untuk pasien. - Tuan Muda dari Bukit Menoreh.*
Rayap mungkin masih tidur ketika derap tangga kayu di pagi kering itu menderit. Sepasang mata enggan terbuka penuh ketika si empunya menuju ruang makan. Pelan mengambil nasi secukupnya dan duduk. Sebentar kemudian berteriak memanggil-manggil. Si terpanggil buru-buru menapaki tangga yang sama, dan bergegas menghampisi si pemanggil. Si terpanggil nampak segar dan bercahaya-hasil mandi selama setengah jam lebih. Tak lama mereka larut dalam suasana sarapan sederhana.

****

Diam menjauh dan pamit undur diri ketika si pemanggil memulai percakapan tentang sebuah bilangan.

” Jadi apakah kau wahai Si Terpanggil, masih menyimpannya? Dan sudah menjadi berapa? ” ujar Si Pemanggil sambil mengambil pisang di tengah meja makan.

“Aku pikir sudah keberapa kalinya pertanyaan itu kau tanyakan, ini repetisi atau memang kehabisan pertanyaan?” jawab Si Terpanggil seenaknya sambil beranjak ke wastafel mencuci tangan.

“Eeeh, sudah berani ya sekarang?? ya, aku cuma ingin memastikan dan daridulu kau tak pernah memulai percakapan, aku tahu benar.” kata Si Pemanggil.

“Hmm..haha, aku tak cukup pandai membuka pagi dengan percakapan dan aku tahu kau lelah.” jawab Si Terpanggil.

“Jadi? bisakah saya mendapat jawaban? ” tanya Si Pemanggil menelan sekerat pisang terakhirnya.

“Masih, Satu setengah skala lima dan Conditional. Ada lagi? ” jawab Si Terpanggil menyodorkan air putih hangat untuk Si Pemanggil.

“Hmm…okee, aku mau mandi dan bekerja lagi. Sini cium sekali” Si Pemanggil membawa gelasnya dan menghampiri Si Terpanggil.

Si Terpanggil mencium kening Si Pemanggil. Dan Si Pemanggil menuju ke lantai atas. Pagi resmi menjadi siang. Jam berdentang, meneriakkan pukul 9 lebih satu setengah.

****

Jumlah sering kita artikan sebagai penyeragaman atas adanya logika ketika perasaan tak pernah bisa menghitung dan dihitung secara kasat mata. Perasaan adalah sumbu tanpa angka-angka, timbangan tanpa bandul-bandul, skala tanpa perbandingan, bentuk bukan geometri, dan kadang-kadang menjadi pengkhianat diantara benar dan salah.

JAKARTA'S ART SCENE

Text by Fadhly Muhammad, Photography by Dilla Awaluddin

On a sweltry afternoon, I had a little conversation with a Jakarta based Art Event Initiator, Joko Ono. An eccentric man, constantly changed his name as he met new people. It's a delight to actually meet Joko Ono in person. He has been very much participating in lots of Jakarta's Art Scene. Art Event Initiator is practically an enterprise that create art exhibition. As we lightened our cigarettes, conversation started.

"What makes Art Event Initiator different than other medias?"
"We are people behind the curtain who support the artists to express and to get accepted by public. On most cases, media don't stay behind the curtain, they expect an exposure. Common people would easily misinterpret those overexposed media as a "community". And this creates unnecessary gap between the media and the viewers. That's why I choose to stay as an anonymous media called Art Event Initiator."

Way back then, Joko Ono had no intention to create Art Event Initiator. He used to teach art at university. His students showed unique and raw materials that inspire Mr. Ono to make an art exhibition. Their visions were mixed with art principles, and voila, a successful art exhibition on campus. At that moment he realized that art and society merged as one.

"It's like music, most people consume music, why it can't be applied on drawings. I try to expand the definition of drawings so it could be consumable for common people."

"Speaking of common people, how do you see art scene and Jakarta's public?"
"Too exclusive, the subject and the audience don't branch out."

According to Joko Ono, common people feel alienated on most art exhibition events. It's too easy for people to be labelled as an artist in Jakarta. With an effortless arrogance and connection most people could be an artist. Not to mention that art communities are very much separatist. It'd be better if we could abolish the gap in art society and create a fusing-art-community that could be consumed for all types of viewers. Joko Ono believed that the artists idealism and public's curiosity are two important variables that should conjoin. When an artwork could hatched an empowerment or inspiration, that automatically gives a value to that artwork. That's how art plays its part.

"What's the biggest obstruction that you face as media?"
"It's hard to be media, we have to promote the essence of the artists' visions and make it consumable for common people. And fund has an important role on an exhibition. On most cases, sponsors could distort an event's message so the communication isn't pure as it was planned."

Joko Ono notice that the urban society had been very opened and enthusiast towards the growth of the artists and their idealism, "They call it lifestyle."

"But common people aren't opened yet, they have rights to consume art just as much as the urban society. So I really want to tell that art doesn't have to be exclusive."
"Art exhibition could trigger public's awareness and understanding to life. It'd be orgasmic if public could participate on the growth of Indonesia's culture."

Joko Ono and I realized that if public's awareness is still minimum, the artists won't have enough feedback to be productive. This kind of paradigm shifts our artists to play saved and be a mediocre, in order to get public's acceptance. However the artists still need to be aware that they have to make their works applicable for public. There's mutualism energy between public and the artists in order to expand the definition of culture in Indonesia.

"Last question, how do you see Jakarta's Art Scene in 10 years?"
"The execution would be very much advanced. Unfortunately public's appreciation is very dry. Let's just say that internet came to Indonesia in the 90's, there are so many internet companies. But until this point, people don't maximize the potential of the internet. Most people use it for games, chats, and other light activities. So it's very clear that public don't understand the core of advancement, yet. Fingers crossed, I am hoping that 10 years from now public and art would blend and make a mutualism connection as a part of our culture.

SAJAK - SAJAK KAREN PRIYANKA

Garis Garis Koordinat Kartesius

Garis kita berjalan melewati absis-absis yang sama,

Tapi lihat, ordinat kita begitu jauh

Kita tidak bersinggungan, tidak berhimpitan

Garisku sampai kapanpun tidak akan memotong garismu di titik manapun

Kemungkinan terbesar cuma ada saat kamu kembali pada ayahmu

Salah satu ordinat titik pada garismu bergeser menuju garisku

Aku mencoba menggeser ordinat titik pada garisku supaya garis kita bisa bersinggungan

Tapi ordinat titik pada garismu harus kembali keatas

Sayangnya ordinatku tak mampu naik lebih tinggi

Sudah lama aku hanya bisa lihat absis titik pada garismu

Ordinatnya sebegitu jauhnya

Ah kabarnya garismu dijaring oleh garis lain

Garis yang titik absis maupun ordinatnya jauh dariku, jauh darimu

Bagaimana mungkin? Benarkah hanya karena garisnya pernah melintang lewat ordinat titik garismu?

Penggemar Rahasia

Akhirnya datanglah malam yang kutunggu-tunggu

Malam ini ia akan datang

Ia, priaku yang gagah, berjubah merah, dan haus darah

Sudah dua minggu nyamuk-nyamuk pilihannya berpatroli,

mengendusi darah siapakah yang paling lezat

Jam telah berdentang sepuluh kali

Aku telah siap dengan kulit tercantikku

Sebelum salah seorang penghuni rumah ini meletakkanku di halaman rumah,

kupandangi lagi tanggal hari ini,

Tanggal 13, Hari Jumat

Pukul 01.03, kudengar kepakan kelelawar

Kulihat ia menjelma menjadi Drakula di hadapanku

Itu priaku!

Kurapikan kulitku sambil memberinya senyuman

Ia bergidik menghirup aromaku, wajahnya marah,

Ia tak kuat, Ia harus pergi atau mati sesak nafas

Ah priaku, andai aku bukan sesiung bawang putih

Penghapus

Seorang pelukis menggores sketsa padaku

dengan pensil tumpul yang empuk, nyaman

Perlahan aku melihat kepala, wajah, lalu rambut;

Badan, dua tangan, lalu dua kaki

Ah, Manusia. Laki-laki

Begitu yakinnya ia dengan lukisannya

Sampai-sampai Penghapus absen

3 bulan kemudian... Kulihat warna cerah

4 bulan... Kuhirup aroma bunga

5 bulan... Tetes air? Baru kali ini aku bertemu air tanpa kuas

6 bulan... Deras tetes air. Hujankah?

8 bulan... Ah, Penghapus, lama tak jumpa. Tapi aku masih basah

Dikala basah aku dihapus

Dihapus sampai koyak

DESMOND AND MOLLY

Written by: Mega Saffira

The story begins in the 70s era in London, United Kingdom. At one of the side of the city, there lived a man, an average-looking man with his brown wavy hair, blue eyes and 170 centimeters tall named Desmond Jones. He was the son of a police officer named David Jones and a pop star named Elianna Jones, but Elianna died when Desmond was only 7 years old, and now the young man is 21 years old.

Since David was getting older and older and so was his son, he really wanted to have a grandchild.

‘Desmond, find a wife and give me a boy!’ David always said that each time Desmond is going to go to work. Desmond always reply with a yes, and yes—he is searching, but the destiny still wouldn’t look at him yet. He did have a girlfriend from his childhood named Sara, but when Desmond proposed her to marry him, Sara denied and told Desmond the truth that she had cheated with another man and she loved that man more than she loved Desmond. At that time, Desmond’s heart was broken very bad. ‘I wish I could have a beautiful wife with a beautiful voice, just like my mother…’ Desmond wondered one day.

Every morning Desmond goes to work in the market place, he had one barrow there. He sold things such as groceries, household appliances and some toys. Most of his customers are old women and little girls. To find the girl of his dream at the market place is really an unreachable dream!

‘Sorry Sir, may I have this Lolita doll for free?’ An orphan girl came to his barrow and beg him for a doll. Desmond felt annoyed by her appearance. Doesn’t the little girl know that Desmond was not one of the rich guys that can easily giveaway 150 pounds dolls to an orphan? Desmond was trying to shoo her until a voice was being heard, ‘Excuse me, Sir?’

Desmond looked and found a very beautiful woman with her golden hair, peachy lips and brown eyes standing right behind the little girl. ‘I will buy the doll for her. Don’t hurt her by shooing, Sir.’ Continued the woman. Her voice sounded like a little child. ‘Her beautiful face and her doomed voice,’ thought Desmond.

‘I wasn’t going to shoo,’ replied Desmond, ‘I just wanted to say sorry, nicely—and give her a candy.’ So Desmond took a lollipop from the bar and gave it to the little girl. The beautiful woman smiled and gave Desmond some money while the little girl was taking the doll and hug it in her tiny arms.

‘Thank you, Ma’am…’ said the girl as she went away and left Desmond alone with the woman.

Desmond still feels paralyzed since the first time he saw the woman. Some people call it love at the first sight, and Desmond started to believe in that phrase.

‘Girl, I like your face.’ said Desmond, ‘My name is Desmond.’

The woman giggled. ‘I’m Molly, have you heard me sing?’

‘Uh—what?’ Desmond couldn’t understand what Molly means by saying that.

‘O-bla-di O-bla-da, life goes on.. bra! La la how the life goes on..’ sang Molly as she took Desmond by the hand.

Desmond sure felt familiar with the song, it’s a popular song—and the voice of Molly sure sounded like the real singer of the song. It had no difference at all. Molly’s singing voice is much more beautiful than how she talked.

‘Are you the singer from the band..?’ asked Desmond, curiously.

Molly nodded as she smiled and say goodbye.

The days after, Desmond couldn’t stop thinking about Molly. He felt so stupid by not recognizing her at their first meeting, while the posters of her band and her face were all over the city. In short, Molly was a very famous singer. And Desmond didn’t have any television at his house, he only had a radio—so he just knew the song, not the singer’s face.

Desmond was very surprised finding Molly came again on the following day to buy some fruits. They talked more, and Molly appeared again on the next day, the day after, and a little love was growing between Desmond and Molly, though slowly, but surely. Day by day they learned about each other, and finally the air was filled with love!

‘Molly, I know it sounds silly and really hasty, but… will you marry me?’

Molly laughed hearing that from Desmond. Then she told Desmond that proposing is not as simple as that, not in front of a market place, and a man has to give something as a proposal gift to his woman.

‘You’re… my woman?’ Desmond was happy when Molly mention the word “your woman”.

‘Yes,’ replied Molly as the tingles gotten onto her face.

So Desmond went away after telling Molly to wait at her house. As soon as he found the closest jewelry store, he brought a trolley there. With the help of the shop assistant, Desmond finally chose a 20 carat golden ring and purchased it.

‘Are you going to propose a woman?’ asked the shop assistant.

‘Yeah, why?’ replied Desmond.

‘Nothing, But I’ve got a feeling you will get a yes.’

By the support of the shop assistant, Desmond left the store with an optimistic smile.

Molly was waiting at her door when Desmond came and took the golden ring back to her. Then Desmond proposed her again to marry him, and after singing a little part of her song, Molly said yes. Desmond had never been this happy before. And they married 2 weeks later with a small celebration held at Molly’s house garden with pretty much guests.

In a couple of years, they had built a home beside David Jones’ house so the grandfather could visit his grandchildren anytime. With a couple of kids running in the yard, it looked like a dream come true for David, Desmond and Molly Jones. But after 2 years without singing, Molly missed her job. She missed the band, she missed the gigs. So she asked Desmond if she could sing again. But Desmond wouldn’t let her do it. He thought that if Molly sings again, she will have no time for the kids and Desmond couldn’t take care of them by himself at the same time because he had to work at the market place also. Molly tried to understand it though she felt upset.

About 4 years later, day by day Molly looked worse and worse. Although her beautiful wife won’t say a thing Desmond was sure that it is because Molly still missed her job years ago. So on a Sunday Desmond talked to Molly and told her that she can sing again if she wanted to. Molly was very terrified.

‘I’ll let the kids lend me a hand at the market place, that’s when I’m watching at them. They’re big enough to help me, Dear.’ Answered Desmond when Molly asked him about the kids. Then she thanked Desmond, hugged and kissed him. ‘I really love you, my Desmond!’

Started on the following day, Desmond let the children lend a hand for him in the market place when Molly stayed at home and done her pretty face. And in the evening she still sing it with the band, ‘O-bla-di, O-bla-da, life goes on… bra! La la how the life foes on..’

And since then Desmond and Molly with their family lived happily ever after.

THE CANE

Text by: Wennes Wouters

Am I really that closed book on the top shelf accumulating dust? It must be so. I haven’t been read for years. I wish I could go down a couple of shelves. Promote myself to eye level in this huge library. Am I able to do so? Perhaps I should analyze the pages of my life before somebody else opens the cover, flicks through the thing, and takes a glance at the last few words of the final page.

I have always been in awe of the beauty and the forces of nature. I stood on Friedrich’s cliff a fair number of times, peering into the foggy distance, contemplating on something and sometimes on nothing. My trusty cane prevents me from plunging to a certain death. It is not my will to tumble into the icy water, I am just that overwhelmed by it all. One is easily distracted by these smells, sounds and images, by these wonderful impressions. And when you close your eyes, the feeling infiltrates your entire being.

It took me a long time to experience such a feeling after moving to the big city. At first I was at a total loss about where to look, what to hear and which scents to inhale. The overwhelming sensation was there, as in nature, but it had changed into something vile, something putrid. Yuck! I even noticed the expression of my face starting to turn. At first I felt my lips curling into a disapproving smirk that motivated my nostrils to stand outwards. Soon after, my brows were rapidly closing in on each other, creating an area of ripple marks between my eyes. I was in shock when I saw myself in an empty shop window.

I roamed the streets like this for quite some time, growing grimmer with each step. But then I noticed you. I see you in bars, on squares, even in packed churches. You are not one person. Sometimes you are blond, sometimes brunette, ginger or black. You are tall, you are small, fat, skinny. Sometimes there are many of you. You move in packs, happily chattering among yourselves. Whenever I see you I am back on that cliff, now without the support of my cane. I close my eyes and pretend to smell your skin. My knees shake. With fear of drowning I open them again and see you are gone, around some corner. But there you are again. You just popped up from behind another corner, as an epiphany on high heels.

My days are brighter now. I found overwhelming nature in myself, maybe too much. If I don’t act quickly it will overtake me and there will be a flood. I am full of nature trying to burst out. I want to meet you, talk to you, make you smile, be together, make you mine, but how? Why do you keep looking at me like that? What do you expect from me? My mind is about to pop, pondering on a possible opener. And then it happens. It is you who comes up to me.

‘Hey, are you ok? It looks like you’re worried about something.’

‘Nah, I’m alright. Thank you.’

‘Are you sure? It seems you’re lost.’

‘Err, well, I was... It’s kind of embarrassing, but if you must know, I was just thinking. It has been a while since I had somebody I could really talk to, you know? And, well, I was just thinking what to do. Where to go, to meet new people I mean.’

A beautiful smile.

‘You know, I know how you feel. My best friend just left to study abroad for six months. I’m really starting to miss her. Hey listen, considering we both need a conversation partner, would you like to go for a cup of coffee or something? Just to have someone to talk to?’

She smiled ever so sweetly. I agreed and we went for some coffee.  She was really easy to talk to because she did all the talking. After this first session we exchanged phone numbers and said goodbye. I immediately ran to the bookstore to get some romance novels. Of course I wanted to see her again. I had never gotten this close to a meaningful relationship. I needed to know all the tricks in the book to keep this one. So I read. I read four whole days before I texted her.

After three more sessions, eleven cups of coffee, thirteen biscuits and a piece of apple pie I finally dared to ask her over to my place. I had made all the arrangements, even cleaned up the place. Key in front door, held it open for her, took the lead in ascending the narrow stairs and opened the door to my small studio apartment.

            ‘Oh, this is cozy!’

She sat down on my bed.

            ‘Would you like something to drink?’

            ‘Just some water please.’

I went to the kitchen, got two glasses from the top cabinet, filled them with bottled water and sprinkled the white powder in both of them.

She smiles as I come back to the room. I sit beside her on the bed and hand her a glass. We drink. My cane slips.