Aksara Taste (For Flavors That Will Not Be Perfect)
CHAPTER Five

What kind of relationship is there between a writer and an editor?

One teacher once said, “The writing is not just said, not just read. But it should also be able to be shown.”

And the first person who will see the results of your writing is your editor.

When I first edited a script, I felt like I was in a cramped, damp room. Windowless and soundproof. I want to give up but I'm afraid of losing. I want to escape but there is no way out. Want to scream but no medium.

A script written by a famous writer stopped by the editor's desk. I know the author, his first fiction novel was a huge success in the market even became a bestseller in the midst of intense competition.

It took four months and re-readed twice to understand the meaning and content of the writing. However, I still did not find any awkwardness about what he wanted to convey. Although I have contacted and asked the author to fix the part of the script that seemed messy, but the results remain unsatisfactory.

I finally refused to publish. I told him that the script under the title Miami was better to keep. I told him if the script was published, then his career could be a mess. But I got a rejection. The advice I gave was intentionally ignored. He insists on staying published and dares to guarantee Miami success with the reputation he has.

Confused as to how else, I finally asked Mas Zifran to intervene. We both took the initiative to contact and explain the lack of Miami script to the author via an office phone call. And I don't know what happened when Mas Zifran spoke up. We certainly did not return the manuscript, nor did we publish it. We keep the script. We created a learning archive.

While waiting for Mas Rudi to pick up at the coffee shop opposite the office, I continued the Cinnamon script that had entered chapter three. While enjoying a cup of Ristretto, I was swept away in the story of Ardy who lived with a sense of prolonged loss. His father, who also suffered from Otosclerosis, gave up at the age of forty. Making his mother a loner and busy shutting herself. His older brother left Indonesia and chose to live in the United States. Leave Ardy as the only family member who must survive the reality.

“I didn't know that losing would be so very painful. Even though my sense of hearing is about to die of function, I hope that Brother Arya and Mama don't leave me alone. Come on, life must go on with or without someone. Not losing and making life end, right? He will give birth to strength. Resilience will give birth to sincerity. And sincerity will give birth to happiness. Try to occasionally peek at the end of a beginning, even if it hurts.”

The moment my finger wanted to reach for the Ristretto cup, the fraction of a second before that vibration of the phone in my backpack pocket shifted my concentration.

“Hallo, Mas?” my broom when I pick up the call.

“Al, Mas in front of office. You're in the coffee shop, right?”

I turned to the window glass to look for Mas Rudi. Sure enough, he was standing across the street waving his right hand.

“Mas why there?” many wonder.

“Kok, you just say something here. What are you doing there? Come nyebrang. Buruan, Mas waitin.” his chatter at length.

“Kok, so? Mas muter dong.” sued me annoyed.

“Muter is far away, Al. Anyway you are here or not Mas stay you go.” he explained in one breath and then end the call.

From the window, I saw him standing with his hands folded across his chest. Her smile widened as I stared at her sharply. Making my frustration slowly rise and peak in the crown. For the sake of loyalty to my promise at the request of my father, I am willing to obey the crazy wishes of Mas Rudi this time. I was forced to close the Cinnamon script and step lazily outside the coffee shop.

To my right stood a young man who seemed to also want to cross over. He prepared even though the red light for pedestrians was still on for another twenty-seven seconds. Cars, motor vehicles, bajaj, and buses pass in front of us at high speed.

Twelve more seconds. I was standing in the middle of the sidewalk

Ten seconds more. My steps led me to the lip of the sidewalk.The car and bus drove from a distance of three hundred meters.

Seven seconds more. The young man to my right began to move his right leg, down the lip of the sidewalk.

Five more seconds.

“Hei! Watch out!” I cried when I saw the car and the bus was going faster.

Four more seconds.

“Hei!” I shouted, stopping his left foot that was preparing to take a step.

Three more seconds.

“You are a sucker or want to kill yourself?!!” I snapped after pulling the young man's arm.

I felt his hands tremble and his face was confused. The ballamas dance here and there. He looked at me and the vehicle driving in front of us took turns. He was like he was saying something, but there was not a single word I could hear from his mouth.

“Kalo would kill yourself not in front of me! I don't want to have any police business!” then I threw out the young man's arm.

As soon as the green light for the pedestrian lit up, I immediately left it off. Crossing the road with a feeling of unwarranted because they have to witness the incident earlier.

Regardless of the question, I immediately entered the car and relaxed the body on the back of the passenger seat.

***

Have you ever heard the term destitute?

In the past, while studying history in school, my teacher said that the feeling of fate and tolerance was one of the many reasons why our people united, fighting desperately for independence.

Living with the same fate and bearing similar burdens makes people bond. Empathy and tolerance become the connecting rope.

I think Rayhan and I are too. Although he was stoned and liked to buy time in completing the work, I feel guilty for letting him act like that.

As friends, there are times when we should not say everything our friends want to do. Even if what he wants to do does not hurt many people.

The Heart Opinion manuscript that should be printed today is still to be repaired. Make Mas Zifran blood up at exactly eight in the morning. His long-winded gibberish became one among the many voices I did not like. The entire room was silent without a word as Mas Zifran attacked Rayhan as soon as the young man arrived at the work desk.

I don't know how long Mas Zifran's talk has been echoing. For sure there's nothing I can do. The rubric opinion script, the coverage script, and the Cinnamon script were just silent on the table. I've wanted to start, but my concentration is broken because I see my comrades in arms are in big trouble.

“I asked you to move to Jakarta because I know your capacity. Please, Ray, don't let me down.” said Mas Zifran, pleading with an upset expression.

After that he went outside the room, leaving Rayhan silent alone.

“Udah is okay.” I said as I approached Rayhan. I served him a cup of warm tea that I deliberately made. I know, it's his faithful drink when he's suffering.

“Emang wrong me, anyway, Al. But, I did not expect Mas Zifran would be angry.” replied while trying to smile.

“I went to my friend all night.” he said after sipping my warm tea.

I know, to me he wanted to explain the reason he couldn't tell Mas Zifran. I pulled out my office chair and sat next to him. Placing ears, listening to the story carefully.

“He escaped from hospital.” Rayhan continued.

“Friends I looked at at that time.” he made his story clear.

“I can't tell him he's alone, Al.” his voice really sounds sliced.

“Lucky woman.” my murmur is short. Trying to comfort her, made Rayhan laugh a little.

“Not, Al. If women, anyway, I will not take a headache like gini. Let Mas Zifran say I get angry hundreds of times, I will not care.”

I raised an eyebrow, waiting for the story to continue.

“My close friends. Sick again but don't want to be treated.”

“You persuaded him to let him be treated?” my question was light, Rayhan answered with a nod.

“Means your task is done.” I said casually.

“Not any of my tasks are completed as long as he is still my best friend.”

I took a long breath. “But, right, you have already done what you should do. The rest yes, just how will your friend.”

“We can only help someone who does need help, Ray.”

Rayhan seemed to have no intention of thinking about my suggestion.

“Udah, ah. I want to continue my script first.”, I said while patting his right shoulder.

The young man smiled widely. “Thank you for the sweet tea. Next time you enter sugar about.”

Kan, I told you. Sweetness is synonymous with happiness.