Between Our Love and This Morning's Rain
PART 7'S

MAYBE Kinanti and I are destined to be a match, then we will get married, have children and live happily. No, no, it's just my delusion. About the soul mate, who knows. What is happening right now is that Me and Kinanti are destined to be together, in one class.

We both get into the top class, let's say 1A, where according to rumors this class is inhabited by smart people. I mean, smart people. Honestly, I doubt what they say because in this class there is me and Cipto.

“Welcome to class 1A, a class commonly called the superior class, where the students who enter here are the students of choice, students with high educational value. Students who will later be used as examples by other classes,” said a teacher, in front of the class.

“We're the ones of choice, Mik,” whispered Cipto sitting next to me.

“Lo is wrong, we are not the chosen ones to be an example for another class,”.

“Terus?”

“Lo should know, smart people like them also need entertainment and props to compare which ones are smart and which ones are stupid.”

“Means we are entertainers dong?”

“Maybe.”

“Are we stupid?”

“According to lo, lo pinter what is engga?”

Cipto was silent for a moment, then he shook his head and said, “How about we move classes?”

“Why?”

“Gue wants to be a loser.”

“It is precisely if you move classes, you will be considered a loser.”

“Lo really too,” Cipto nodded. “OK, then let me be the one who will lose them,” he said, steady.

“Lo sure?”

“Sama lo but.”

“Huuuu..”.

Too cool to talk, even though whispering, makes us forget that in front of the class stands a teacher who is talking at length, maybe a kind of greeting or long greeting.

“Hey, you guys are sitting the very back!” and the teacher rebuked us. “Try forward!” sounds like a bad sign.

We also felt a thumping feeling. The first day in the seeded class will probably also be the last day.

“What are you guys talking about?” ask the teacher I don't know his name yet.

“Anu, Sir..” replied Cipto, nervous.

“Whose girl?”

“HA HA HA!!” I heard laughter from other students.

“Not about anu, sir,” I took over the answer because I believe Cipto will only make it more messy, “tadi we are in discussion.”

“What discussions?” ask Teacher.

“About rarity BBM,” I replied.

Cipto looked at me with a shocked face.

“It looks interesting,” says Guru, “then what conclusion did you guys get?”

“I think the rarity of BBM is due to the depleted supply of BBM and the increasing need for BBM, plus the increasing number of vehicles using BBM in Indonesia. You know yourself, right, in Indonesia motorized vehicles are very much, let alone in Indonesia, where we have a lot.”

The teacher listened to my words. The whole class was silent, listening.

I continued, “Especially now the motor loan is very easy, there are even those without DP, light installments plus subsidies as well. This also opens up great opportunities for motor importing countries to Indonesia such as Japan and China to take advantage of as much.”

Then the Master asked, “In conclusion?”

“In conclusion, the cause of BBM scarcity in our country is Japan and China.”

“HA HA HA..” some laugh, some are silent, may not know what is worth laughing at.

“You should be a lawyer, so that you can turn on people who have a direct relationship with related cases,” said Guru.

“He he he..”

The teacher told us to sit down.

We went back to the back seat, but not to talk anymore. We were silent, listening to the teacher speaking in front of the class, not about the lesson, but about him whom I later knew was named Ibrahim. Mr. Ibrahim.

Mr. Ibrahim talked a lot about himself and his life. He also talked a lot about class 1A which is very expected to be a pride class because he is the guardian of class 1A.

“Two years ago, one of the students of class 1A won the first prize of the District Level Mathematics Olympiad,”, said Mr. Ibrahim.

Everyone looks amazed. I wasn't.

“A year ago, this class won the general champion in classmeeting,” he said. Classmeeting is an inter-class competition that is usually held after a semester replay, before receiving a report.

The others nodded, listening carefully. Cipto also nodded, either because he was listening or because he was sleepy.

“So, I hope that class 1A who now does not want to lose competitiveness with class 1A before,” said Mr. Ibrahim.

“Iya, Sir.” excites other students. I wasn't.

“This class already has an economic observer,” Pak Ibrahim pointed at me, “but please, learn again yes, collect accurate data and facts!”

“Ready, Sir!”

The class closed with the departure of Mr. Ibrahim left the class which was then followed by a break bell. The first day is not directly learning, only filled with introductions, introductions and introductions.

ME and Cipto were walking, about to go to the cafeteria, we had not had breakfast. I think school is a saturating routine, we come early and then we go to class after the bell rings. Then we learn according to the mood, if we are happy at the lesson, we will learn with enthusiasm, but if not, we can only look at the clockwork that seems to move very slowly. Then we hear a break bell, we will feel happy, like we are out of prison, even though we know that later we will go back into prison.

But school is not as scary as that, if in your school there is someone who can make you stunned when you see it, there is someone who is able to make your eyes can not blink, he said, there is someone who can make your heart beat faster.

“Kepik...” Someone called me, and he's the only one who still calls me with that call.

I stopped, Cipto stopped too. I turned to the source of the voice, Cipto also turned to the source of the voice.

Someone walked quickly to us as if waiting. After close, he said, “Where are you going?”

“You to the canteen,” I replied.

“Ikut.”

“We, right, want to go to the canteen guys?” I said.

“Emang canteen has gender?” said.

“I mean..”.

“Ha ha ha.. Yes, yes, I understand you,” he interrupted my words. “Kantin boy same canteen girl, right, next door.”

“Alright,” I said. And we stepped three, lined up.

Me, Cipto and Kinanti, we stepped towards the cafeteria while having a light conversation, just like people used to do. Maybe to look familiar.

“Kepik, your explanation about BBM rarity was good,” said Kinanti.

Cipto smiled, half holding back a laugh.

“I'm amazed,” Kinanti continued.

“Ah, that was just a fad, an impromptu essay,” I replied. “What parts are admired?”

“Have it,” replied Kinanti. “Your spontaneity is good, the way you concoct words is also good. I also know, you really have another discussion about the rarity of BBM.”

“He he he.. was just from ceplos aja,” I replied.

“We again discuss about losers,” said Cipto, join nimbrung.

“Asal ceplos aja can be good and convincing so, how about being serialized, try? You are talented as a writer,” said Kinanti.

“Ha ha ha.. writer,” I just laughed. “Writer is hard on his life, can eat if the book is good, if you don't practice he might eat a book, right?”

“Iya anyway,” Kinanti nodded. “Part of public reading interest has been reduced.”

Then a moment's silence.

“Eh, you talked about losers, what do you mean?” ask Kinanti, re-open the chat.

“Miko said, in the superior class we both will only be made losers,” replied Cipto, honestly.

“Kok can?” Kinanti.

I scratched my head that wasn't itchy. This should not be said, Cipto. Kinanti looked at me more deeply, as if waiting for me to answer her question. I said, “So gini, we were both discussing our whereabouts in the superior class, the hell time people like us can enter the superior class? At most we'll just be made losers.”

“You can't think that,” says Kinanti. “It was too cynical, Miko.”

“Iya also sih.”

“Teachers must have a consideration of why you are included in the class of excellence,” Kinanti added.

“Tuh, I also said what?” sahut Cipto's.

“Emang earlier you said what?” I said.

“Ya, don't say anything anyway,” replied Cipto.

“Ha ha ha. already, do not debate. You guys are funny huh?” kinanti.

“I'm funny, she's dorky!” I said, pointing at Cipto.

“Nak aja, lo the tacky!” rebut Cipto.

“Ha ha ha.” Kinanti just laughed.

“Lo village!” I said.

“Enak. Lo yang village. Coffee drinking time with straws?”

“From lo, drink bandrek mixed ice!”

“Kan, let it cool?”

“That's a drink for warmers, ****!”

“Ha ha ha.” Kinanti laughed more. “Udah ah, you two this is weird!”

After feeling enough to make Kinanti laugh, we finally separated in front of the canteen door. Kinanti went into a canteen dominated by women and we proceeded to a canteen dominated by men. There is no canteen for a sissy.

INSIDE the cafeteria, we sat opposite each other, facing each other at one table. A clean, neat and quite crowded canteen. On the table there is a ketchup bottle, a sausage bottle and a few spoons and forks in the container.

“Lo want to eat what?” ask Cipto.

“Engga. I'm the pesenin.”

“Kirain lo who paid,” mumbled. “Ayam burn.”

“Bi, roast chicken two!” cipto said to Aunt Canteen.

“Engga no, Dek,” Aunty Kantin replied.

“Engga there said,” Cipto said to me.

“Gue has been horrified,” I said. “Try the chicken betutu!”

“Ayam betutu no hgga, Bi?” Cipto asked again.

“Engga there too, Dek,” Aunt Canteen replied while serving other buyers, who did not seem to ask too many questions. “This canteen, not restorant.”

“Engga there too, Mik,” says Cipto.

“Gue has been kicked!”

“Keep we eat what?”

“Ayam bakar ngga, chicken betutu engga,” gumamku, “we eat lontong vegetable aja!”

“Alternatively disappointing,” said Cipto. “Bi, two vegetable lontong!”

“OK!”

We ate the food available in the cafeteria. Actually, in my opinion, eating does not need to be luxurious, about the taste it depends on our mood at meal time. For example, even though you eat French-style Chicken Burn but if you eat it in a state of unpleasant mood, after being rejected by the scuffles for example, I am sure the food will taste less good on your tongue. But the vegetables that are eaten after you walk and chat with the people you like, it will taste better than French Roast Chicken.

I SEE Cipto eating very greedily. This morning, he had not had breakfast. Cipto's good habit as a person who comes from the village is to eat without talking. Yes, I like that, rather than people who eat but talk, as we usually see in Indonesian soap operas and movies.

Finish eating, Cipto back sound, “Enak ngga, Mik?” he asked, I was still chewing food.

“According to lo?” I asked back, after swallowing the food, then put the spoon and fork on the plate.

“Lack of good,” whispers.

“But you run outin too?”

“He he he.

After we finished eating, we paid and went back to school, but without Kinanti. I don't know where he is, maybe he's already in class or maybe he's still in the cafeteria. But for sure, he's grown up and I'm sure he can't get lost.

“Lo want to wait for Kinanti?” cipto asked, we walked in a row.

“Gue just don't know where he is,” I replied.

“She is beautiful youo.”

“Emang.”

“Lo has a crush, right?”

I stopped, I looked Cipto in the eye, then I told him, “But you don't say the same to him.”

“Until when do you want to be a person who can only like secretly?” cipto said. “Not you yourself who said, you never fell in love but never dated because you never dared to reveal the feeling of lo?”

“But I'm scared,” I said.

“Little children also know, if you dare it's called fear.”

“Not afraid that's what I mean.”

“Yes, I understand, I do not ********** very much!” cipto said with a flat face. “Lo fear love lo rejected, right?”

“Tuh, you know!”

“Quiet, if the affair, hand me the same,” he said, bragging.

“How can I tell you the same lo, you yourself have never dated!”

“Yes too, huh?”

Then we stepped in silence. Perhaps this is called a true friend, one who is afraid to try, the other who has never tried. I feel like we're two little guys stuck in a sloppy teenage world.

NIGHT came again, ushering in coldness and solitude. Maybe for some people it is true, but for us, boarding children, there is no silent day or night, even if only together, with Cipto, Si-Jawa-Kampung-Yang-Salah-Gaul, he said, enough to make this kostan look inhabited.

We were sitting outside, on the terrace, with a cup of coffee that we enjoyed together, accompanied by music from an old guitar that Cipto brought, he said. Although Cipto looks cute, it turns out he is good at playing guitar.

“Lo want what song, Mik?” he asked, already like a professional guitar player.

“Lady Rose from Superman Is Dead,” I replied.

“Do not use English songs, I do not understand.”

“Yes already, who is not a Hero,” I said.

“Can do a bit relaxing, it's a punk song, lo taste height.”

“Whatever you want!” i said, annoyed. “What can you do, as long as not the same Fleet Kangen Band.”

“Ha ha ha.. why?”

“Gue likes.”

“But their songs are good,” said Cipto.

“Gue hgga says ugly,” says, “gue just don't like it.” Yes, in my opinion, all music and songs are good, created with the feeling and imagination of the creator. But, as a listener or music connoisseur, I also have the right to choose my own taste in music.

Finally Cipto sing some songs randomly from bands that are popular and strange when singing the sound of Cipto does not medok. I enjoy it as an advantage that Cipto has.

But we must realize, we live in this world not alone, we live in a place we are not alone, there must be others around us. And sometimes people are not always happy with what we do. Like my Mother's Host.

“You don't make a fuss!” yelled Mother Kost from inside the house.

“We're in a fuss, Mom!” my answer. “We just sing.”

“Iya, it's a storm! Noisy!!”

“If whispers, not sing her name, Mom!”

Mother Kost came out, and ruffled her waist at the door. “Can you sing it tomorrow?” he said, “now disturb people who are resting.”

Cipto stopped strumming his guitar.

“Jawab, Cip!” I said, to Cipto.

“Kok me?” he said, with a confused face.

“Kan lo who sang?”

Cipto then said to Ms. Kost, “Tomorrow what time is it, Mom?”

“CIIPTOOOOO!!!!.....” Mother Kost seemed to be unable to stand it anymore, her emotions exploded. I don't know, sometimes the cuckoo guys are funny, but sometimes they're also annoying.

Seeing the incident, Mother Kost who screamed like a possessed person, Cipto and I immediately entered the house, ran to the room and locked the door of the meeting room. No one dared to make a sound, we leaned against the door, occasionally looking at each other with anxious and fearful faces. Mother Kost rampaged, or maybe Mother Kost was possessed? Or could be Miss Kost had a heart attack? Or high blood? Ah, fear often comes with excessive thoughts.

“Lo anyway!” I whispered, to Cipto who was sitting next to me. We're still leaning on the door.

“Kok me?” said.

“Udah know Ibu Kost angry, you even wear it clock all!”

“Gue, right, ingga tau,” Cipto berkilah, “gue kirain tomorrow I was told to sing for him.”

“Bego lo!”

“Ya sorry.”

We lowered our heads, noiseless, still leaning against the door with breath and an erratic heartbeat. No one dared to get up, no one made a sound, we kept quiet, put on a good ear, listened to the movements that were happening outside the room.

Silent. Slender. There was no sound, no movement, we were still silent and my mind was restless.

“Do not-don't Mother Kost trance,” whispered.

“Lo don't bother me,” whispered.

“Can only, right?”

“Engga possible,” Cipto replied. “After me, if people are possessed usually yells hingga clear.”

“Don't Miss Kost have a heart attack!”

“Miko!!” snapped Cipto, but still whispered. “Lo don't bother me!”

“Maybe now Mother Kost fainted, or convulsing.”

“Miko!!”

“Try lo check!” my whiskey.

“Engga dare,” Cipto replied. “Lo aja!”

“This, because of lo. Kan lo made Mother Kost scream.”

“But..”.

“Engga no buts!”

Cipto was silent, he sighed deeply. Then said, “Bu... Mother...”

There's no answer.

Cipto try again, “Bu... Mother...”

Back there is no answer. Cipto looks anxious, he looks scared. Me either.

“Try again!” I said.

Then Cipto again call Mother Kost, “Mother..”

“WHAT ELSE????!!!”

Hearing that answer, Cipto and I were shocked, we both jumped on the bed, then took a pillow to cover our ears. But before that, in a state of fear mixed with shock, Cipto said to me, “It turns out to be alive, Mik!”

“Thank God!”

Then we closed our heads and ears tightly until we fell asleep. Either sleep or actually we fainted because we too long to hold the head with a pillow.

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