[Short Story] Call Me Bung Tomo

 

Call Me Bung Tomo
(By: Naelil)

The molten wax oozing from my forehead to my chin. I wipped it with a tissue. Not much help.

Still continued to melt. Sun like a fire that would not give up
to kill my candle. And the yellow-skinned space public transport that runs increasingly made me seizures like an eel without water. I wipped my forehead once again.

“I wonder, what is the benefit of demo,” minivan drivers beside me throwing opinions. I was the closest to him so I automatically answered, “I guess, voicing an opinion, Sir.”

“Do you think their voices will be heard?”

“At least, they’re ever trying to argue.”

The driver pursed lips forward; sneer, “But they cause a traffic jam. It’s difficult for me to get passengers. A lot of people prefer motorcycles.”

Oh … so this was the problem. I nodded. Just got my mouth open a half to answer the statement, the driver said, “Is there no other way than the road? Through facebook or twitter, maybe.”

“Yeah, I see … but it will not be maximized.”

“The the maximum is in the street? Broke the existing facilities. Don’t they think that to build all of this, do not use money? They have been make this traffic jam, plus damaging the existing facilities. Don’t they realize that the government was slow in handling it, don’t have much money, and they still broke it,” the driver sounded angry.

I threw my view out to the outside of window. It seems like… months lately, sparked a burst of light tapping the bones spirit. Starting from August to November. Beginning of the Indonesian independence on August 17 and the bereaved on September 30, the magic spirit of Pancasila on October 1, then picked up by Heroes Day on November 10. I was reminded of one of my friends in high school. He always talked about heroism on fire. Regarding independence. As if there was an alarm in every joint in his body that is ready to bark when the red buttons with the keyword “free” echoed.

When my friend was chosen by the students to became a student council president, his hold nationalism programs at school, more and more. And then, many students regretted by choosing him before. Really. Once a month, he made competition. Recitation the 1945 constitution, 45 items of Pancasila. And explained the map of Indonesia with its culture and its history. Unfortunately, who did not participate will be punished each class. Bah!

Then, when the ceremony took place August 17, he launched a new program that is for students who do not follow his program have to write a copy of 1945 constitution by handwriting.

In every Friday, we all cleaned up the streets and the smelly sewers which was full of disgusting filth. It was all his idea and the school was approved it.

Ugh Tomo! Yes, his name was Tomo. And he was very proud of it. Almost every day he told us to call him Bung Tomo. Yes, his passion could practically like that great man, the real Bung Tomo. I suddenly dreamt how if he was the president of this country. Or at least the regent. I was sure he would love Indonesia so much and everything about it. He used to go to school by wearing batik bag and blankon. Not only that, Tomo was also capable of playing angklung and gamelan as well … he was a performer in our graduation ceremony. Puppet story, he almost memorized that all. Astonishing!

“Miss, where would you like to stop? In front of exactly where we are now, there is a demo,” the minivan driver destroyed my musings by talking his favorite topic today, the demo.

I was in a bit shock, “Turn…,” my black eyes rotated simultaneously with my brain. Somehow, I suddenly forgot my goal. “Emm… demo of what, Sir?” I asked while looking for an idea where to stop.”

“The demo of illegal gold miners.”

“Where?”

The driver shrugged,” What is clear is that the boss name is Tomo.” My eyes bulging suddenly alarmed.

“Still a student tho, but he had been brave on cheating already,” continued by the driver.

“Left, Sir!” I chose to stop in front of the food shop. Not that I was hungry, just wanted to find certainty.

I stepped slowly and approached several protesters after giving four thousand rupiahs to my minivan driver. Carefully because some of them had started to ignite emotions.

I tried to take a sip of woven yarn which embroider a young man’s faceon banner they all carried on.

“To-mo?” my breath caugh realizing who do they demos to. The leader of illegal gold miners that damage of forest ecosystems in the mountains.

I couldn’t believe that Bung Tomo-my high school friend-as soon as it changed? Ah, the social intercourse. Apparently, only the name which was still the same with the real Bung Tomo. Then, i decided to went home, shaking my head in disbelief. Slightly dissapointed but what could I do?

The End

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