the dream

i had an almost weirdest dream about you the other day.

you were either a guy who blew up things,

or a terrorist as people nowadays called.

or some sort of serial killer. or a sniper gone bad. i'm not really sure.

the only people who are left to trust you were me,

and my mother whose face at times changes

into some woman at work, a doctor

whom these days i work closely with.

the thing was, after you blew up some building,

you shot somebody, whom i now forgot who,

from a rumah gadang shaped zeppelin,

which we, i don't know who 'we' are, but i'm confident

that it was not just me who were looking out for you,

were sure that it was where you would likely to hide

when you were targeting somebody.

we were right. you shot somebody. but we couldn't find you.

 

then one day, you went to see me.

showed up on my doorstep. yes. my own place. mine.

with the t-shirt i often see you wearing.

the cream striped brown one. and your worn out jeans.

and faded army-green jacket.

i knew you were a fugitive. but i went with you anyway.

funny thing. you came to take me out on a date.

not a big fancy one where people would notice who you were.

but a modest one. where you would try to please me in your own way.

we stopped to buy snacks.

you bought a packet of steamed peanut. and two steamed corns.

while i bought some fried tempe which i told the seller not to add cheese flavour.

i know. it was weird. it was a dream.

then you gave me your hands, and although

romantic things are not on our plate in the real world,

i took and held them. then we went for a walk holding hands.

while we didn't say a thing about anything.

it felt that i knew all the reasons of your wrong-doing.

 

then i woke up. i checked the time. it was 3 something o'clock.

i went back to sleep and strangely enough that the dream continued.

but this time i was with some guy at work. we were at some training.

and the conversation about you came up. and somewhere along,

i learned that you were in such a terrible condition or situation

that i had to go and get you. or maybe just see you.

and somehow it was my mother whose face still changes at times

into some woman at work, a doctor whom i work closely with,

who showed up and offered to drive me up to where you were.

we went with an old kijang. and the road was terrible.

it was like the road to meulaboh from teunom after the tsunami. even worse.

but that was nothing compared to my mother driving.

her ability to drive was clearly worse than the one i know of.

she was reckless and the car almost flipped. but we pull through.

when we got there. the place was surrounded with the SWAT team.

 

then i woke up. and it was already the time to get ready.

it was saturday. and i had a youth volunteers gathering to attend.