translation of LAPANGAN PARKIR SIANG ITU

A Parking Lot in the Afternoon

KEISHA AOZORA

“Check, check,” someone grabbed the microphone, “Get closer, make the rows tighter.”

It has been a very grey day, as if the clouds are going to drop at this large parking lot. A place with no trees that usually burns your skin, it chills today. If you inhale, the air will run to your lungs and rob a pocket of honey from there. A big stage stands strong, and the host looks masculine and graceful. A tall body with beautiful hollows that tempts us to lean our heads inside.

I walked closer to the stage, with a hundred of another heads, but their footsteps is almost noiseless. I could only hear my shoes stepping on the ground, and my breathing sounded so clear like an old music box inside my throat. My feet were wet by sweat. Every breathe I exhale felt  like pushing all my insides down to my toes.

“We are here today, my brothers, for our faith.” The ice-cold of a knive touched my hand. The speaker spoke for the air around the microphone that got sucked up by the host. This heavy breathing had never been heard before, on the phone, some times ago.

“Hello, am I speaking with Alexa?”

“Yes?”

 “Are you joined in the triple double you dot togetherwego dot net?”

“Yes, I’m in your mailing list.”

“Our event will take place in two weeks. There is no pressure, you can come or not. We’re here for you.”

I stared at the charming host and listened to the sound of heavy breathing around the microphone. This person looked like a hero near end time. A staple rope tied up tight on the stage ceiling, hanging still unblown by the wind. “We’re here not because we are weak, we are not losers!” A loud raspy voice hit the mic. I saw blood was dripping time to time, by my side. Looked like this anonymous had attacked the appetizer.

Me, my self… I was just holding this piece of a big garden scissor that was broken in two. I made it sharper this morning. My mom liked to garden alone, dressing up the bushes, cutting the wild branches, until one day I found her head hanged up on the mahogany tree. Not far from her body, I found this scissor. It was already broken in two, like my parents. Two knives that tied to one, is a scissor. Each of us here in the parking lot was a knife, that already wet with dog’s blood before the prayer sung [1] and this strong person on the stage was a round screw that tied a hundred of knives to hurt the dusk, for its orange to look braver.

“But we’re here ‘cause we know, that no value we could respect anymore. Love and inner piece is a great lie.”

“Oh mother of fuck!” someone behind my row shouted in shock. I looked back to witness a man down on the ground, his body was convulsing with foam out from his mouth. His face turned green and all the nerves showing up to the surface of his skin, slowly but sure. Since the leave of my mother, I had not felt anything. There was no hate, anger, or anything. Every feeling was perfectly buried down with her body.  This present moment was the first time I felt my heartbeat so lively… as if my eyes were going to roll out of their lids.

“Alexa, didn’t you hear your aunt? She asked you what do you want to be when you grow up,” my Mom looked at me like a gardener that puts so much hope in the flowers. My hands was holding on to her skirt, a behavior considered as misbehave for her. She said it shows to people that I am a chickenshit. Only a baby can grab her mom like that.

“I want to be Dad…”

Mom looked at me so angrily and her friend giggled, “Alexa, you’re a girl.. maybe you mean you want to be a mother?” I shook my head, slowly but continuous, “My mom loves my dad so much, she looks most beautiful when she’s in his arms, I want to be Dad!” A fast and painful slap landed on my cheek. Mom was angry, and she is always angry – to me, and always love – my Dad. I want to be Dad! I want to be a fugitive, I want to be the one whom the pregnant woman always seek, banging her hands on our gate. I want to do anything Dad did so I could be the one my Mom loves. 

The host’s hands hung on to the head hole of the staple rope, already standing on a tall speaker, and dropped the microphone. “Let’s end this nightmare now!” The voice was loud enough to break my chest, convulsing the mortar and aggregates in the asphalt. Canon of painful cries mounted up, stabbing this parking lot like meteor rain.  I could hear a sound of a knife cutting a throat again and again until the head almost fall. Bodies hit the ground but the cries sound still, blowing in the air like mantra. 

I strengthened my will, I woke up my heart that had been long dead, for today. See you, mother! The knive torn my intestines. I faintly stared to the host and that person said, with a voice that shakes, “I…I changed my mind…”

June 25, 2013 [03 AM]

Translated on July 6, 2013 [1 AM]

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[1] In Islam, before we slay animal’s head for food, we pray out loud.