Watching him had become a habit, or to be more
exact, a necessity. Fifteen minutes watching him under the frangipani tree
was probably the best fifteen minutes I spent in school. Seeing his
smile, counting his steps, noticing his sturdy back that disappeared behind the
cafeteria, all of that was a daily ritual that I couldn’t miss. I was
addicted.
***
It’d been five times in a row that I saw that guy standing,
leaning on the old frangipani tree that grew in the school backyard. As
usual, he put his left hand in the front pocket of his trousers, while his
right hand was holding a cellphone that he stuck to his right ear. His
lips twitched, saying words I couldn’t hear from where I was
standing. Sometimes, I saw him smile faintly, and even laughed.
He was always busy talking to someone on the other end of the
line, I didn’t know who, maybe his friend, his brother, or maybe his
girlfriend. I didn't know why my heart beat a little faster when I thought
he was talking to his girlfriend. What did I care? I was his no
one, I didn’t even know his name. But I couldn’t deny that I really
enjoyed watching him from my classroom on the second floor of the 11th
grade building. There was a feeling of pleasure when I saw him smile or
laugh. And without even realizing it, I was always waiting for his
presence. The first break bell, at 9.15, he walked from the 10th
grade building to the frangipani tree in the backyard of the school, then he
leaned against the tree in the same position while talking to someone on the
phone. At 9.30, he hung up and returned to his classroom. Every day, since
the first day of school, he always did the routine, and every day I watched him
from my classroom window.
The backyard of the school wasn’t a favorite place for students
here, the yard wasn’t well maintained because the school janitors were too lazy
to clean it. Plastic rubbish thrown from the classroom windows seemed
scattered there. The frangipani tree, which was said to have existed
before the school was even built, also contributed fallen leaves and flowers
which were only swept once a week on Friday. When I first saw the guy there,
I had thought that he was a frugal resident of the frangipani tree because no
one usually went to the backyard except for some rogue students who smoked or
climbed the fence to skip classes.
The bell rang three times, signaling the break time was
over. That guy put his cellphone in his pocket then walked casually
towards his classroom. I counted his steps, one, two, three, four,
...., and then he disappeared from my sight after taking a turn near the
cafeteria. I took a deep breath and then sat back in my seat.
Watching him had become a habit, or
to be more exact, a necessity. Fifteen minutes watching him under the
frangipani tree was probably the best fifteen minutes I spent in
school. Seeing his smile, counting his steps, noticing his sturdy back
that disappeared behind the cafeteria, all of that was a daily ritual that I
couldn’t miss. I was addicted.
Actually I could’ve approached him and greeted him, it's not a strange
thing if a girl made the first move, but I didn’t want to do that. I felt like
that would ruin my fun. It was like eating a delicious dish
served in a restaurant. The food was so delicious that you wanted to eat
it again and again, but you never felt the need to
know what ingredients were or how it was cooked. Yes, I thought
that's an appropriate analogy to describe what I felt about that guy. Doing
the ritual of seeing him making a phone call under the frangipani tree every
school day was enough, I didn't need to know who he really was.
But one day, accidentally, I met him. At
that time we were both punished for being late. We,
and other students who were also late, were asked to get rid of weeds in the
school backyard. He snatched the weeds next to me, near the frangipani tree
where he used to make a phone call. I watched his movements from the
corner of my eye. It turned out, he's cuter than I’d thought. And
he smelled so nice.
Suddenly my hand touched something that felt hot; I
screamed. I looked at the weeds and saw a caterpillar, I
accidentally touched it. My index finger and thumb were immediately red and
swollen, they felt very itchy. That guy turned to me, "What happened?"
He asked.
I showed my hand, “Just touched a caterpillar.”
He saw the caterpillar that I’d touched, and then turned to me, “Let’s
go to school clinic.”
We both walked to the school clinic which was near my classroom
building. The nurse applied some type of balm to my fingers. At first it
felt very painful, but over time the pain reduced.
“Thank you.” I told the guy.
“No problem.” He replied, “Anyway, I’m Andhika.” He stretched
his right hand towards me.
“Inten.” I shook his hand, “What class?” I asked.
“X-1, you?”
“XI Science-1.”
“Oh. So you’re my senior.” He smiled showing a dimple on his
left cheek, something I’d just found out now.
"Just call me Inten. I was supposed to be in the same standard
as you, but I took an accelerated class in junior high school.”
“Wow cool. Surely you’re very clever.”
I felt my cheeks blushed at his praise.
Now, after I knew the ingredients and how to make the delicious
food, I also wanted to make it myself. We began to meet often, texting
each other, and he called me several times. One day I ventured to ask whom
he called every day during the first break.
“How do you know?”
“I've seen it from the window of my classroom.”
Andhika let out a soft sigh, I spotted a look of sadness on his
face. There was a long silence before he said, “Nobody.” He replied.
I looked at him with a questioning look.
“Usually, at that time my mother called me from The States. A
few months ago, my mother was diagnosed with a severe illness that couldn’t be
treated here, so my father took her there to get better treatment. She
always called me at around 9 am, 9 pm there.” Andhika took a long pause and
looked down. “She died 5 months ago. Since that time my life is lonely, I
miss her very much. To remember her, I always pretend to talk on the
phone with her. I pretend to smile. I pretend to laugh. I'm
really pathetic, huh?” He raised his face and looked at me.
I didn't know what to say, so I just patted his back
slowly.
“This is the first time I told this to someone.”
“Sorry.”
“My mother was the only best friend that I had, but now, there’s
you. I'm very happy to know you.”
I smiled, “Me too.”
Our relationship was getting closer since then. I felt that
I found someone who could complete me, and I knew he felt the same way.
9. 15, the first break bell rang, someone walked towards the
frangipani tree in the school backyard, and as usual he
leaned there and pulled out his cellphone.
I took out my cellphone that vibrated in my pocket, pressed a button,
and held it to my ear, “Hello.”
“Hello.” He answered.
I looked out the window, he looked at me and waved. I waved
back at him.
Since then, he’d continued to go to the frangipani tree, not to
pretend to call his mother anymore, but to call me. He could’ve come to my
classroom, or I to his, or we could’ve met in the library, the cafeteria, or
anywhere, but that would ruin our fun. I preferred it being like
this, watching him make a phone call under the frangipani tree from my
classroom window on the second floor of the 11th grade building.
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