FIZAH (Female Kolong Garbage)
PART 18 “Witing Tresna Jalaran Saka Kulina”

*Nizami's Ibban

It's still July.

It only takes about half an hour for the normal and smooth path to the Wetan Tile. I enjoyed the days before I moved to Tulungagung. But, I have to stop by the book bazaar. I left half an hour early to stop by.

I looked at the motorcycle next to me. I think I know who owns the bike and the black helmet, two white coiled strips with a sticker that says santri. From there I can guess without memorizing the license plate.

He had mondok three years while sitting on the bench aliyah madrasah. Because he had aspirations of school in Central Java, he finally had to give up his status to be a santri, then finish his studies for four years majoring in pure mathematics. After that back to Banyuwangi, S2 lectures here take education programs. More or less I know the history because he himself is like a friend in college.

It turned out that after I entered, shortly after flipping a glance across the room, he was indeed there. Khusyuk confirmed the book he was holding. Only visible head that is wearing instant scarf in deep red. Contrast with the color of his skin is white because it is used to wrapped in skincare, he said. Head lowered. Her lips pursed and sometimes her eyebrows fused together or rose next to each other. Sometimes his head turned to the left. He may still be confused about choosing a book. I approached him.

“Search what book, Ma'am?”

He looked up while confirming his round glasses. Creating smiles.

“Wah, there's Mr. Ibban. Find what books to sell?” Staring back at the back cover, reading the blurb.

“Novel.”

“It turns out Mr Ibban likes novels too, yes.”

“Kok surprised, Ma'am? Weird?” I smiled thinly. I read some titles in front of me.

“I think Mr Ibban is a formalist. Every time I put the task of a college student on the table, his books must be nonfiction. There is even a yellow book.”

Mbak Rubia's statement made me have to let go of a soft laugh.

“What are you looking for yourself, Ma'am?”

“Hope to buy a book of statistics. But, smitten also with the novels, sir. Nice-nice. Try writing a novel record of what is good for upset souls?”

“This I also just want to ask.”

“If you like this novel, I am a bit surprised, sir. Indeed since when, anyway?”

“Since in pesantren.”

“Loh, yes?”

“Again.” I laughed at.

“I've loved it too. Even from elementary school. Just being a connoisseur. Not writer. Or, maybe Mr Ibban has secretly published a novel?”

“Good idea, Mbak.”

“Means?” He stepped to my right side. Slicing a book with fingers whose fingertips are given color.

“Previous not to mind.”

I noticed the title that interested me.

“This suits you.”

“Kala,” murmured. He took over. Reverse book. Reading blurb.

“Suit this. Want to buy this book too?”

“No.”

“It. Njenengan, right, men. Her heart is not as melancholy as women.”

“Yang about mom.”

“You were presented to Mr Ibban's mother?”

“I read it myself kok.”

“Yang mine Iwan Setyawan already?”

“Already. Year 2012, the beginning of the book print I directly buy it.”

“Ehmm...Athirah? But, I forgot the author.”

“Also already. I recently read it.”

“One day with you?” Focus on thinking about some titles he still remembers.

“Also already.”

“When Mom forgets you?”

Kontan I pulled. “Who is the author?”

“Hehe. Forgot, Sir. I'm trying to help find.”

We step together. Looking for another shelf.

“Or on the table pile it might be a lot, Sir.”

I'm staring at him. “No morning schedule?”

“Still later noon kok.”

Rubia's mom raised her index finger. Exclaims.

“It, Sir, the book. Thank God there is.”

He precedes the step. Get her book. Given it to me.

I made sure the book would interest me. I'm in need of a book about mom. I leave my mother soon again. And, it turns out this book is suitable so that I never hurt the feelings of the mother who always considers me her son who is sometimes not quite mature. Still noticed this it.

“Good, Mbak.”

She smiles.

“But, now I want to buy what, yes?” muttered later.

*Rubia El - Hazimah

We went to college together. I also bought two reading books. Mr. Ibban told me to go ahead with a wave of his hand. I overtake, then turn right.

Ten minutes later we arrived at the college. Entering the main door, then park the motorbike in the row of lecturer-specific motors. We parked side by side. The vast courtyard was filled with thousands of vehicles.

“Later to get out, right, sir, if parked here?”

Revoke contact.

“Can.”

“Pak, I go to the mosque first. Duhaan. At home did not have time.”

“This is still what time? I forgot not to wear a watch.”

I saw my watch. “Less than fifteen minutes before third hour.”

“Ya. I am to the mosque too.”

“Good. Monggo, Sir!”

“Hoe, Mas Bro,” greet Pak Satpam. Very friendly ones. So out of her kindness, I knew after this she would say what.

Mr. Ibban immediately shook the guard's hand. A typical handshake of people who are already very familiar despite the different status on campus. But, they're the same age.

“Must leave together or go home together.”

“Pak, must it be when lo?” my many.

“Yesterday Tuesday also leaves with.”

“Ah, no. Cook?”

“Mas This lecturer definitely remembers.”

She's staring. “That we accidentally met at the stall.”

“Owh, the. Not accidentally.” I hit the security guard's back. His attitude must be like that. His words are like matchmakers.

“Every time caught together, always ngeles he said accidentally. But, if it is true to accidentally meet, beware Mas Bro if you are dating this ugly Lecturer.”

“Or, may you like Bu Bia?” Replace accusing.

Their gazes met in glances that wanted to laugh at each other.

“Who said? I'm not strong. She's cute, but sometimes chatty.”

“Come, breakfast, Bro!” Embrace Mr Ibban.

“Already, Mas. We want to pray first.”

“Busyeeethose. Salad also with?” He chuckles.

“Sakarepmu (it's up to you), Kin, Rukin,” I said.

I'm ahead of the step.

“Have duha prayers yet?” ask Mr. Ibban to Rukin.

“But.”

“Leave first. We were duhaan first. Other security cameras are still there.”

“Ya okelah.”

As soon as I came out of the bathroom, I saw Mr. Ibban especially meeting with Rukin the gokil security guard. I quickly took a hug after long queues in the bathroom with the female students. They add rakaat after the first greeting. Immediately I recited takbir with his intentions. Before long, beside me followed three women who became makmum.

In front of the rectorate building.

“I went there first, Bu.”

“Good, Sir.”

I walked alone to the lecturer room. My room and Mr. Ibban did happen to be one room from the beginning. I noticed his desk there was a pile of papers, task books, student files that will graduate at the end of knowing later. And I also found the book that was there yesterday when I came home. There is the book of Fathul Izar.