FIZAH (Female Kolong Garbage)
PART 19 “Menu Special”

*Rubia El - Hazimah

Reflex raises my question, “What Mr Ibban is ready to marry, yes?” My lips are also wide.

“Bu Bia stand not in the middle of the road, Mom,” said Mr. Iman. His name is Sulaiman Ad-Dhafaa’

“Oh, sorry sorry, Mr.”

“Sorry accepted,” answered while cheering. Intentionally nudged my shoulder. Then, look at me while laughing happily.

“Pak Faith.” Kulirik.

He sits. Wearing her glasses. Hate me for a moment, then curse the word, then,

“Bu, why look at Mr Ibban's desk? Want to borrow that book?” The question is like corrupting me.

“Today I saw no books on the table. The most borrowed one, sir. Just ngaku njengan.”

“Indeed I borrowed.”

Fellow lecturers who are not married, sometimes mocking each other's singles status is common.

“Awas lo, Sir.”

“Awas??” Splash.

“Bu Bia if you like Mr. Ibban just say it. Do I need to be the one who skipped? Mr. Ibban is insensitive. How, Ma?” More cornered me. I'm ashamed of myself.

Know Mr. Ibban is nongol at the door. Take off the backpack, then sit down. Sighs while saying hamdalah lirih.

“Hopefully Mr. Ibban did not hear the words of Mr. Faith earlier, my inner”.

“Pak Ibban?” call Mr. Faith.

I glared at him directly. Mr. Iman, who was aware of me, forbade him from speaking, mocked me with a smile. And, Mr. Ibban also followed the view of Mr. Iman. They both look at me. I looked at them in turn.

“Not really, Mr. Ibban,” I said normally. I sit back.

“Pak, Bu Bia would like to give you lunch again.”

Instantly I showed a row of teeth because it was directly stared at by Mr. Ibban.

At home earlier.

I soon caught up with my mom in the kitchen after waking up, praying, and spending a few pages.

“Ma, today I'm the only one cooking.”

“Tumen nawar?”

I'm taking over the coconut that Mama's gonna shred.

“Your father today wants to masakin anointing and mangut catfish. Can?”

“Can kok.”

Mama astonishment. I, who was rarely in the kitchen, suddenly took over the job. Mama still watches me. Checking my gelagatku—asked why.

“Mama knows. Because Mr Lecturer?”

“Loh, when do you know about Mr Lecturer?”

“Eh.” I'm flabbergasted.

“Papamulah. You didn't tell Mamah.” Mama manyun's. Sobbing spoiled on this first child.

“When to be invited here, Bia.”

The motion of the coconut grating hand stopped.

“Haaa? Not brave, Ma. Mr. Ibban is the one who made me condone.”

“Say your Papa you're familiar? Still hugging too?”

“Iya. What, yeah, Ma? Um...Mr. Ibban is that guy, deh.”

“Pas Mama denger, Mama instantly curious. Kan, you've never been dating, never told about ajnabi, suddenly at the age of as early as you tell. Mama thought it was code. Code, right, Bia?”

I giggled afterwards. Iwadap mama.

“Ma, what code, anyway?”

“You don't feel old yet, Bia?”

“That's your little brother's already planning a wedding.”

My brother is a boy who is currently twenty-four years old. A year's distance from me. As a result of the loss, he was born. The man he was born with, he always preceded me in many ways. In the end, I also lost a step in love. Moreover, three years in the pesantren made me want to focus on science. The thought of getting married was only after I entered s2. But, at that time there was no suitable view. After, learning to teach as a lecturer, then I met Mr. Ibban who I think he is a special figure.

“If you want to make a special meal for the Lecturer, mendingan Mama only. Yeah Mama, I don't doubt you, Bia. But, Mama does not guarantee it tastes good.”

“Mama, Mama. Just look later, Ma. Mama forgot I've been a nyantri and been in the dorm for how many years. I'll get the nurse out today, Ma. Already Mama just rest.”

“Good. Mom is waiting for the results. How do we make a deal, honey?”

“What, Ma?”

“If the cuisine fails, you must take the Lecturer to home.”

“OK, Ma.” I answered easily. I'm sure the results will be very good. Mama will be surprised later after tasting my cooking. If it fails, it will be very difficult to invite Mr. Ibban. The chances of Mr Ibban being prepared are very small.

An hour and a half later. Without mother's intervention. And, it's true. Papa, mama, my brother Salman was satisfied at the first taste. Yes, even though my mother was disappointed because the agreement was canceled and Salma jaim praised the cuisine of her mother.

And, now I really want to give that food to Mr. Ibban. For lunch later so that Mr. Ibban does not have to buy. As I recall Mr. Ibban today taught until the afternoon. Sometimes I also see him buying rice wrap or ngandok in the campus cafeteria as well as chatting with senior students.

The food is now in my sling bag. Hopefully it doesn't spill. There is nothing special about the food. Plating is also ordinary because I think Mr. Ibban will feel strange if it looks uniquely decorated. But, it feels that I hope it fits on the tongue of Mr. Ibban who incidentally santri who will most likely like any food.

“Bu, quickly love Mr. Ibban there,” said Mr. Iman again.

Mr. Ibban just smiles. Either the one who was smiling was my behavior or he himself wanted me to give it to him immediately.

“Bu Bia?”

“Yes, Mr Ibban?”

Mr. Ibban propped his chin with his hands. Stared at. “In fact Mr. Iman is also very fond of you. He told me once, when I ate lunch from Bu Bia, he said he said it was good. Wish to be loved too.”

Mr. Faith is there. Darkened. Screaming.

I also laughed softly. I'm not sure what Mr. Ibban said is true.

“Pak Ibban, Bu Bia, Pak Iman wis definitely in the room like to make a crowd,” said another lecturer.

Other lecturers followed suit, “So they are still single all, right, Bu.”

Senior lecturer, already quite sepuh said, “Bu Bia it's time to get married. There are two single men grabbing the ball. Whoever takes the ball, puts it in the goal, wins. I'm waiting for the results soon, Bu.”

Bengek. Why does this room every day feel like a drama room. I wanted to let go of the laughter, but stuck.

Finish teaching. I just entered the fourth semester student class majoring in Islamic religious education. I entered an empty room. It's time for action before Mr. Ibban gets back. I took a quick spot to eat a green mint with a bear's head. I put it on his desk slowly.

A few minutes I sat down, then Mr. Ibban alone went into the room. Knowing there was food on the table, he looked at me as I pretended to be seriously staring at the laptop screen.

“Thank you, Ma.” He smiled at me.

“Enggeh. Equally, Mr Ibban.”

“But, instead usually Bu Bia prefer to give it directly to me?”

Dan, I just thought of that. Why when I give is my own cooking, I am just shy and not confident. Should've reversed.

“Ah, it's okay, sir. Please Mr Ibban icip. What is not good, later Mr. Ibban told me.”

Mr. Ibban moved his lips. Beards later.

“Pak Ibban already khatam naji the book?”

“This book?”

“That's Fathul Izar, right, Sir?”

“Iya. Khatam alhamdulillah. From SMA instead.”

“Estrict?” my inner.

I watched him eat at the first drop. I'm sure he likes it.

Mr. Ibban immediately exclaimed, “Masyaallah. Delicious too. Just as good as yesterday. Or, it's different cuisine, huh? Yes that?”

“Wah, anything new?” chirps Mr. Faith.

He immediately snatched Mr Ibban's spoon. Spooning twice while the mangosteen is also his first shot. In the second he looked at me with his thumb up.

“Open catering, Bu?” ask Mr. Faith.

“Mboten, Sir.”

“Yes if open, I would like to order a review event at home.”

“Ehm..

“Can, right, Bu accept impromptu catering?” He looks serious.

“Serious to, Sir?”

Mr. Ibban laughed at my mimicry and Mr. Faith.

“Iya. Seriously. Home with close to me, Bu.”

“Later I ask to Mama, Sir.”

“Siap.”

Mr. Ibban continued to eat it voraciously.