The Staircase
Where the hell is He?

"Where is he?" Ask the teacher at the beginning of foreign language subjects, a language that must be known to all residents on this earth.

"I don't know, sir." I answered in easy-to-understand language. My classmates nodded every time the teacher spoke, chanting words that were amazing to us. Not very proficient, but to know a little I can even though my tongue grips every time I speak that language. I prefer to speak the language everyday. Yes, and No, the quickest and most lively words we said when the teacher pressed his tone while looking at us, asking for an opinion.

"Aren't you his best friend?" Ask the teacher, a long enough question sentence is certainly difficult for us to understand if using other languages.

"Yes, sir. But all this time I never saw him again." My answer.

"All right." The teacher continued to call one by one the names of the students in seventh grade. The name called then raised their right index finger while saying, yes, sir-pak teacher hastily crossed out the list of books present.

Three times in a row Budi is not present in English lessons. This week I did not go to class. This means, Budi has missed many subjects. It's just that the other teachers don't really care that much unlike our English teachers.

In the past few days, I took the time to stop by Budi's index even though I didn't find it. Before I pushed around the door of his room, Budi was out. Two motorcycles that were usually parked in front of his index, now vanished out of nowhere. Even the mother of the owner of the index did not know when I asked, and even nagged because since they are indecos here many flowers are missing said the mother of the owner of the index.

"You don't get alpa, except permission because of illness. Remember, this school is once in a lifetime. Even if you go to school until old age, you won't be able to feel the same moment when you're young." The teacher reminded us.

Three months in the seventh grade, in the first and second months there was not a single student who was alpa and skipped school. But in the third month, no idea of the next month - already more than five disciples were alpah, and two disciples were permission. The teacher shook his head great looking at the present list book.

"I know Budi is close friends with one of our senior brothers. I've seen them in the woods." Said one of my classmates when the English subjects ended. They swarmed the middle table, busy discussing Budi.

"Yes, I've also seen him ride a motorcycle." The second voice.

"The boy had no intention of going to school anymore." Tell the others.

I look from the front. "Ki, what do you think?" Askthem.

"I can't give an opinion yet. We don't know why." I answered while looking back.

Similarly, the next subject, the name Budi who was called after my name in the second order, always changed the tone of each teacher's voice, repeated many times until there was no answer, then the teacher continued.

Be a warm conversation among my male classmates. They had seen Budi smoking outside the school. In my heart I am grateful that they did not see me at that time.

There are also those who say Budi was careless. I'm sure Budi will because he was just able to ride a motorcycle not long from his case lately, a prolonged alpa case.

"I saw you join them." Said the classmate on my left.

"Yes, you're not so familiar. You often mess with them. At first I was envious that you could be friends with senior brother. We, right, know for ourselves in this school that seniority still exists." The second voice. His tone sounded a bit upset.

It is true, he said, seniority. Among them there were senior colonized to the point of fear. Being ridiculed, told to buy expensive items such as cigarettes, forced if not, scolded and yelled at when fighting. Every time they saw senior men gathered in the school hallway, they always avoided passing to another passageway, or else they waited until the passage was off. Naturally, they were amazed at me, especially Budi because we both were familiar and knew the senior first.

I just nodded slowly hearing their chatter. "They've been nice to you, haven't they, Ki?" Ask one of them.

I'm nodding. I know this is a semi-trapped question. If I answer, yes, the interrogation will be extended. If I answer, no, then I should think about the reason in more detail.

"They're just like us. It's just the age difference that makes them go first in this school." My answer. "Well, the bad guys depend on us. I think they're the same as us. Sometimes it can be good, sometimes it can be bad." I twirled my answers, avoided their rebuttal, took the middle path of not being ambiguous and triggered them to ask back.

"There's a point too." Said agreed.

I'm out of class, heading to the library. The most comfortable, quiet, and appropriate place to find answers to questions. They often ask why I am a hobby in the library? My answer remains the same, because I don't know who to ask.

It is easy for those who have a mobile phone, which can be connected to the internet. Although there were occasional raids on schools, they deceptively camouflaged their phones near schools and other places they believed were safe. Although there are also those who are caught wet, forced the next day to busy their parents to school.

I boro-boro there is a cell phone, calculator only until this second is still a manual calculator that used to be from coconut milk, now from the ten fingers of my hand. The multiplication trick I read from Rian's book three weeks ago is now very helpful. I haven't returned the book, I haven't met Rian.

"Where would you like to borrow a book, brother?" Ask the library staff.

I thrust some thick books at the officer, "Sorry, you can only borrow books. The other three books please return them to their original place." His word.

I went back to the bookshelf after selecting some books I was going to borrow. Near the library there is a school cafeteria, a very crowded canteen compared to this library. Or because I don't have pocket money? I murmured in my heart.

During seventh grade, I didn't know how to ask for pocket money. Especially since my father's stall was empty of buyers. More and more competition. Tibetans are increasingly being hired. The reason is wrong vegetable seeds, wrong pesticides, fertilizers, even wrong Aga.

Mr. Tibet said he was forced to allow Aga to take care of his garden. Starting from planting, care, to harvesting; Aga and several other experienced but very old Tibetan employees, quite painstakingly helped the Tibetan pack. But unfortunately the new Aga in his teens had to carry the harvest basket, and scavenge the hoe. Aga often make mistakes, that's what makes Tibetan vegetables can only be harvested in the same way.