The True Love
late to home 2
Entering the first day of the holy month of Ramadan Dad still did not want to change his bad habits. Every night, Dad is still busy with dominoes and drinking alcoholic beverages at the patrol substation with his friends\-friends. Go home at five or half-six in the morning with shaky steps, red eyes, and a musty smell. As usual, Dad will sit for a while on the porch, spend a stick of two cigarettes while enjoying the coffee made by Mom in a hurry, because Dad will be angry if just a little late. At least Dad is not ashamed of right-neighbor\-left who is practicing fasting.
It was as if Dad had become a god in our home. We, his children\, dare not refuse the orders of Father. Rejecting means a slap on the cheek or a kick in the butt or worse yet a slam of glassware that causes Mother to run away\-birit into the room and cry as she pleases. Naturally, the goods were all that Mother bought from setting aside her employees' salary which was not much. Therefore, Mother often told us to just obey what you want, because otherwise, our own loss.
Eventually, me and my two younger siblings grew up as children\-children to be kind and obedient to parents. Despite our obedience to Dad because of the forced. But, it doesn't matter. Because for us, the most important thing is how we avoid slaps and maki caci Avah vang often invites the attention of right neighbor\-left. And that means we don't hurt your feelings. For among us, it is Mother who bears the most shame if the angry Avah\-angry\-sampal utters the words\-harsh and slovenly.
Mother is cool dew in the morning. His eyes pacified our hearts. Refreshing the drought of our souls. Mom is like a rock that stands firmly in the middle of a wave, Mom never gets angry even though the treatment of Dad is so painful. Mother bowed silently, and most only cried as she pleased when Dad scolded, snapped\-snapped, or even slapped her. Perhaps for Mother, obedience to the husband is a value of worship in itself. I don't know.
Honey, the person we love so much must quickly return to his lap. One year ago Tbu left us when we still desperately needed his presence. And perhaps, that was the beginning of the disaster that befell our family, Dad is getting less and less at home. In addition to squandering money at the gambling table, Dad also began to dare to play women. Even a few times you can bring a woman to stay at home. We were so tormented to see Dad behave. Right-neighbor\-left seems also disgusted to see our family. Until\-till Deni, my youngest sister, ever wanted to stop from home because it could not bear the shame.
Little by little, the household furniture sold Dad. We could do nothing but stare blankly when Avah and some of her friends came in with trucks and hauled tables, chairs, closets, and other valuables. A friend of Dad told me that Dad lost millions of rupiah gambling so that the item\-goods must be confiscated.
In the past, I thought Dad would turn into a good I after Mom's death. I still remember how Mom's last message to Dad was just a few minutes before death. At that time, we were her children and Dad was beside her mother who was lying weakly on the bed. Intermittally, I told Dad to want to pray five times. Dad was silent, not warting. And just then, I saw the usually fierce and haunted Dad suddenly turn soft. His eyes dimmed as if implying sadness and regret.
But, it turns out that Dad's sadness does not be. immediately for long. One week after the funeral lbe Avah began in his old habits. It's getting worse.
One time, I told Dad I wanted to do my last message. But, Dad just laughed while patting me on the shoulder, he said, "You think if I pray then we'll be rich, huh? You pray hard, but God still does not give you money. You are still poor. Never mind, I don't want to talk about that anymore. Whether I pray or not is my own business. You don't have to interfere."
Other times, I have also told Dad that prayer is not intended to find sustenance, not to be rich, he said, but solely to draw near to Allah because it will thus be spared from the act of not being commendable. But, Dad was angry. While pounding the table, Dad said, "Child yesterday afternoon, know what you are about life, huh?! Life is eating. And eating it takes money. D-u-i-t! You knew?"
"Dad claimed to be a Muslim, but Dad did not follow His commandments" I replied cf. I cf. I cf. I cf. Fearful.
Dad walked up to me and grabbed me by the neck. "I don't believe in any religion anymore" he sighed like a fidelity. Then, go outside after previously slamming the door hard.
Since then, I have never talked to my father. I'm sick of seeing Dad do it. Especially if you are carrying a woman who out of nowhere to stay a few days at home. Although we still often meet face to face, but we are like strangers. And I knew there was a look of hatred in Dad's eyes when he was staring at me. But, I don't care. And so, life flows as it is. I work early in the morning and just come home late in the afternoon. I go out at night and usually come home in the morning. Or, not going home at all.
One day at work, after a Friday prayer break, I got a call from Deni, my youngest brother. With a disjointed voice, Deni told me to go home immediately because Dad had an accident. When I asked how Aah was doing, Deni just turned on Lalu, while holding a sob, Deni said that Dad died at the scene.
I did not know what was really on my mind, for I was not surprised at all to hear the news. I also don't feel sad about losing my father. It's as if nothing ever happened. But some time to. mudian, somehow I was moved to ask permission to go home to my boss.
When I got home, my house was empty. It's not like there's death. There are only a few neighbors and close friends of Dad who often hang out at the substation. I understand. Like me, many people don't like Dad. Therefore, it is natural that when they die, they are reluctant to come to our house.
Dad's body was put in a crate. At least I don't want to see it. Wh-wh-what for?
"The truck driver was drunk." Deni said as I approached my youngest brother.
"Not the other way around?" I answered lightly, at that moment, which was immediately greeted by the strange gazes of some people around me.
And either way, I suddenly felt someone clutching my arm, strong, then pulling into the room.
"Don't be ashamed! Your father was hit by a truck while crossing the street, going to Friday prayers!" haji Malik said in his room.
Friday Prayers? ask me in my heart, surprised. While Haji Malik was out leaving me, I was still glued to the spot. Confused, agitated, sad, disappointed, and I don't know what else the feeling of being stuck in my mind was.
The distance between my house and the mosque was about a hundred meters. Dad got hit by a truck while crossing it and completed no more than fifteen steps.
Until the arrival of the ceremony of the departure of my house remains still quiet. The only ones present were, no more than fifteen people, that was even more former gambling friends. Their faces looked sad. I don't know how sadness.
And, I still have time to hear whispers between them, "To honor the dead, there's no harm tonight, we play cards here, okay?"