Lucy

She holds my hands tightly, too tight I think. It feels different from yesterday, or the day before yesterday, or from any other day, no one ever holds me this way. I almost forget how to feel this way, to be held this tight, to feel loved in a way. It tickles me a bit when her hand touches my hand, yet it feels so warm. The warmth goes through our hand, passes through my heart, and spreads to every inch of my body. This might sound weird and exaggerating, but I do feel like that. The face does not ring a bell though, who is she? I search for my husband; ah there he is standing next to the door. I give him an intense look; well I try to be, so that he can read what I’m trying to say. It does not work well though; my husband looks in different direction of my staring. It is as if he tries to avoid my glance towards him. There he goes again, staring blankly with his face towards the window, watching the leaves fell down and hit the ground. He always does that when something bothers him. It somehow becomes his special method of thinking I guess. He once said that the falling leaves help him to think, it soothes his mind and make the problem as clear as the bright sky in the morning.  

When the leaves fall from the tree, its movement in slow motion is like how our mind actually works. It can flow to the right or to the left as the wind blows it up. This goes the same with our way of thinking that tends to be influenced by others. When the wind blows it up harshly, the leaves will automatically move along with it before it touches the ground. It is the same when we judge at something, or at people. When the majority agrees in something, we tend to go along with them without give much consideration about it. It somehow becomes the truth like the Bible, and we do not have any choice other than to go along with them. My husband said when the leaves finally hit the ground that is when he comes to the final decision of his problem. He does that often these days, and I’m starting to wonder why. Today feels like a get-together kind-of-thing with the family, well his family to be precise. I manage to remember some of them, but still not this girl who reach my hand from the very moment she gets into this room. Who is she? I keep repeating this question over and over again in case I have missed her somehow. I do not really care though, as long as she gets me, it is fine. It is even better, much better! This is perfect I guess, because I can tell her everything, everything that I cannot tell to other, even to my husband. The little girl, as her hand holds the woman’s hand awkwardly, a bitter smile suddenly formed through the girl’s thin lips like she wants to utter something, but it gets stuck in her mouth somehow.



Clevelyn Tobing

A student majoring in English literature class 2011 in University of Indonesia. She is currently working in three organizations on campus and also in the process of completing her undergraduate study in Faculty of Humanities. Ever since she was a little, she always loves to read many books. It somehow triggers her to take prose writing class in order to produce such great writings like the books she used to read in the past until now. Her motto is, “Writing is a tool to express ourselves to others. It should contain our minds, our feelings, and more importantly our hearts in it. So write, write, and write!” If you would like to know her better, contact her through her email: evintobing@gmail.com.