The Bloom of The Sunflowers

I saw him there. And he stole a glance at me.

I can barely breathe when the wind blows strongly, freezing my skin, and making my hair go out of place from the bun that I rigorously styled this morning. But this hairstyle is a part of my job. I’d start to lose money if my bun were not right. So I try to fix this bun once again, looking at the glass window in front of me, not too far away from my seat. I look at my wrist watch and find out that it is already 5.15 in the evening. Well, this evening has been ruined just like that, just like many other evenings when Febby decided to take the bus and arrived 30 minutes late. If the one who I am waiting for were not Febby, the only person who could bear me and be my friend since my childhood in New Jersey where my parents live, I would have made an exit since 20 minutes ago.

While waiting, my mind cannot be off of guessing the highest probability of the number that’s gonna come out tomorrow at the office. People say that my office is the most depressing place to work at. For me, Wall Street is my make-believe heaven. Plus, the place’s worth the stress. More pain means more gain.

Owning more time to think, I feel like I am betraying my left brain. My muscles, nerves, and pulses, are all begging to have some rest. On my typical work day, when I don’t have plans with Febby, at this very minute, I’ll still be telephoning my clients; Mr. Boggards, Mr. Drowns, and Mrs. Greene, to arrange their stocks. Whether or not they be rich the next day, is up to my suggestion and decision. Now, I feel so guilty for letting my left brain rest before 9.

Out of nowhere, my right brain discovers a shady shade of a man’s face who is intensely staring at me at times when I am not looking at the bartender’s stage, exactly the place where he sits on. Now that I am looking at that spot, he casts his eyes away, to the bawdy park and polluted river behind me, a little bit to the left. For a crazy or hopeless or whatever romantic, this might be a divine revelation, a chance for acquiring happiness. But I easily get annoyed by a man, who by chance wears a flimsy white v-neck sleeveless tee, short pants, and a pair of furry flip flops.

 
I’m still observing the colors of his eyes, whether they match with the color of his dyed hair or not, when he turns his head directly back at me. Of course I don’t have time to cast my eyes away. He catches my stare. Deep. The heat, I don’t know where from, is rushing through my body. Roaring through my brain and chest. Fish hooks made of rose’s stems thrust my eyes. I don’t even know whether I am still breathing because I feel like I am not inhaling any oxygen.


Ratnayu Candra Kirana