It's been a year since you were gone, but the living room of your house is still as I remember it. A photo of your family in a wooden frame, with a coffee stain in the top right corner. There's still a disordered piano that your family keeps putting off to correct. The most different thing is that your brother's tricycle is in a different corner than usual. The color is also faded, changing from red to pink.
Your mother comes with a glass of water. The sound of the clock accompanies the silence that we share. We are waiting for each other who will break this silence first. In the end, it was your mother who started, 'Are you all right?'
"All right, all right," I said.
"Really?" your mother asked.
"Yes," I said.
“Auntie still likes to chat and calling with your mama, you know.” Said your mother.
It's quiet.
The sound of the clock returned to fill the silence.
“We all miss Nadia,” said your mother. “Really miss her.”
Your mother tried desperately not to cry. “But waiting doesn't mean you have to torture yourself. Auntie is also waiting anxiously, but that doesn't mean our life doesn't go on.”
"Yes, auntie."
“Auntie also hopes that she will be found, whether healthy or not. Even though burying our own child is the biggest fear of all parents.”
I can only listen.
“Auntie and Uncle know, once a week you stop at the end of the road, like a confused person looking at the clouds, looking at our house. We know that you were the last person to chat with her before she left. We already know that in your heart, you feel responsible for all of this.”
I finally speak up, “I’m sorry, I couldn't change what happened.”
'Nobody knows what happened. We don't even blame anyone, Mo. We don't even blame you, why are you blaming yourself? '
My tears began to collect.
My father once said that a man should not cry, except when he is disappointed in himself.
“Lia said you took the cat in the sewer, didn't you?” Auntie asked. Lia is your younger sister who just entered elementary school. It turns out that she knows that, out of nowhere, maybe your neighbor saw it and told her.
“Yes, I take care of it, Auntie. His name is Awan. I'm sorry, he almost died there.” I replied.
Your mother leaned forward, half-smiling, then she said, “Mo, you can give a new life to the cat, you can also give a new life for yourself. You can help yourself.”
It's been a year since you've been missing, but I remember your mother's sentence is similar to what you said. I remember we both finished watching the Avengers, then you threw the drinking plastic in the trash. Then, still getting carried away by the action film, I say to you, “Whenever you are in danger, I will help you.” Instead, you answered, “Let me ask you a question. If for example we are poisoned, there is only one antidote. Who do you want to give the medicine to?”
I replied bravely, “To you.”
You laughed instead. “I do not want it. I want you to help yourself.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I love you,” you said with a smile on your face.
After one glass of water runs out, I came out of your house. Your mother hugged me tightly. She then went inside, left me, and I walked away from your house. I took my steps slowly, looking at a cloud above the blue sky.
The cloud moved slowly. Parade in the wind. I squinted, today's cloud doesn't look like a cat. However, today the cloud looked like something that had drifted away, leaving behind a burden that had made it stop.
Like someone free to return.
