The ojek driver<\/p>\n
By Kirk Coningham<\/p>\n
He had first seen her 94 days ago when she had moved into one
\nof the small, but comfortable apartments, whose affluent tenants
\nprovided work for ojek drivers like himself.<\/p>\n
She always dressed in suits with matching shoes and handbags.
\nHer hair was a shining black mane that was luxurious even when
\nbundled into its formal restraints. She wore little makeup and
\nneeded less. Her only jewelry was the small silver cross he
\noccasionally saw around her neck. Her body was perfect, in the
\nfull bloom of youth, but the best thing about her was her scent.
\nThe smell of her filled his senses with roses.<\/p>\n
He had never known the scent of a rose as a child. He was the
\neighth of 11 children from a very poor family. The arrival of
\nevery new child made the family poorer still -- pushing them
\ninevitably into one of Jakarta's many shantytowns. Forced by
\ncrushing poverty to leave school at nine years of age, he had
\neked out an existence for himself, becoming known on the street
\nfor his hard work, his smile (as quick as his wit) and his
\nwillingness to help his family and friends when he could.<\/p>\n
With a lot of hard work and careful management, by his 13th
\nbirthday he had saved several hundred thousand rupiah. The fund
\nwas his ticket out of the shantytown, only a few hundred meters
\ngeographically, but another world away in reality. Disaster
\nstruck when he was on the verge of making his move. His friend's
\nlittle sister was standing too close to a food cart when a wok
\nfull of hot oil upturned over her small face. The burns were
\natrocious but the worst thing was the damage done to her eyes.
\nWithout immediate and expensive medical attention she would be
\nblinded for life. Sharief did not hesitate: \"Ahmad, take this
\nmoney and take her to the hospital, now.\" Ahmad and his family
\nhad no time to protest. They understood that the money
\nrepresented more than years of hard work -- they understood that
\nSharief was handing over his future. But they also understood, as
\ndid Sharief, this future was of less importance than a little
\ngirl's sight.<\/p>\n
Sitri's sight was saved. It took another seven years but,
\neventually, so was Sharief's future. Although Sharief accepted
\nthe necessity of his gift of the money at that critical time as a
\nfact of life, Ahmad and his family, who moved back to their
\nvillage soon after the accident, never forgot his generosity.
\nWhile by no means wealthy, Ahmad's family had prospered in the
\nvillage. On Sharief's 20th birthday they were able to repay their
\nold friend's kindness ... with interest.<\/p>\n
Sharief's windfall came on two wheels -- he was given (repaid,
\nas Ahmad put it) enough money to buy a small motorcycle. He soon
\nput the bike, and his good sense, to work, taking people home
\nfrom bus stops for small change. Now 26, he owned five ojek but
\ncontinued driving, both to make the extra money and to keep an
\neye on his investments. He would never be rich, but he was
\nhardworking, smart and willing to take a risk. He had retained
\nhis good nature from his youth, and had continued to help those
\naround him when he could. His compassion for his friends had
\nensured he had many more friends than dollars. He was sensible
\nenough to hope that it would ever be thus.<\/p>\n
He was happy with his lot in life until 94 days ago when he
\nhad first seen her. Most people scoff at the idea of love at
\nfirst sight, but that was what it was, plain and simple. The
\ninstant he saw her, a bomb went off in his chest. His heart,
\nalong with his safe existence and contentment, was taken from
\nhim.<\/p>\n
The cruelest part was that his good sense had already
\nconvinced him that this love could never be. She was in a
\ndifferent class to his. The closest he could ever hope to be was
\nperched in front of her on his motorbike as he dropped her home.
\nKnowing this did not stop his longing, and it did not stop the
\nflickers of hope when she started to look for him and he became
\nher regular evening driver. The morsels of hope only served to
\nincrease his hunger. He carefully hid his feelings lest he become
\nthe brunt of the jokes that must follow in the face of such
\nfolly.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
She had noticed him first when riding behind him sidesaddle
\nafter another 12-hour day in the office. She first sought him
\nout because he was always clean and she hated the smell of days-
\nold sweat that permeated so many of the ojek drivers. Then she
\nhad noticed that he was actually quite handsome. The revelation
\nhad surprised her, not so much because he was, but simply because
\nshe had noticed. The curious intimacy forged out of having to
\nhold on to a stranger on the back of a motorcycle had always set
\nher on edge. It was not like the crowded buses; on the ojek you
\nwere forced to hang on to the driver, to reach out and touch him.
\nLike many other women her means of coping was to dehumanize the
\ndrivers to the point that they were the merest extension of the
\nmotorcycle: Automatons.<\/p>\n
Sharief (she had heard his friends call him) had changed that.
\nNow she found herself looking forward to her trip home in the
\nevening. She had even smiled at him and been amazed at how his
\nface lit up in delight. When he smiled he was not only handsome
\n-- he was gorgeous! After the smile she started to notice a
\nlittle more about him. His body was strong. He was at least 15
\ncentimeters taller than his friends, with broad, well-muscled
\nshoulders tapering to a slim back: an athlete's body. People
\nlooked up to him, not just because of his height. She could see
\npeople liked him, respected him.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
She remained a profound mystery to him. He was sure she didn't
\nknow he existed, then three weeks ago she had smiled openly at
\nhim. The smile had flashed out like a fishing hook into his
\nchest, catching his breath and making his senses real. His entire
\nbeing lit up and shone through his face and eyes. If he wasn't
\nsure that it could not be true, he might have allowed himself to
\nthink that she was pleased to see him. \"Perhaps she is,\" he
\nchided himself, \"I am her lift home after a long day.\"<\/p>\n
The gloomy thought matched his mood as heavy drops of rain
\nfell from a gray, sponge sky. He cursed his luck, not solely at
\nthe prospect of another rain sodden night, but because she always
\ntook a taxi when it rained. At 7:30pm she didn't get off the bus
\nas usual and he was sure she would not be coming. He persevered
\nwith the night until just after 11pm. He was saying good night to
\nhis friends when she suddenly appeared only a meter in front of
\nhim. She had stepped unsteadily out of a cab into a large puddle
\nof water. She stumbled again as the heel of her shoe skipped on
\nthe uneven surface beneath the water. He reached out as she began
\nto fall and held her steady.<\/p>\n
Close now, he realized that it was not just the rain and the
\nshoes that made her unsteady. Amazingly, she had been drinking!
\nThis was the first time he had smelled anything more than roses
\non her person, but there was a definite scent of alcohol. As he
\nheld her steady he also realized that, far from being affronted
\nby his attempts to help her, she was smiling broadly. \"Malam
\nSharief,\" she hiccuped.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
Her head was reeling. She had accepted two glasses of wine at
\nthe office farewell of a colleague. The night had been fun, but
\nshe was not a drinker and was now anxious to get home. She
\nrealized, of course, that she now included Sharief as part of her
\nthoughts of home. The last time she had held him on the back of
\nthe motorbike she had thought about holding him in a very
\ndifferent way. The thought was far from unpleasant. Somehow she
\nhad developed a crush on her ojek driver. She had found herself
\nthinking more and more about him. She thrilled at the chance to
\nput her arms around him. She was also almost convinced that he
\nfelt the same way. But was he ever going to say, or do, anything
\nabout it? In the end her decision to get out of the cab in the
\nrain was not as spontaneous as she wanted to believe. Two glasses
\nof \"Dutch courage\" had made her want to spur him along a tad.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
As she stood in the driving rain smiling at him Sharief
\nthought he would die. Was she thinking what her face was showing?
\nThe frustration of it choked him and he was pleased the steady
\nrain quickly washed an uninvited tear from his cheek as he helped
\nher over to the bike. She appeared unsteady still, so he
\nsuggested she sit a moment and sent a street urchin for water.
\nTucked in on a rough wooden bench under a plastic roof that kept
\nout most of the rain, she looked more beautiful to Sharief than
\never. The urchin arrived back with a cup of hot, sweet tea that
\nhad been provided by a kindly old women who was watching the
\nproceedings with a smile playing around her wrinkled lips. The
\ncup was dainty, circled in flowers and sported a fine saucer that
\nwas hardly chipped at all. Someone's pride and joy had been given
\nover for the sake of Sharief.<\/p>\n
The girl sipped her tea appreciatively as a towel was passed
\nthrough. Sharief sat uncomfortably close to her in the cramped
\nrefuge. Stripped of the license provided by the motorcycle, he
\nhad become overtly aware of the feel of her thigh against his
\nown. He went to move from under the shelter but she asked him to
\nstay. \"I'll be fine, thank you, it's just that I'm a little
\ncold.\" He sat back down, heart pounding, stomach churning, palms
\nsweating as she held his arm and leaned against him.<\/p>\n
She laughed when she had finished her tea and felt a little
\nembarrassed. \"Thank you Sharief, I'm fine now. Thank you.\"
\n\"Astaga,\" she thought, \"I can't do it all for you!\"<\/p>\n
Seeing his moment passing Sharief did not know what to do,
\nwhat to say, what to allow himself to think. In his panic at her
\nimpending departure he blurted the first thing that came into his
\nmuddled head. \"It's raining!\" he said. As soon as he said it he
\nlooked at her rain-flattened hair and wet clothes; she looked at
\nhis sodden jeans and T-shirt and the water trickling off his
\nface, and they burst into simultaneous laughter.<\/p>\n
Their laughter was heard by many that night. They were left in
\npeace. Fresh tea was passed quietly through at the instructions
\nof the old lady, along with two small, sweet cakes -- on dainty
\nplates with the same pattern as the cup. On that crowded,
\njostling, rain-soaked street the pair was left to talk and laugh.
\nNo one interfered, joked, pointed or whispered.<\/p>\n
The owner of the little shelter that the pair had
\nrequisitioned smiled up into the rain as he abandoned his refuge
\nto his friend Sharief and the girl that everyone knew he had been
\nin love with for months. All of the quiet watchers understood the
\ndifference in their social stations, but the thoughts of the old
\nlady who had shared her tea were broadly held. \"Ahh,\" she
\nthought. \"You would be a lucky woman if you married a man such as
\nSharief\".<\/p>",
"url": "https:\/\/jawawa.id\/newsitem\/the-ojek-driver-1447899208",
"image": ""
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