A Street Dream: The Evergreen Architecture Copyright 2013 by Angel G

A Street Dream: The Evergreen Architecture Copyright © 2013 by Angel G. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author. All permission requests and inquiries should be addressed to: [email protected] Cover by Angel G. Cover Illustration by Andreas Handoyo. Chapters Illustration by Pia Praptidita. Urban Fonts “Subway Graph” copyright © 2013 by Johan Waldenström. Used by permission. Published by: CV. Evergreen Creative House Bukit Raya III No.13 Bandung, Indonesia [email protected] ISBN 978-602-14233-0-1 First Printing, September 2013 Printed in Indonesia This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

61

Malam itu, buruh-buruh bangunan dari Down North Road baru saja pulang dari lembur membangun sebuah gedung pencakar langit baru. Kebanyakan dari mereka kemudian singgah di sebuah coffee shop sederhana yang masih menyalakan lampunya di lorong Hummingbird Alley. Coffee shop itu sempit dengan langit-langit rendah, terletak persis di seberang barisan lampu kuning gang yang memanggang dinding dekat jendelanya hingga selalu jingga seperti dibakar matahari. Salah satu dinding sampingnya lapuk kehitaman tergerogoti udara lembap karena menempel dengan dinding bekas reruntuhan gedung tak berpenghuni yang sudah lama terbakar hangus dalam kerusuhan kota dan menyisakan cat berjelaga. Ruang dalamnya sendiri hanya berisi delapan meja termakan usia dengan masing-masing empat kursi mengitari. Gerah di musim panas karena tanpa mesin pendingin udara, hanya ada kipas angin berkarat menempel di langit-langit, berputar ringkih dengan bunyi mencicit baut tuanya yang sudah longgar. Jendela-jendelanya terbuka, meneroboskan angin malam musim panas yang meniupi ujung-ujung taplak meja. “Kau mau ke mana? Besok kau ujian perbaikan,” Joanne Evan menyapa Nathan yang menuruni tangga lipat setelah melumasi baut tua kipas angin dengan minyak goreng. “Aku nggak lama, hanya menyelesaikan pekerjaanku,” Nathan mengelap tangannya di meja counter berkayu kusam, “Don’t tell Dad. I’ll be fine.”

62 ▪ Angel G. “Hei!” seorang pria kekar berseragam proyek kumal berdebu mengangkat gelasnya dari tempat duduk pojok, berseru kasar pada Joanne dengan urat di lehernya, “Kau bilang ini kopi cream? Rasanya lebih mirip air! Coffee shop macam apa ini? Kau tak punya lidah, Pelacur Tua?” Nathan menghela napas melihat ibunya masih bisa tersenyum, tergopoh membawa gelas pria itu kembali ke bar. Nathan lantas mengambil alih gelasnya dan membawanya ke dapur, menggantinya dengan yang baru dan mengorek lebih banyak cream yang tinggal tersisa beberapa sendok di dasar stoples. Menyeringai sinis, ia meludah tiga kali ke dalam gelas. “Worse than any second hand drinks! Tasty!” Dikembalikannya gelas itu ke meja si pria kekar, berkata datar, “Watch your mouth, Sir.” Berusaha tidak tertawa, ia kembali ke bar seolah tak ada apa-apa. “Aku tahu cream di dapurmu sudah hampir habis. Akan kubelikan dengan uang bayaranku malam ini,” katanya pada ibunya, “Aku tetap akan pergi. DJ serabutan yang dibayar sangat kecil, tapi setidaknya, aku melakukan sesuatu. Come on, Mom. It’s just a club. I don’t have any other places to play my music.” “Ayahmu bisa meledak kalau tahu kau masih juga bermain musik setiap malam.” “Dan aku akan memukulinya kalau dia sampai membentakmu lagi gara-gara aku.” “Nathan,” Joanne menggeser sebuah cangkir foam, “I know you have right to dream, but we’re not rich family.” Nathan meneguk capuccino latte encernya, menatap wanita tegar paling sabar yang pernah ia miliki di dunia. Malam ini, ada kerutan baru yang mulai nampak jelas di kening berflek hitamnya, catatan jejak kepenatan hidup dan kerja keras tiada henti. “Aku bawa kunci cadangan pintu depan. Nggak usah menungguku pulang. Kau perlu istirahat,” Nathan meletakkan cangkirnya yang masih setengah penuh, mengusap-usap bahu ibunya dan mengecup pipinya, “Dan jangan terlalu baik dengan buruh-buruh itu.” Ia melewati sekumpulan buruh yang tergelak-gelak bermain

The Evergreen Architecture ▪ 63 kartu di dekat pintu keluar, sengaja memalingkan wajahnya dari tatapan Joanne Evan yang terkadang terlalu kuat untuk membuatnya merasa ingin kembali dan tidak menjejali ingar-bingar kegemerlapan dunia malam ini. Dunia yang bagi Nathan, tak ubahnya dongeng kristal dan limousine, sementara kenyataannya begitu keras seperti pabrik tempa panas atau kisah gelandangan mengais makanan sisa restoran hotel bintang lima. Baru beberapa langkah dari pintu keluar, suara riang berseru di belakang punggungnya. “Nathan!” “Michelle,” katanya membalik punggung, “Please.” “Ssshht,” gadis itu nyengir meletakkan telunjuk di bibirnya, “Aku mau ikut!” Nathan mendengus, meneruskan langkahnya di gang sempit Hummingbird Alley yang dipenuhi tebaran kerikil dan belum beraspal, menyusuri tembok tinggi dari slab beton kotak-kotak tanpa cat di sisi bahunya, “Jangan aneh-aneh! Kau bahkan belum cukup umur!” “Dan kau akan membiarkanku berkata pada Dad, kalau kau masih bermain musik di Bacchus Throne?” Nathan membalik punggung lagi. Michelle yang membuntutinya memamerkan sepasang mata berbinar. Tingginya jejeran lampu kuning sepanjang gang menyinari rambut cokelat panjangnya hingga terlihat merah. “Kau siswi kelas akselerasi pintar yang bisa masuk kuliah dua tahun lebih muda,” Nathan berjalan lagi, “Duniaku bukan duniamu.” “Hei!” langkah Michelle mengejar punggungnya, “Aku hanya ingin melihatmu bekerja seperti yang selalu kau ceritakan padaku. Kau selalu memberi sebagian uang sakumu hasil bermain di club. Lalu, kenapa aku tidak boleh ikut mendukungmu?” ia berdiri menghalangi jalan Nathan, “Apa kau tahu, aku ingin sepertimu. Aku selalu bercerita tentangmu pada semua teman-temanku.” Petikan dawai dingin seketika memutar memori Nathan. Ia tak pernah lupa bagaimana Michelle selalu membelanya ketika ayahnya memaki dengan sumpah serapah setiap ia akan pergi bermain

64 ▪ Angel G. musik. Bagaimana Michelle menahan tangan ayahnya yang pernah hendak menghajar kepalanya dengan teko kopi atau bagaimana ia membawakan baki sarapan sementara ayahnya menendang tempat tidurnya. Gadis yang mengendap-endap dengan masih berpiyama dan membukakannya pintu rumah ketika ia pulang dari club setiap subuh. Gadis yang menemaninya terkikik-kikik setiap ia traktir pizza murahan yang kejunya sangat tipis dan es krim dari truk pinggir jalan dengan uang hasil bermain musik. “Remember this necklace?” Michelle mengangkat mata kalung dog tag di dada Nathan, “Aku mengumpulkan semua uangku untuk membelinya. Aku sendiri yang mengalungkannya padamu di hari pertama kau benar-benar memperoleh pekerjaanmu di Bacchus Throne Club,” Ia menggerak-gerakkan logam persegi panjang itu, menyorotkan pantulan cahayanya ke mata Nathan, “You’re my soldier, Nathan. And you always will be!” Percik-percik cahaya kuning lampu gang menaungi mereka dalam hangatnya cahaya jingga bak suasana merah terowongan tambang. Nathan bisa menangkap bayangan tiang jatuh tepat di antara mata Michelle yang berkilat memohon. Menyerah oleh rasa sayang, ia mendekap adiknya lembut, menjewer telinganya pelan, “Tapi kau janji, selalu dekat-dekat denganku di sana! Dasar kau, gadis lollipop kecilku! Selalu ingin ikut aku ke mana-mana.” Michelle tersenyum mengecup pipi Nathan. Senyum yang sama semenjak gadis itu masih seorang kanak mungil dengan lollipop menempeli mulutnya ke mana pun, hingga sekarang, menjadi gadis cantik berlekuk dada yang selalu Nathan lindungi dari pria-pria yang mengencaninya. Gadis yang akan selalu menjadi malaikat kecilnya. “Do I look good enough to step to the club?” Michelle memandang sepa­tu kanvasnya yang usang pudar, “Aku sampai mencuci sepatu terbaikku malam ini agar tidak membuatmu malu.” “All is good, Baby,” Nathan tersenyum menempelkan kening mereka, mata di bawah poni ikal Julias Caesar-nya mendadak mengha­ ngat, “Come on, where’s my lil’ lollipop girl at?” katanya menjulurkan se­ pa­sang kelingkingnya. “I’m still here. Everything’s OK,” Michelle mengaitkan kedua

The Evergreen Architecture ▪ 65 kelingkingnya sendiri pada kelingking Nathan, nyengir lebar, “We’ll get through this.” “Oke, sebelum ke club, kau ikut aku mengambil turntable di apartemen Sean. Tapi sebelumnya, kita balapan lari ke ujung gang ya?” Nathan menunjuk ujung mulut gang beberapa puluh meter di depannya. Siluet mobil-mobil mewah yang berlalu lalang kencang di Down North Road silih berganti meluncur seperti pusaran bayangan te­rang di tengah pekat malam, menghiasi lorong itu dengan cahaya hilang timbul setiap melintas di depannya, “Yang pertama sampai, harus mencuci piring semua orang selama dua hari berturut-turut.” Michelle tersenyum miring, “Siapa takut?” “Satu. Dua... Tiga!” Keduanya berkejaran, Nathan dengan sneaker bengkaknya disusul Michelle dengan sepatu kanvas merah mudanya. Sesekali mereka menginjak kerikil-kerikil kecil yang bertaburan di sepanjang gang dan nyaris tergelincir. Kepulan debu dan pasir halus berpusar setinggi betis ketika kaki-kaki itu berlari dengan baju berkibar. “Kau lihat mobil-mobil mewah di mulut gang?” Michelle berteriak mengejar Nathan, “Suatu saat kita akan duduk di dalamnya!” “Yeah!!” Nathan berlari zig-zag menggoda Michelle, “In the Ferrari one or Lamborghini like Sean’s!” Keduanya tertawa-tawa, sesekali Nathan harus menukik oleng saat Michelle menarik-narik ujung kemejanya untuk merebut tempat pertama. Tergelak-gelak menelan debu gang di bawah kubah langit musim panas yang berhias bintang. Membangunkan dunia dari lelapnya. Mencoba merenda tawa, ketika asa dipertaruhkan agar tak kehilangan nada.

67

Chapter 7

Cermin-cermin setinggi manusia menempel di tiga dinding gim­ na­sium, memantulkan bayangan empat anak kecil yang menari-nari lincah di atas sneaker bertali yang berdecit-decit. Lantai vinyl-nya licin oleh tetes keringat, mengilap di bawah siraman cahaya lampu tabung langit-langit. Bass musik hip-hop berdentum lewat loudspeaker gantung, menggetarkan dinding kaca gimnasium yang memamerkan lukisan kota di bawah matahari terbenam. “Mana power kalian?” Nathan mengelap peluh keningnya, “Aku nggak akan memulangkan kalian sebelum kalian melakukannya dengan benar! Ayo! Orangtua kalian tidak ingin mendapatkan hasil tidak memuaskan dari anak-anak berbakat mereka. Berikan yang terbaik untuk pertemuan terakhir kita!” ia bertepuk tangan menye­ mang­ati, sesekali mencuci mata mengantuknya dalam dekapan men­ tereng Down North Road di balik dinding kaca, beberapa belas meter di bawah lantai kantilever gimnasium. Kalau saja tak perlu uang, rasanya ia sudah memilih pulang. Na­ mun hidup mengais pundi-pundi di dunia malam menuntutnya ber­ dan­­dan sehebat mungkin. Nathan benci itu, dan ia tahu, itu semua mahal. “Apa seperti ini?” Lee, si kulit pucat berumur sebelas tahun, memutar-mutar tubuhnya di atas kepala berhelm, “Apa aku sudah melakukannya dengan benar?” “Kau hanya terlihat seperti orang tolol dengan headspin separah itu,” lelah bercampur geli, Nathan mengawasi tubuh anak didiknya

68 ▪ Angel G. yang miring-miring tidak karuan. “Kepalaku tidak tahan lagi,” Lee berhenti berputar-putar, mema­ sang tampang seperti mabuk darat, “Belasan kali aku berla­tih meniru peragaanmu, dan yang kuperoleh hanyalah helm nya­ris penyok!” ia tergeletak membuka helm, menepuk-nepuk mangkuknya. “Kalau kau punya pelatih baru yang menggantikanku nanti, kau harus lebih baik dari sekarang,” Nathan menghampiri tiga murid lainnya, “Kalian? Sudah selesai?” David, Brit, dan Chris mengangguk mantap, “Sedikit lebih baik.” Tiga anak berumur lima hingga dua belas tahun di depannya menari kejang seperti robot gemulai. Jentikan jari Nathan melantun­ kan irama seiring ketiganya yang memperagakan gerakan dasar popping yang menyentak patah-patah. Kaki-kaki lentur mereka me­ lang­kah bak Michael Jackson, seperti dipakaikan roda-roda licin kasat mata yang tak tersentuh gaya gesek. “Sentakannya masih agak lemah tadi,” komentar Nathan, “Dan, perhatikan musikalitasnya. Overall, good enough.” David, si mungil termuda berumur lima tahun, berkulit gelap dan paling pendek dari semuanya, kontan nyengir menggaruk-garuk kepang cornrows-nya, “Nathan, baru kali ini kau memuji kami.” “Kami harus pulang sekarang?” Lee mendadak memelas, pipi pucatnya memerah seperti tomat, “We’re gonna miss you, Nate.” “Me too.” “Bye, Nathan!” decit-decit sneaker memenuhi gimnasium. Anakanak itu mengemasi ransel, menghilang di pintu dorong. “Nathan,” David masih tinggal di gimnasium, mengelap keringatnya dengan handuk kebesaran hingga terinjak kakinya, “Apa ini benar-benar terakhir kalinya kau melatih kami?” “Sepertinya begitu. Ini semester terakhir percobaanku di kampus. Tak ada waktu main-main lagi.” “Tapi, Dad menanyakan, kau tetap akan mengajukan karyamu ke Soundlab, kan?” Nathan duduk meluruskan kaki linunya, menyandarkan punggung basahnya di dinginnya dinding kaca, “UBT yang hanya empat tahun sekali itu, ya? Awal musim dingin nanti, kan?”

The Evergreen Architecture ▪ 69 “Ya. Dan... hanya untuk meyakinkan saja... Kau nggak pernah bilang pada Dad, kalau aku mengiyakan untuk bergabung dengan anak-anak street dancer itu, kan?” “Menurutmu?” “Come on, Nate. Real nigga do hip-hop and street things.” Nathan tertawa, menatap anak didik kesayangannya itu. Anak berumur lima tahun dengan kulit gelap dan kemampuan menari melebihi remaja secondary school, sudah berambut kepang cornrows sekalipun tinggi badannya hanya seperutnya dan kakinya bahkan lebih kecil dari lengan Nathan. Bocah yang mempertemukannya dengan DJ Rob, DJ senior pemilik Basstrap Studio yang memperbolehkannya menjadi satu-satunya DJ serabutan di Bacchus Throne club. “Memangnya kau ngapain dengan mereka?” “Mereka...” David sesaat berpaling, “Mereka hanya mengajakku bergabung. Ada kompetisi besar, di sekitar awal musim dingin juga.” “Hanya itu? Rob tidak akan pernah suka kalau kau bohong.” “Hei, kau nggak cerita apa-apa pada Dad, kan? Dia bisa menggantungku.” Nathan tertawa lagi, “Hanya bercanda,” katanya menarik buntut kepang cornrows David, “I know how it feels to want something. Aku nggak akan bilang apa-apa.” “Aight!” David tersenyum lebar, “Aku pulang. Sudah dijemput Mary. Ada latihan dengan teman-teman penari jalananku,” gerakan kepala sok dewasanya mengajak Nathan memandang ke balik dinding kaca. “Sering sekali dia menjemputmu.” Nathan memandang ke bawah. Ada seorang gadis yang sering ia lihat dari gimnasium, dari ketinggian lantai tiga ini ia tetap tampak menarik, bertubuh bagus, gadis yang selalu menunggu dekat pos sekuriti, berambut merah dengan celana jog pants dan kaus besarnya, “You should take her upstair someday.” “You wanna know her more?” David tersenyum miring, “You like her?” Nathan tertawa mengacak-acak kepala David, “I mean. Maybe she

70 ▪ Angel G. can join us sometimes. Gonna be cool.” “She said this place is too damn good for a street kid.” “I’m from another part of the street too,” senyum Nathan, “Sampaikan salamku buat ayahmu!” “OK, senior!” David mengemasi ranselnya, ber-pound hug tengil dengan Nathan yang masih berselonjor, “See ya.” Punggung David menghilang di pintu saat Nathan menanggalkan T-Shirt longgarnya, menatap bayangan kembarnya di tiga dinding cermin ruangan. Musik hip-hop masih berdentum-dentum menemani penatnya ketika ia membuka dompet. “Tambahan untuk bulan ini. If you’re still here, Michelle. Kita pasti bisa makan piza dan ice cream lagi,” senyumnya terpaksa, mematikan mixer, “Dan, Soundlab UBT. Kalau kau ada, kau pasti bisa membelaku lagi di depan Dad,” Nathan merapatkan mata kalung dog tag dinginnya ke dadanya yang basah, “Ah, come on, Nathan!” Dengan kaki serasa dipasangi borgol berton-ton, ia meninggalkan gimnasium dan kembali ke St. John Alley, ke sebuah rumah kumuh yang pancuran kamar mandinya kembali menghujani badannya malam ini dengan air panas—yang seperti biasa—tidak bisa meman­ car keras. Semprotannya lebih mirip keran berair kecil akibat lubang pancuran yang tertutup karat dan sambungan besinya yang sudah melonggar. Sudah jam makan malam saat ia telentang dengan bath coat robek-robek di atas kasur yang busanya sudah tipis hingga ia bisa merasakan pegas besi menyentuh tulangnya. Urat-uratnya meronta linu ketika ia membalik punggung mencium bau lapuk kamar, menambatkan mata abu-abunya pada bercak-bercak hitam di langit-langit. “Anak ini, bermain musik sepanjang hari, sepanjang malam. Hingga suatu malam di mana adik perempuannya sendiri tertembak dalam perkelahian antar gangster di sebuah club kota. Itu yang tidak aku mengerti, begitu?” Kalimat Profesor Wilson terngiang lagi, mengingatkan Nathan untuk kembali mengutuk Summer Camp musim panas lalu. Pesta konyol dan tuduhan menyimpan heroin. Membuat semua pejabat kampus sukses mengobrak-abrik memori masa lalunya, memaparkan luka yang tadinya mulai mengendap kembali basah berdarah.

The Evergreen Architecture ▪ 71 “Nathan! Kau sudah siap? Sebentar lagi, semua keluarga kita akan datang!” Ketukan sepatu Matthew Evan mondar-mandir di lantai bawah. Nathan rasanya ingin pura-pura sakit atau meminta Sean menculiknya hidup-hidup. “Aku ada urusan dengan Derrick. Penting sekali, tak bisa kutinggalkan. Telepon aku kalau acara di rumahmu selesai, kita ketemu di luar.” Justru itu yang bisa ia baca ketika membuka gambar amplop bertulis Sean Vincenzo Walker pada layar cell phone-nya. Paru-parunya menggelembung pengap, rasanya tak sudi bermanis-manis ketika yang ia inginkan hanyalah sendirian di kamar menghirup udara malam atau menenggak dua tiga shot tequila di tepi kolam renang penthouse Sean. Berjalan ke depan cermin, sesosok atletis berambut ikal balik memandangnya dengan mata kelabu redup. Dog tag itu menggantung di dadanya. “Nathan!” Matthew Evan berseru lagi dari bawah, “Aku mau kau berperilaku seperti anak dari tuan rumah yang baik! Bersikap manislah! Oke?” “Yeah, right!” dengusnya. Rasanya ingin meninju si rambut ikal yang memandangnya kusut itu hingga hancur seperti debu-debu kecil tajam. Bermimpi tolol, andai ia bisa keluar kamar setelahnya dengan wajah dan tubuh orang berbeda. “Nathan, bagaimana nilai-nilaimu?” celotehnya sendirian, “Masih tidak ada perubahan? Kau harus lihat bagaimana Tod memenangkan olimpiade matematikanya seminggu lalu,” sebulan lalu, kalimat itu yang terlontar dari mulut kakeknya ketika mereka makan malam bersama di rumah pamannya, William Evan. “Mereka selalu menertawakanku dan kau sama sekali nggak membelaku, Dad. Hanya Michelle yang bisa,” katanya menyeberangi pembaringan, menghampiri meja yang kayu lapisnya sudah mengelupas. Layar laptop di atasnya memamerkan grafik suara naik turun, berebutan tempat di antara loudspeaker tinggi, mixer dan Serato, synthesizer mirip piano dengan banyak tombol dan knop, serta sepasang turntable dengan piringan hitam yang terpasang di bawah

72 ▪ Angel G. jarum, menyebelahi headphone besar, dan koper turntable coffin bergraffiti merah hitam berbunyi, DJ Evan. Graffiti itu. Sean sendiri yang menggambarnya. Warnanya sudah pudar. Ketika ia merabanya, cat timbul aerosol keringnya menggerumbul mengelupas di bawah jemarinya. Empat tahun sudah. Dan semuanya tak beranjak ke mana-mana. Nathan menghela napas, tak tahu sampai berapa tahun lagi ia harus merasa seasing ini di rumahnya sendiri. Selama bertahuntahun semenjak high school, ia sudah muak dengan reaksi berjengit ayahnya setiap mendengar apapun yang ia lakukan jika itu berkaitan dengan bermain musik. Kepergian Michelle satu tahun lalu membuat semuanya semakin keruh, seperti air buangan sisa pabrik yang sudah kotor dan memburuk menjadi lumpur. Nathan ingat bagaimana ketika ia berumur sepuluh tahun, ayahnya menyiksanya hanya karena diam-diam menyelinap dan membuka pintu lemari tua di bawah tangga ruang tengah. Sampai sekarang Nathan tak tahu apa salahnya, waktu itu ia hanya ingin diam-diam menyentuh tuts sebuah piano tua di dalam lemari itu, belajar satu dua not balok dari buku yang ia pinjam dari perpustakaan sekolah. Ketika ayahnya yang seharusnya lembur di luar kota tiba-tiba pulang lebih cepat, memergokinya memainkan piano dan berubah seperti orang gila. Ayahnya menyeret tangannya hingga bengkak lebam, mencengkeramnya hingga kukunya menancap di kulit, membanting pintu lemari bawah tangga itu hingga serpih-serpih kayu di ujungnya copot dan engselnya bengkok. Nathan masih bisa mendengar gelegar teriakan ayahnya sore itu, tepat dua inci di samping kupingnya. Gendang telinganya sampai terus berdenging semalaman saat ia terisak di bawah selimut, me­rasa­ kan sakit di pergelangan tangannya hingga Michelle harus mengoles­ kan balsam panas untuk menghilangkan nyerinya. Nathan melihat Michelle menangis melihat pergelangan bengkaknya, mendengar isak tertahannya di antara lampu kamar yang sengaja dipadamkan agar Matthew Evan tidak tahu kalau gadis kecilnya belum tertidur. Nathan merasa matanya panas. Ia benci mimpi itu. Kenapa ia

The Evergreen Architecture ▪ 73 harus menginginkan semua itu. “Nathan!” Joanne Evan ikut memanggil dari bawah, “Turunlah dari kamarmu, Nak!” Memilih kaus besar tanpa lengan dan celana cargo sebetis, Nathan merapikan poni ikal keningnya ketika bel rumah berdering nyaring. “Apa kabar anakku!” suara Eric Evan, kakek Nathan yang mantan tentara, membahana di lantai bawah. Selalu sama lantangnya dengan prajurit zaman dulu. Obrolan ramai di balik dinding memaksa Nathan keluar kamar, menuruni anak-anak tangga yang seolah me­ rang­kul pergelangan kakinya untuk tidak beranjak ke mana pun. “Hi, everyone!” sapanya dari sudut bibir, menatap selusin tamu keluarga yang memandangnya dengan kening mengkerut. “Nathan!” usir Matthew Evan, “Ganti pakaianmu!” Berusaha tetap tersenyum, Nathan mencambuk otaknya yang meronta-ronta untuk tidak meledak marah. “Sudahlah, Matthew!” potong Si Kakek, “Anak muda sekarang!” ia merangkul Nathan dengan lengan ringkihnya, mereka duduk di sofa yang sandarannya berdempetan dengan dinding bordes undakan. Semua orang mengobrol, tapi tak satu pun yang menanyai Nathan, membuatnya merasa tersempil seperti ganjalan tak berarti dan cuma bisa memainkan gerendel pintu lemari di belakang kepalanya. Dengan mata menahan kantuk, ia berusaha mematirasakan telinga­ nya, mengacuhkan semua mulut di depannya. “Tod, bagaimana kabarmu, anak pintar?” tanya William Evan, adik bungsu Matthew Evan, “Kau semakin kurus saja! Jangan terlalu banyak memikirkan pelajaran! Harusnya Nathan yang seperti itu. Bukankah begitu, anak muda?” Nathan menatap dongkol pada senyum bajing Tod yang luar biasa menjengkelkan dengan gigi depan mirip kelinci. “Kurasa Tod sudah banyak makan. Ada dua kemungkinan, makanannya terserap ke otak semua, atau dia cacingan. Kulihat perutmu tidak seatletis aku. Biologi bilang, orang cacingan agak sedikit kembung, kan?” Senyum Tod menghilang, diiringi Matthew Evan yang melotot, “Nathan, ya, dia memang selalu bercanda!”

74 ▪ Angel G. “Ya,” kata Tod, “Aku senang punya sepupu sehumoris dia.” Nathan melengos. “Well. Kau benar, Paman!” sambung Tod lagi, “Aku memang semakin kurus. Seleksi mahasiswa teladan beberapa minggu lalu benar-benar menguras tenagaku!” “Yeah?” tanya William antusias. Semua orang tersedot cerita Tod. “Ya,” jawab Tod bersemangat, “Aku harus belajar setiap hari, bahkan pada akhir pekan. Tidak sempat bermain sedikit pun.” Nathan berjengit. Membayangkan kata-kata Tod sungguh mengerikan. “Ceritakan mereka bagaimana hasilnya, Nak,” James Evan, ayah Tod, mulai ikut-ikutan. Tod menggeleng-geleng, berlagak kecewa, “Predikatku hanya mencapai A. Melenceng sedikit dari target A+.” William Evan bertepuk tangan, terkikik seperti siluman kuda jelek, “Itu sangat hebat. Coba Nathan? Si gaul ini bisa menghabiskan bertahun-tahun untuk mendapat nilai C!” Nathan tertusuk. Seperti ada yang menancapkan ladam panas ke bilik jantungnya. Ingin rasanya menampar bibir Paman William yang cekikikan mengejek. “Nathan!” William mengerutkan keningnya, “Aku mau tahu, cita-citamu itu apa?” Nathan mendengus menggaruk-garuk leher, “Dunia kalian hanya seluas perpustakaan kampus dan setinggi ujung toga,” katanya datar, kalimat itu meluncur begitu saja, “Bagi kalian, kebahagiaan mungkin cuma alat tukar kemapanan, atau prestige semu yang diterjemahkan sebagai materi atau kehormatan bermakna sempit. Kecerdasan yang diartikan dengan pukulan sama rata, serba seragam. Entah mengapa,” sambungnya memiringkan bibir. “Lalu, apa perlu aku menjelaskan cita-cita sebenarnya versi aku itu seperti apa? Aku katakan pun kalian nggak akan mengerti,” cerocosnya menghajar reaksi bingung Paman William. “Anak ini selalu bermain musik ke sana kemari,” Matthew Evan menimpali, menuangkan red wine ke gelas-gelas berleher tinggi di meja makan. Nathan tidak pernah habis pikir mengapa ayahnya

The Evergreen Architecture ▪ 75 yang berpenghasilan pas-pasan menghabiskan banyak uang untuk berbotol-botol wine hanya untuk jamuan keluarga, “Kalian perlu nasihati dia.” “Kau itu ada-ada saja, Nate!” Si Kakek menyambar, “Kebanyakan anak muda zaman sekarang tidak punya visi jelas. Hal-hal yang kau kagumi saat ini hanya sementara, Cucuku!” Nathan menekuk-nekuk buku-buku jemarinya, berharap bisa secepat mungkin naik ke kamar, “Kenapa aku harus memaksa diri menelan berton-ton materi yang sama sekali tidak menarik perhatianku. Aku belajar setahun akan sama dengan orang lain belajar satu bulan,” ia menahan napas agar suaranya tidak meninggi. “Kau tidak bisa memaksa Mozart menjadi petinju.” “Nathan!” James Carter, ayah Tod, menjawab ketus, “Anak-anak zaman sekarang labil. Bagaimana mungkin kau berbicara tentang legendaris dunia? Hanya keajaiban. Satu di antara sejuta.” “Lalu apa yang kau mau? Menjadi seniman jalanan?” Matthew Evan meletakkan botol red wine-nya, berkacak pinggang menghampiri ruang tengah, “Kau bahkan tidak bisa membaca not balok apapun. Dan kau bermimpi seperti Mozart?” “Beethoven itu tuli!” Nathan tak kuasa mencegah nadanya naik, “Dan dia bisa menciptakan mahakarya tanpa bisa mendengar satu nada pun!” “Dan kau bukan Beethoven!” “Dan,” kini ia merasa urat lehernya mengeras, “Aku tidak bisa membaca not balok apapun karena kau! Kau yang memasukkanku ke Departemen Arsitektur!” makinya bangkit berdiri, meneriaki ayahnya tanpa peduli semua menatapnya, “Karena kau! Kau yang dulu mencengkeram tanganku!” ia mengacungkan tinjunya ke depan hidung Matthew Evan, “Mencengkeramnya hingga bengkak hanya gara-gara aku! Membuka! Lemari ini!!” Nathan tak bisa menahan diri lagi, tinjunya menghantam pintu lemari di bawah bordes tangga yang berimpitan dengan sandaran sofanya. Terdengar bunyi krak bersamaan dengan lekukan yang terlukis pada pintu lemari, cekung tipis seukuran kepalan tangannya yang memerah. Semua mata keluarga tertuju padanya. Ibunya hanya

76 ▪ Angel G. mengusap-usap bahunya dari belakang. “Kau selalu keras kepala, Nate!!” Matthew Evan menggelegar, menunjuk-nunjuk hidung Nathan, “Aku yang bekerja keras saja masih harus bekerja menjadi pegawai bergaji rendah dan ibumu harus bekerja keras di coffee shop kecil! Kita hanya punya rumah kumuh di gang sempit hingga pamanmu dan yang lain bahkan harus memarkirkan mobil mereka jauh di luar mulut gang! Tapi kau lihat keluargaku, kan? Mereka semua adalah sarjana-sarjana yang berhasil. Sebuah musik dan turntable tidak akan menghasilkan uang, status sosial, atau kehidupan yang lebih baik!” “Dad,” Nathan merasa tulang rusuknya berdegup. “Kami ingin kau jadi yang terbaik, Nathan!” teriak Matthew Evan dengan pangkal hidung mengkerut, “Putraku harus bisa membanggakanku. Kau harus belajar seperti Tod! Tak akan ada penghargaan untuk seorang seniman jalanan!!” Seruan Matthew Evan lagi-lagi meremukkan tempurung kepalanya, meyakinkannya bahwa ada yang salah dengan kelahirannya di dunia. Nathan benar-benar tak menemukan alasan untuk apa ia berada di sana, seperti badut yang berusaha tersenyum ketika dipaksa bersirkus hidup-hidup dengan wajah tersemprot air dan tepung roti, sementara tak seorang pun bisa menyaksikan air mata itu. Nathan menggeleng-geleng pada ayahnya, berlalu tanpa permisi dan membanting pintu keluar hingga berdebam. Disusurinya gang rumahnya yang belum beraspal dan mengepul­ kan debu setiap kali ia melangkah, berjalan di antara dindingdinding rumah dengan cat mengelupas dan lapisan luar yang hancur memamerkan lapisan batu bata. Di lapangan basket kumuh di tengahtengah dinding rumah yang telanjang dengan bata merah bercoratcoret graffiti, beberapa pemuda pengangguran berkumpul dengan bau asap lengket dan aroma alkohol menyedihkan, menghirup rokok dan berjongkok mabuk di dekat tong-tong sampah dari drum kaleng berkarat. Nathan ingat, jika kelewat mabuk, mereka sampai tak sadar meninggalkan jarum-jarum bertebaran di pinggiran gang sebelum besoknya tunggang langgang membongkar-bongkar tong sampah dan membakar jarumnya begitu menemukannya. Hari ini untung

The Evergreen Architecture ▪ 77 tidak, mereka hanya mengawasinya melintas sambil tergelak-gelak meracau dan mengacung-acungkan botol minuman keras. Nathan menyebut mereka tipe “hippies ’don’t work, smoke weed all day in the park and don't really have anything to be mad about”. Salah satunya muntah di dekat kaki Nathan hingga bau menjijikannya masuk ke hidungnya. “What cha lookin’ at?” seru Nathan berang. Seorang pemuda dari mereka menghampiri sambil tipsy oleng. “I ain’t got no money with me, Man,” Nathan meradang, “Just take my cigarette and leave me alone,” ia mendorong bungkus rokoknya ke dada pemuda itu dan berjalan lagi. Terus menjelajah jauh ke pusat kota hingga akhirnya sampai di Down North Road. Di jalan itu ia menendangi daun-daun kering yang berguguran dari pohon-pohon sepanjang trotoar. Menatap rindu pada etalase toko musik Angel’s Harps yang memajang grand piano selebar tempat tidur king size. Melihat teriris pada anak-anak perempuan kecil yang memilih-milih mainan di balik dinding kaca Wonderland Toys. Dan terakhir... ...terakhir ia ke sini untuk berhenti di mulut lorong Hummingbird Alley yang menyempit di belakang jalan, menatap gang beralas beton kasarnya yang dikotori tebaran kerikil. Memandang sakit pada dinding slab beton kotak-kotak dan barisan tiang lampunya yang bercahaya kuning suram. Sekelebat wajah riang Michelle menari-nari di otaknya. Nathan melihat sepasang kaki mereka berlarian di lorong itu, berkejaran sambil tertawa menelan debu. Malam terakhir sebelum ia mendengar bunyi tembakan. Melihat Michelle tersungkur dengan kepala berlubang di tengah kerumunan yang berlarian di bawah lampu laser. Menjerit mendekap kepala Michelle yang basah ber­ lumur merah dan mencium amis darahnya yang menggenang hingga membasahi sneaker-nya. Hari di mana club memisahkan mereka selamanya.

“Nathan masih belum bangun?” Derrick Fisher mengangkat

78 ▪ Angel G. kuping cangkir menyeruput kopi mengepulnya, angin kencang roof garden di penthouse Sean mengibarkan kausnya, senada dengan permukaan kolam renang yang beriak tipis.

A Street Dream: The Evergreen Architecture (Mimpi Jalanan: Arsitektur yang Hijau Abadi) Author: Angel G. Goodreads Rating: 4.3 out of 5 stars Primary Language: Indonesian Release Date: October 21st (E-book), November 2013 (paperback) Publisher: CV. Evergreen Creative House ISBN: 9786021423301 (paperback), 9781301581436 (E-book), 290045278850 (Nook E-book) Website: Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18528829-a-street-dream Smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/358455

ENGLISH VERSION

Interlude 1 (back to top)

That night, the construction workers from Down North Road had just finished their overtime on building a new skyscraper. The majority of them broke their walk at a scanty coffee shop still having its light on, on the aisle of Hummingbird Alley. The coffee shop was incapacious and low-ceilinged, located right across the alley’s lining up yellow lamps roasting the wall near its windows always orange as though it was sun-burnt. One of its side walls rotted black gnawed by the humid air, for it adhered to the remnant wall of an uninhabited building scorched by arson fire long time before in a city riot leaving soot on its paint. The interior itself was furnished with only eight tables decayed by age, four chairs circling each one. Stifling was it in the summer without air conditioners, there was only a rusted fan stuck to the ceiling, swiveling in feebleness with its squeaking, loose old screws. The windows were opened, let the summer’s night breeze be unleashed, blowing the fringes of the tablecloths. “Where are you going? You’re having the remediation exam tomorrow,” Joanne Evan talked to Nathan as he climbed down the folding ladder after lubricating the fan’s old screws with cooking oil. “I won’t be long, just finishing up my work,” Nathan rubbed his hands against the counter table whose wood had been dull, “Don’t tell Dad. I’ll be fine.” “Hey!” a stocky man in a scruffy, smutty construction worker’s jacket, raised his glass from the corner chair, yelling rudely for Joanne with bulging veins on his neck, “You say this is cream coffee? It’s more like water! What kind of coffee shop is this? Have you no tongue, you old hag bitch?” Nathan let out a deep sigh, watching his mother’s smile endure as she hurried for the man’s glass, brought it to the bar. Nathan then took over it and retrieved it to the kitchen, replaced it with a new one and scraped more of the cream left for some spoons off the bottom of the jar. Cynical grimace over his face, he spat three times into the glass. “Worse than any second hand drinks! Tasty!” He returned the glass to the stocky man, saying in a flat tone, “Watch your mouth, Sir.” Trying not to laugh, he headed back to the bar as if nothing had happened. “I know your kitchen is almost running out of cream. I’ll buy you some with my pay tonight,” he said to his mother, “I’m going anyway. Holding odd-job as DJ who’s paid so low, but at least I’m doing something. Come on, Mom. It’s just a club. I don’t have any other places to play my music.” “Your Dad will explode if he knows you still play music every night.” “And I’ll batter him myself, if he ever snaps on you again, thanks to me.” “Nathan,” Joanne slid a foam cup to him, “I know you have the right to dream, but we’re not a rich family.” Nathan sipped his washy cappuccino latte, contemplated the most patient, strong woman he had ever had on earth. Tonight there was a new wrinkle starting to be prominent on her freckled forehead, a record tracing life-weariness and perpetual hard work. “I’ve got the duplicate key for the front door with me. Don’t stay up. You need some rest,” Nathan put down his half-empty foam cup, caressing his mother on the shoulder and kissed her cheek, “And don’t be too nice to the workers.” He passed the packs of workers roaring with laughter, playing cards by the door. Intentionally averted his eyes from Joanne Evan’s that sometimes surpassingly powerful in making him wish to go back as opposed to tackling the frenetic glitz of the night life tonight. A world that, to Nathan, was no different than fairytales on crystals and limousines, whereas in reality was so severe like an asperity of hot iron factory, or homeless vagabonds’ life stories on pawing the leftover from the brunches of five-starred hotels’ restaurants.

Just a few steps away from the door, an ebullient voice shouted behind his back. “Nathan!” “Michelle,” he turned his back, “Please.” “Psst,” the girl grinned, pressing her index finger against her lips, “I’m coming with you!” Nathan snorted, continuing his steps on the narrow, unpaved aisle of Hummingbird Alley bristling with gravels, walking along the high wall of paintless rectangular concrete slabs next to his shoulder, “Don’t even try! You’re not even old enough!” “And you’ll just let me tell Dad, that you still play music at Bacchus Throne?” Nathan turned around again. Michelle tailing after him flaunted her sparkling eyes. Looming was the array of yellow lamps over her it illumined her long brown hair red. “You’re a smart student from accelerated class going to the college two years younger,” Nathan paced up again, “My world isn’t yours.” “Hey!” Michelle strides were after him, “I just want to see you work like you’ve always told me. You always give me some of your pocket money from the club. So, why can’t I come along to support you?” she stood in Nathan’s way, “Don’t you know I want to be like you? I always talk about you with all my friends.” Cold strums of strings instantaneously rewound Nathan’s memory. He could never forget how Michelle had always defended him when their Dad heaped him with abuse, with swearwords, every time he was going out to play music. How Michelle detained their Dad’s arm when it tried to whack his head once with a coffee pot, or how she brought him a tray of breakfast while Dad was kicking his bed. A girl skulking out with her pajamas still on, and opening the door of their house for him every dawn he came home from the club. A girl as a companion to him as they giggled around every time he treated her to some cheap pizza whose cheese layer was so thick and street truck ice cream with the money he earned by playing music. “Remember this necklace?” Michelle lifted the dog tag pendant from Nathan’s chest, “I collected all my money to buy this. I put it around your neck myself the first day you actually got your job at Bacchus Throne Club,” She jiggled the metal rectangle, blazing away at him with its reflected sheen, “You’re my soldier, Nathan. And you always will be!” The splatters of yellow light from the alley lamps sheltered them in the warmth from orange luminance akin to the reddish ambiance in a mine tunnel. Nathan could perceive the shadow of a lamp pole falling right between Michelle’s shimmering, pleading eyes. Succumbed to affection, he cuddled his younger sister dearly, tenderly tweaked her ear, “But promise me, you stay close to me once we get there! You, my little lollipop girl! Always wanting to follow me around.” Michelle beamed, kissing Nathan on the cheek. The same beam since she was a petite tot frolicking anywhere with a lollipop in her mouth until turning into a full-bosomed beautiful damsel Nathan unremittingly protected from any men dating her. A girl who would always be his little angel. “Do I look good enough to step to the club?” Michelle looked down at her worn-out, faded canvas shoes, “I even washed my best shoes so I won’t have to embarrass you tonight.” “All is good, Baby,” Nathan smiled, resting his forehead against hers, eyes below his Julius Caesar’s bang warmed on the spur of the moment, “Come on, where’s my lil’ lollipop girl at?” he said, giving her his little finger. “I’m still here. Everything’s OK,” Michelle hooked her own little finger with Nathan’s, grin broadening, “We’ll get through this.” “Okay, before getting into the club, you come with me taking the turntable at Sean’s apartment. But before the real show, we’re going to race to the end of the alley, okay?” Nathan indicated the alley’s mouth tens of meters ahead of them. Silhouettes of fancy cars flew by on Down North Road, one after another rocketing like refulgent vortexes of shadows in the black of the night, beautified the aisle with on and off lambency every time they passed across in front of it, “The last one getting there will do everybody’s dishes for two days in a row.” Michelle gave him a slanted smile, “No big deal!” “One. Two… Three!” They both outran each other, Nathan in his puffy sneakers, Michelle after him in her pink canvas shoes. Once in a while they stumbled on tiny gravels strewn over the alley and nearly skidded. Billowing clouds of dust and powdery sand whirled up their calves high as those feet sprinted in fluttering clothes. “You see the fancy cars on the end of this alley?” Michelle shouted, zipping after Nathan, “One day we’ll be sitting in one of them!”

“Yeah!!” Nathan hared zigzag to tease Michelle, “In the Ferrari one or Lamborghini like Sean’s!” They both laughed out loud, every now and then Nathan had to swoop and totter when Michelle tugged at his shirt to take the first place. They guffawed, swallowing the alley’s dust underneath the vault of summer sky adorned with stars. Waking the world up from its slumber. Trying to weave laughter, when hopes were gambled so they would not lose pitch.

7. The Closet under the Staircase (back to top)

Man-high mirrors were attached to the three walls of the gymnasium, reflecting the images of four children dancing nimbly in their squeaking sneakers. The vinyl floor became slippery from drops of sweat, glazing against the showers of radiance from the tube lamps on the ceiling. The bass of hip-hop music thumped through the hanging loud speakers, vibrating the gymnasium’s glass curtain wall ostentating the painting of the city under setting down sun. “Where’s your power?” Nathan wiped the sweat from his forehead, “I won’t let you guys go home before you do it right! Come on! Your parents are not to get just average results from their talented kids. Give your best for our last meeting!” he clapped his hands cheering, once a while feasted his bleary eyes on the resplendent embrace of Down North Road behind the glass walls, several meters down the gymnasium’s cantilever floor. Had he not needed money, he must have gone home already. But surviving life by scraping cash off the night life saddling him with pranking himself out as swanky as he could. Nathan detested it, and he comprehended that it was all costly. “Is it like this?” Lee, the pale-skinned, eleven-year-old boy, spun on his helmeted head, “Am I doing it right?” “You looked so clueless with head spin that bad,” both fatigued and amused, Nathan supervised the teetering body of his student, an absolute mess. “My head can’t stand it anymore,” Lee ceased spinning, made a carsick face, “Dozens of times I’ve practiced the footwork you showed me, and all I’ve got is a helmet almost dented!” he sprawled on the floor taking off his helmet, tapping the bowl. “If you’ve got anyone replacing me later, you should be getting better than this,” Nathan came over to his three other students, “And you guys? Done?” David, Brit and Chris nodded, convinced, “Slightly better.” Three kids in front of him, five to twelve years of age, twitch danced like graceful robots. Nathan’s fingers snapped the rhythms along with the three of them performing the basic popping moves, jerking pop by pop. Their limber feet did moonwalked like Michael Jackson, as if equipped with frictionless, invisible lubricated wheels. “The jerk is still a bit weak,” Nathan commented, “And, pay attention to the musicality. Overall, good enough.” The tiny five-year-old David, the youngest, dark skinned and the shortest of them all, grinned straight away scratching his cornrow braids, “Nathan, this is the first time you compliment us.” “Do we have to go home now?” Lee suddenly pulled a pitying face, pale cheeks reddening like a tomato, “We’re gonna miss you, Nate.” “Me too.” “Bye, Nathan!” the squeaks of sneakers filled the gymnasium. The kids packed their backpacks, disappearing behind the door. “Nathan,” David stayed in the gymnasium, mopped his sweat with a towel that was too big his foot trampled over it, “Is this really the last time you’re gonna train us?” “I guess so. This is the last semester of my probation in the college. There’s no more time to fool around.” “But, Dad asked, you’re still gonna sign up your work for Soundlab, aren’t you?” Nathan sat stretching out his sore legs, resting his wet back against the coldness of the glass wall, “That once in four years UBT? In the beginning of winter, right?”

“Yeah. And... just to make sure... You’ve never told Dad, that I said yes for the street dancer guys, have you?” “Tell me what you think!” “Come on, Nate. Real niggas do hip-hop and street things.” Nathan had a short laugh at his favorite student. A boy five years of age with dark skin and dance capabilities outperforming those of secondary school teenagers, whole packaged with cornrow braids already, even though he was just Nathan’s stomach high and his feet were even smaller than Nathan’s arms. A little kid taking him back then to make the acquaintance of DJ Rob, the senior DJ owning Basstrap Studio, who permitted him to be the only freelance DJ at Bacchus Throne Club. “What you’re doing with them anyway?” “They... ” David’s strayed his eyes away from him for a moment, “They just asked me to join. There’s a big competition, around the beginning of winter too.” “That’s it? Rob won’t like it if you lie.” “Hey, you didn’t tell Dad anything, right? He’ll hang me.” Nathan gave another laugh, “Just joking,” he pulled at David’s cornrow braids, “I know how it feels to want something. I won’t say a word.” “Aight!” David smiled ear to ear, “I’m going home. Mary’s picked me up. Gonna rock some practice with my fellow street dancers,” his exaggerated, adult-like beckoning head tilt signaled him to sight through the glass wall. “She picks you up so often.” Nathan looked down. There was a girl he often saw from the gymnasium, even from the three floors high she was still appealing, that nicely shaped body, a girl who always waited by the security booth, redhaired with her jog pants and over-sized T-shirt, “You should take her upstairs someday.” “You wanna know her more?” David wore a lopsided smile, “You like her?” A laugh escaped Nathan, as he messed David’s hair, “I mean. Maybe she can join us sometimes. Gonna be cool.” “She said this place is too damn good for a street kid.” “I’m from another part of the street too,” Nathan cracked a smile, “Say hi to your Dad for me!” “OK, Senior!” David had his backpack on, impishly pound-hugged Nathan who still sat outstretched, “See ya.” David’s back was gone behind the door as Nathan took off his over-sized T-shirt, settling his eyes on his twin shadows in the three mirror walls of the room. Hip-hop music still thumped out befriending his weariness when he unfolded his wallet. “Extra cash for this month. If you’re still here, Michelle. We’re having another round of pizza and ice cream,” he forced a smile, turning off the mixer, “And, Soundlab UBT. If you were here, you’d definitely defend me in front of Dad again,” Nathan clutched his dog tag pendant to his wet chest, “Blah, come on, Nathan!” Having the sensation of his limbs fastened by cuffs of tons in weight, he left the gymnasium and headed back to St. John Alley, to a slum house whose bathroom shower rained his body again tonight with the hot water—which as usual—could not spout hard enough. Its spurt was more like that of a slow flowing faucet, for the shower’s holes covered in rust and the metal joints had loosened. It was already at the time of dinner when he laid on his back, ripped bath coat on, on a mattress whose foam had been so thin he could feel the springs touching his bones. His veins groaned from shooting pain as he tossed and turned on the bed smelling the moldy reek of the room, eyes tethered to the black stains over the ceiling. “This kid! Playing music all day, all night. Until that night his own sister was shot in a gangster fight in a city club. That’s what I don’t understand, eh?” Professor Wilson’s remarks ricocheted off his ears, jogging Nathan’s memory into again, cussing the last Summer Camp. The brainless party and the heroin smuggling allegation. Drawing all members of university administration to successfully ransacking his past memories, unwrapping the gash about to sediment to bleeding wet again. “Nathan! You’re ready? Our families are coming in any moment now!” The taps of Matthew Evan’s shoes roamed around downstairs. Nathan heartily wished he could feign that he was sick or ask Sean to kidnap him alive. “Got a thing with Derrick here, Man. So important I can’t leave it. Holla at me when ya done with your family function thing, we’ll meet up outside.”

That was otherwise—the text he read when clicking open an envelope saying Sean Vincenzo Walker on his cell phone screen. His strangled lungs ballooned, not feeling like he would deign to act unctuous when all he yearned for was to be alone in his room inhaling the night air or to quaff two shots of tequila or three on the poolside of Sean’s penthouse. Walking to the mirror, a figure of an athletic, wavy-haired guy stared back at him with his dimmed, gray eyes. The dog tag hung on his chest. “Nathan!” again, Matthew Evan hollered downstairs, “I want you to behave like the son of a good host! Be nice! Okay?” “Yeah, right!” he emitted a snort of laughter. It crossed his mind to put his fist through the wavyhaired guy staring back at him with a crumpled face until it shattered into motes, needlelike little dust. Fantasizing a foolish dream, if only he could swagger out of the room with a face and a body of someone else. “Nathan, how are your grades?” he mumbled himself, “Still no change? You should’ve seen how Tod won the math Olympiad last week,” last month, those were sentences spitted out of his grandfather’s mouth when they threw a family dinner at his uncle’s house, William Evan. “They always make fun of me and you do nothing to have my back, Dad. Only Michelle did,” he knee-walked across the bed, approaching a table whose plywood had been peeling. The laptop screen on it showcased sound graphics going up and down, snatching some space among tall loudspeakers, a mixer and a Serato, a piano-like synthesizer with a lot of buttons and knobs, and a pair of turntables with black vinyls pinned under its needle, to the side of big headphones, and a turntable coffin featuring a black and red graffiti saying DJ Evan. That graffiti. Sean himself drew it. Colors had been bleached. As he fingered it, its embossed, dried aerosol paint flaked off under his touch. Four years fleeted by. And everything went nowhere. Nathan heaved a breath, in the dark about how many more years he must feel out of place in his own home. For years since high school, he had been sickened by his father’s scowling reactions anytime he heard whatever he did whenever it revolved around playing music. Michelle’s passing one year before had made everything murkier, as factory-dumped waste water turned filthy and worsened into mud. Nathan could bring it to his mind how when he was ten, his father tortured him because he stealthily sneaked out and opened the old closet door under the stair landing in the living room. Till now Nathan could never discover where he went wrong, the moment he only longed to surreptitiously strike the keys on an old piano in the closet, learning one music note symbol or two from a book he had borrowed from his school library. When his Dad supposedly working overtime out of town came home earlier without any warning, caught him playing the piano, and transformed into a psychopath. His father dragged him by the arm until it swelled and bruised, grappled him that his nails clawed into his skin, hurled the closet door under the stair landing shut that the jagged veneer on its edge flew off it and dislodged, and the hinges were crooked. Nathan could still hear the thunder of his father’s yells that afternoon, two inches close from his ear in exact. His eardrums rang the whole night as he sobbed underneath the blanket, racked with the pain in his wrist that Michelle even had to daub the balm to relieve the throbbing pang. Nathan saw Michelle cry, her eyes on his swollen wrist, hearing her smothered sobs amid the room’s lamps purposely switched off so that Matthew Evan would not notice his little girl had not been asleep. Nathan felt his eyes inflamed. He loathed the dream. Why he could not forsake them all. “Nathan!” Joanne Evan called him along from downstairs, “Come down from your room, Son!” Preferring to be in a large sleeveless T-shirt and calf cargo pants, Nathan fixed his curly bang as the door bell shrilled out. “How’s life, Son!” the voice of Eric Evan, Nathan’s army-retired grandfather, reverbed downstairs. Always as forceful as a soldier in the old ages. The loud chatter behind the walls impelled Nathan to exit his room, descending down the stairs seemingly hooking his ankle, urging him not to proceed a step. “Hi, everyone!” he welcomed them with a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, eyes on a dozen of family members scrutinizing him with furrowed foreheads. “Nathan!” Matthew Evan waved him off, “Change your clothes!” Endeavoring to maintain his smile, Nathan whipped his groaning brain not to explode into revulsion.

“Let him be, Matthew!” the grandfather cut in, “Young men these days!” he put his frail arm around Nathan’s shoulder, sitting with him on a sofa whose backrest was in contact with the stair landing wall. Everyone chattered, but not even one invited Nathan, sent him into a feeling of being tucked away like a pointless wedge, contributing nothing but fiddling with the latch of the closet door behind his head. Eyes resisting drowsiness, he strived to numb out his ears, disregarding all mouths in front of him. “Tod, how are you, Clever Boy?” William Evan, Matthew Evan’s youngest brother, asked, “You’re getting thinner all the time! Don’t think about your classes too much! Well, Nathan should. Shouldn’t you, young man?” Angling a grumpy stare, Nathan fixed Tod’s extremely obnoxious squirrel and his rabbit-like front teeth. “I think Tod’s eaten enough. There are two possibilities, either his food was absorbed straight to his brain, or he has worms in his belly. I see your abs is not as athletic as mine. Biology says wormy people’s abs is a bit bloated, right?” Tod’s smile froze, followed by Matthew Evan glaring, “Nathan, yes, he always kids around!” “Yes,” said Tod, “I’m glad to have a humorous cousin like him.” Nathan turned his face away. “Well, you’re right, Uncle!” Tod continued, “I am getting thinner. The best student election a couple of weeks ago has drained my energy!” “Is it?” William asked, enthusiastic. Everybody was engrossed in Tod’s story. “Yup,” Tod answered in excitement, “I have to study every day, even at the weekends. No time to play at all.” Nathan pulled a face. Imagining Tod’s words is utterly eerie. “Tell them the result, Boy,” James Evan, Tod’s father, tagged himself along. Tod shook his head, acting disappointed, “My grade only reached an A. Slightly slipped from my A+ target.” William Evan applauded, tittering like an ugly monstrous horse, “That’s so great. Look at Nathan! This socialite could spend years to get a C!” Nathan was punctured. As if someone thrust a scorching horseshoe into his heart chamber. Wishing he could thwack Uncle William’s lips as he tittered, poking fun at him. “Nathan!” William crinkled his forehead, “I’m curious, what is your dream?” Nathan snorted, scratching his neck, “Your world is just as wide as a campus library, as high as the tip of a graduation cap,” he said brusquely, the sentences escaped his mouth by nature, “For you, happiness might be just an exchange for wealth, or delusional prestige translated as material or honor bearing narrow meaning. Intelligence defined by evenly applied measurement, every bit uniform. I’ve no idea why,” he resumed, curling his lips, “Therefore, do I need to explain what my version of dream is? Even if I told you, you wouldn’t understand,” his grouches struck against Uncle William’s perplexed reaction. “This kid always plays music everywhere,” Matthew Evan chimed in, pouring red wine into the long stem glasses on the dining table. It beat Nathan why his low-salaried father spent much on bottles of wine just for a family feast, “All of you need to advise him.” “What is wrong with you, Nate!” the grandfather broke in, “Most young people nowadays have no clear visions. Things you cherish right now are only temporary, My Grandson!” Nathan cracked his knuckles, hoping he could ascend to his room as immediate as possible, “Why should I force myself to swallow tons of materials that don’t even catch my interest at all. My one year learning would equal one month learning to others,” he held his breath so that his voice would not rise. “You can’t force Mozart to be a boxer.” “Nathan!” James Carter, Tod’s father, answered gruffly, “Kids these days are indecisive. How on earth you can talk over a world legend? That’s a miracle. One in a million.” “So what exactly do you want to be? A street musician?” Matthew Evan put down his wine glass, hands on his waist, coming to the living room, “You can’t even read a single music note symbol. And you dream of being a-sort-of-Mozart?” “Beethoven was deaf!” Nathan could not help letting his voice pitch high, “And he could compose a masterpiece without hearing a sound!” “And you’re not Beethoven!” “And,” this time he sensed the veins on his neck hardening, “I can’t read a damn single note because of you! It’s you putting me in Architecture Department!” he cussed him and rose up from his seat, shouted out at his father not bearing in mind everyone riveted their eyes on him, “Because of you! It’s

you gripping my wrist!” he put his clenched fist by Matthew Evan’s nose, “Gripping it until it swelled just because I! Opened! This fucking closet!” Nathan could restrain himself no longer, his punch smacked into the closet door under the stair landing in contact with his sofa backrest. A crack was heard along with a dent molded into the closet door, shallow and concave, of his burning red fist in size. All eyes were on him. His mother could only stroke his shoulder from behind. “You’re always as stubborn, Nate!” Matthew Evan roared, darting his finger at Nathan’s nose, “I was the one working my ass off as an underpaid employee and your mother has to work her fingers to the bone in a measly coffee shop! We only have a slum house on a narrow alley that your uncle and the rest of the family even have to park their cars far outside the alley’s mouth! But you see my family, don’t you? They’re all successful graduates. Music and a pair of turntables bring you neither money, nor social status, nor a better life!” “Dad,” Nathan felt his ribs beating. “We want you to be the best, Nathan!” Matthew Evan yelled, the skin between his eyebrows creased, “My son is to make me proud. You are to be more like Tod! No respect will be paid to a street musician!!” Again, Matthew Evan’s shouts wrecked his cranium, convincing him of something defective about his birth into the earth. Nathan entirely could not find the reasons to even be present there, just like a clown struggling to smile as he was haled out to put on a circus, face jetted with water and bread flour, while no one even eyewitnessed the tears. Nathan shook his head at his father, went by without permission and slammed the door until it thudded shut. There stalked him, along the unpaved alley of his neighborhood, hovering the dust every time he trod, striding between the houses’ walls with peeling paints and crumbling coat exposing the layer of bricks underneath. On a squalid basketball field among naked walls of red bricks scribbled with graffiti, some jobless men hung around, acrid with their lingering odors of smoke and pathetic aromas of alcohol, puffing their cigarettes and squatting inebriated by the trash drums of corroded iron. Nathan remembered it, when they were too drunk, they would even be unconscious and leaving needles cluttering the edge of the alley, before they scurried in a stampede the following morning, rummaged the trash drums and set the needles on fire once they found them. Luckily they did not that day, they just observed him passing them by as they were snickering in gibberish, pumping up their bottles of liquor in the air. Nathan called them the “hippies don’t work, smoke weed all day in the park and don't really have anything to be mad about” type. One of them vomited close to Nathan’s foot that the foul stench wafted into his nose. “What cha lookin’ at?” Nathan scolded, infuriated. One guy of them staggered tipsy toward him. “I ain’t got no money with me, Man,” Nathan was enraged, “Just take my cigarette and leave me alone,” he shoved his cigarette pack against the guy’s chest and walked on. Straying away to the downtown till reaching Down North Road. There on the road was him kicking the dry leaves falling from the trees along the sidewalk. Gazing with nostalgia at the display window of Angel’s Harp music store displaying a grand piano of a king-sized bed in width. Suffering the slivering pain, pinning his gaze at little girls selecting their toys over the glass wall of Wonderland Toys. And eventually... ...he went there just to stand still where the aisle’s mouth of Hummingbird Alley diminished in view behind the road, staring at the rough concrete-paved alley thick-littered with strewn gravels. Contemplated in excruciation the rectangular concrete slab wall and its line of street lamps shining in somber yellow. A flash of Michelle’s vivacious visage danced in his mind. Nathan saw their pairs of feet romped along the alley, outran each other as they were laughing, swallowing the dust. The last night before he heard the gun shots. Spotted Michelle slumping down with a hole in her head amid the rabble scrambling in laser light. As he screamed, snuggling Michelle’s head that was smeared wet in red, smelling the fishiness from her blood deluging that it drenched his sneakers. The day the club forever torn them apart.

“Nathan still ain’t awake?” Derrick Fisher lifted his cup by the ear, sipping his smoke-billowing coffee. The high wind on the roof garden of Sean’s penthouse fluttered his shirt, harmonizing in tone with the weakly rippling pool.