Its two in the morning in Dago. The air blew like a rain of fire arrows. I just woke up. Jackie, Najma, Apollo, all asleep. Well, maybe not so. She rolled over, against the Kiblah. Her blonde hair moves up and down like the Rupiah's value in the market. Last time I checked, one US dollar is around Rp5.600. Her body, half covered with a blanket, as if an unspoiled beach. Golden, rugged, yet smooth. I stopped staring, maybe because I was uncomfortable. Who knows the contents of my brain? My breath is rather heavy, I haven't bathed after doing the deed with her. Ugh, smelly, I thought. Hungry, too. Hangry even
I open the fridge like a bank robber. The contents are just like that. Jackie's favourite raw vegetables, some cakes made by Najma's friends, Apollo's smoothie. Thus the list perpetrates on, like a fight in the parliament. Eggs. Hmmmmmm. Only two show up. Broccoli. Garlic. Alright. I'm in action. Let's do this.
I grabbed a bowl and crack the eggs into it, making sure that nobody listened to any of it, not even the flies. I whisk it up and added a couple of things. Fish sauce, nice smoky, umami flavour. Pepper. And also, some dried oregano. Whisk it a bit more and I left them for awhile. I clean the table and reach out for my knife. I contemplate on it, quite awhile. I ponder on how God can chop up my life then and there if I'm still the demagogue I used to be. I look at it and see all my teachers, friends, parents even. A tear was secreted. I swoop it. I took the broccoli and wash it, quietly, with water. After that's done, and I sharpen my knife, I chop it to flakes of forests. Florets decorated my cutting board like confetti. Same goes for the garlic. I just smash it, letting all the allicin leak like the Buloggate scandal. It wetted the board, giving it a smell that Dracula hates.
I take one frying pan, frying from my parents. Slowly enter the onion and broccoli, the sound of which I silenced with the cover it came with. I leave them for a few minutes. Small fire and patience, two keys to the success of this recipe. I grabbed the sourdough I had and I cut one big chunk for myself. For the base later, I thought. The broccoli had become greener, as if the chlorophyll in it has broken, spreading everywhere. I opened it, but I was surprised. I put the lid slowly on the countertop and I looked down. Ah, Its Jackie's arm, as it turns out. "Cooking, much?" she asked. I was caught red-handed. "Yes," I replied. Her hug was tight, just like before, more of a I-like-fluffy-things hug rather than love-me-until-I-am-numb hug. Jackie leaned her head on my shoulder and took the bowl, "Want me to help?" "With pleasure," I replied. Enter the egg mixture into the pan.
Her nude, sweaty body pressed onto my back as she reached out to my hand, therefore grabbing the spatula, and mix the eggs just as if an artificial arm. So sensual, this moment. Her arms, tanned from countless beaches, Kuta, Plengkung, Raja Ampat, envelope part of my abdomen as she moved eggs around quite briskly. I jerk the pan back and forth. Her tongue circle her lips, wetting it as it travels. She might thinks that looks quite delectable, as if my love. After all, that's the main reason for all the kerfuffle 1 year ago, love. Love, apart from God, is the ultimate reason for anything. She knows full well about this, her body language reflects this. After a minute or so, we poured it onto the awaiting sourdough. It was fluffy shards of yellow, with green and translucent white around. We sit down, she was still bare.
"Get a nightgown," I said unto Jackie. Her ears as if deafened by the traffic that seems to not die down this time of the year. "Hmm?" she replied. Her breathing as light as the eggs we cooked. I repeat my line again. She nods silently and reached out a Victoria Secret branded lingerie and a semi-transparent silk one good friend of ours bought for us some lost months ago. "You thought this was a catwalk?" I commented. "Well, I'm already your personal model anyway, so might as well," Jackie flirtatiously answered. She reached for a fork and starts eating it, parsecs before I even get a bite. She smiled, maybe she was hungry tonight. She climbed into my lap while leaning towards the egg. "Who is the cook?" I asked. "Sharing is caring," she replied asking. Damn. I took another fork too and take a bite before it was too late. Just like a toddler. We play for a while before we eat solemnly. Just like the standard I made to myself, not too salty and tasty. Proportional. there are vegetables in there, so its healthy too. Sometimes, as we eat, my mouth is exposed to flakes of bread and broccoli. "Slow down, I told you," I said. "Sorry, I'm hungry," she replied. How cute.
After we finished the scrambled egg, we wash the frying pans, bowls and plates we use. It's done, we're both full. We walk again toward our bed. She stretched his body, covering the land that should be mine. I don't care, I go into the bathroom to take a shower, so I can pray Fajr later. I let the water beads sweep the sweat and liquid that we have removed. Soap, shampoo, done. I'll brush my teeth later in the morning later, I think. I wear my boxers again and hug her like a soft, fluffy pillow. I kissed her goodnight. I close my eyes.