The Busker

He had the job of which children would never write down on their resume. He had the job that people would never crave on. He enjoyed it though. He did the best he could. With his old and caked-with-dirt guitar, he got on buses and sang old songs of Beatles, Air Supply, or The Queen. He got little money-so little that he could just buy a pita bread and a cup of hot coffee in the cold morning, a bun and a glass of ice tea to relieve his hot throat at noon, and a small cut of fried duck plus a glass of lemonade to end his long day. He had done it for years, perhaps more than ten years.

He had become the person whom people would never look at. He never cared too much. He kept singing and singing. He believed that some of them would listen and enjoy the songs. He never cared to those who felt disturbed. The disturbance usually paid him some more coins.

He never thought of cutting one of his hands or legs just to make them touched like those of beggars begging in many mosques. He also never thought of pretending as if he had amputated ones. He sang for he knew it was the best way to support his life.

He wore jeans and T-shirt with provocative slogans of freedom and justice for all. His jeans were of the oldest ones he bought in a black market where you can buy used ones. He put a bum bag around his waist where he kept his money and ID card in. He wore a pair of sport shoes, probably made in China, with holes on both sides.

He was older than he used to be. His grey hair looked fit with his grey beard. His face was full of wrinkles that hid the mystery of his life. A sweet smile, not a bitter one, was always given to the passengers, whether they gave him coins or not.

***

There was a bad traffic jam at Kejapanan’s intersection one afternoon. The vehicles were stuck on their position. No one moved. There were no policemen around. No one wanted to let others go. Every one held on their ego.

The busker could move freely from one bus to another. This time he got more money. He got off the fourth bus and went to a shelter to count the rupiahs.

He got merely two hundred thousand rupiahs that day.

He smiled and imagined what he might do with the money. He might buy a new Che Guevara’s T-shirt or a pair of shoes. He might go to a cinema and watch ‘New Superman: Man of Steel’. He could do anything with the money.

However, there’s a sky above us. He must have realized that. A power that controls all: the bandit.

“Hey, Old Busker! Gimme your money. I noticed you got much dime. You never gimme some. Come on, gimme all. I needa drink.”

The old busker was so surprised, but he realized he had no power to refuse. So he gave the coins to the rascal.

***

It was twenty years ago. The old busker was a student in a famous high school. He had always been the best three in the class. He studied hard to satisfy his parents. Unfortunately he forgot that he should have studied for his own future.

It happened so that he took a major chosen by his egoistic father. He joined a famous and expensive university out of town. He was not the best student but he graduated in five years. Many friends did not even graduate-mostly were dropped out.

After graduation is always the biggest challenge: to get a job, to create a job, or continue studying. He decided to get a job. He forgot his responsibility as a graduate, that is to create a job.

Getting a job in recession is not easy. He walked down the town, entering offices, sending applications, and doing interviews, but no one offered him a job. He was almost frustrated.

“What’s wrong, God? I always obey my parents. Why do you do this to me?”asked he in his pray.

He remembered how he was fond of music. He remembered how he liked the listening session-for the teacher often played songs. He remembered how he liked playing in the school band.

...but his parents wanted him to be an architect. “It’s a great job. It’s a cool job,” said his dad to convince him. He did not like drawing though, and it makes his GPA not as excellence as his friends’.

...and today, he survives with his talent in singing.

***

He knew it was dignity his parents always told him to fight for. So he turned back and walked in a rush to the bandit. He grabbed his plastic bag of coins from the big musculous tattooed hands and at a sudden, he got a blade stabbing in his tummy. He had dignity to fight for.

The end