Never Ever Forget

The year was 1979. It was a clear day and we were on our way to the shopping mall by motorbike. Being a progressive thinker, mom had registered me to be part of a child model competition and we planned to buy a dress for that my special walk on stage. I knew nothing of her plan then and I didn’t understand the term. What do you expect from a child from a small town, right?

My father rode the motorbike with me in the middle and my mom at my back. Before long, we arrived at this intersection. A traditional Javanese carriage (dokar) was on our left. While waiting for the lights to turn green, all of a sudden the horse started to jolt and tried to stand on its back legs. It moved to the left and right causing chaos and some motorbikes fell, including ours. The next thing I knew, I was on the street floor and I saw my father trying to move the motorbike away from the horse. The horse got wilder and wilder. People didn’t even dare to calm it down. They’d rather stay away and announced themselves as watchers, not helpers. I guess they are too afraid to get close to the horse.

I just sat there, too naïve to understand what was going on. Before I realized anything, the horse ran to me and I was under it. I could see how his front legs stood so close to me and I could smell grass from its mouth. Red eyes with uncontrollable shakes of its head, it seemed that it’s coming for me. Still not knowing what was happening, I looked for my mom and then I found her. In the midst of everything, among the abandoned vehicles, mom held the horse’s rope with all the strength she had and with an expression that I cannot forget till the time I write this. Never. It was a mix of fear, disgust, persistence and courage.

What my mom did triggered the others to help her. Perhaps they also feared for my life. They managed to take the horse away and calmed it down, eventually.

The horse, the carriage and its elderly driver were brought to the nearest police station. We were waiting in the same room with the old driver and I remembered that I whispered,”Mom, poor old driver. He’s very old, Mom.” My mom smiled at me. We didn’t press any charges to the horse (who would do that to a horse anyway? hehehe) and neither to the driver. I don't know if that's because the things I said to mom.

After finishing the paperwork at the police station, we still continued our journey to the shopping mall to buy the dress for me. It was a simple broken white dress with flowers on the bottom, complete with the matching hat. I made my walk on stage the next day with bruises and antiseptic traces on my legs. Too bad I didn’t win. With everything that had happened the day before in search for the dress, winning would be nice to compensate the pain. Hehehehe.

Happy 57th birthday, Mom.
I love you eternally....