Penulis : Nurul Utami Putri

            Before I met Aliya, I  was almost sure that I was a boy. I cut my hair, tried to drink beer my Mom s pantry, chased after girls a few times, and saved my dough to buy a tommy gun. Okay, not a tommy gun actually. It was a Fender s Telecaster guitar. And my name is Edgar. Not Elizabeth or Sophie. That is a boy s name.

            Mom also considered me as her little gentleman. She never let me join the ballet or cooking classes. I joined judo and guitar instead. She never allowed me to buy girl stuffs. No Barbie or Ken, no make up kit. My childhood was a very nice time with lots of Spidey and Robocop. My Mom wanted a baby boy so much when she was pregnant, but then she bore me, her baby girl. Then Mom s uterus was ruined by cancer two years later, and my Dad died one month later and she never had her baby boy. Poor Mom!

            One day I went shopping with my mom and bought some school kit and stationery for my new class during the year. And when I was choosing the socks, I saw something hanging between ranks of sexy colorful stockings. Between the vivid red and shocking pink ones, I found the difference in a pair of bluestocking. I never touch this kind of thing before. It was a pair of smooth, thin, elastic and baby-blue colored stockings, wrapped with clear plastic wrapper. I read the label and suddenly spelled its brand. Elizabeth Grey. I have never heard bout it. I wanna buy it.

            "You do not need this silly stockings, Edgar. Just pick some socks over there, choose the white ones," suddenly Mom took that bluestockings from my hands and asked a girl to step aside so she could push her trolley. I kept quite. And when we went home, I played Deep Purple s Smoke on The Water with my Telecaster. I tried to forget bout the bluestockings.

***

            The Gates Tattoo Shop. I opened the rolling door and got in, and looked for Gary. Typically, I only went on Sunday afternoons. It was the one afternoon that Gary was not in his drunk mood because he is a Smirnoff Ice is addict. Well, actually he is not that bad. But last week I found him scattered on the floor, stoned, and I could smell beer all over him.

            A tough-looking guy standing there like he was a cop. But he ain t a cop. His name is Gary Gates, a 31-year-old friend of mine. He is the owner of this tattoo shop. He is a tattoo-man too and I couldnot count his tattoos collection. But he is a nice guy, and damn, I almost consider him family.

            "Hi, Ed," he greeted me.

            As usual he drank Smirnoff Ice beer and then gave me a glass of Tropical reef. It was a hot-summer day and I just wanted a chilly limeade, but too shy to ask for it.

            "Let s talk bout your stuffs. Before I get stoned," Gary laughed and put his beer glass after a big gulp. I looked at his newest tattoo, a little blue-jay bird and a little blonde girl with her red ice lolliy. I thought they were kinda cute.

            "Who is this?" I touched the Little Girl in Gary s right shoulder.

He smiled,

 "My daughter," said Gary.

            "You have one?" I replied quite in disbelieve,

            "No. But I will. Someday,"

            "Does it hurt, Gary?"

            "No. Wanna try to make one?" he grinned.

            "No thanks. Iam still twelve. Mom will chop me off if I even tried a temporary,"

            "You are pretty damn smart," he leaned in and kissed my forehead, as if he was my Dad.

***

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