If Only She Could Talk (Story Teenlit Magazine, Oktober 2013)
If Only She Could Talk
I
had just been angry when I didn’t (couldn’t) find the book I looked for.
The book is (was) very difficult to find because it is (was) an
old book, a novel by James Herriot, If Only They (It “for novel?”) Could
Talk. My friend said that the book (or novel?) can be found in (at)
the library of the campus. But in fact, I didn’t find it. It was check-out,
borrowed by someone.
I
felt so desperate in (omit) that
time.
I
decided to look for the book next (another) time, maybe tomorrow. I hope
the book will have been returned. My head burnt (dizzy?, burnt is awful?), I
wanted to go home instead of out to play in another place.
***
The
library was very crowded. There are (were) many people here, (doing) in
(omit) their own activities. I (was) still
waiting for someone returning the novel I wanted. Suddenly, my eyes caught
something attractive brought by a girl. Yeah, that’s the one!
“Sorry,
have you finished read (reading) it?” I asked the girl.
She
didn’t give a respond, even to answer my question.
“Have
you finished? May I borrow the book?” I repeated and added my question.
She
nodded. (She) Gave the book to me and left me (standing) alone. I was really
happy to get (have) the book. But I felt so annoyed with the girl. Why she
didn’t show her voice (spoke any word)? How beautiful is it (what
do you mean??)? She was very arrogant, I judged directly.
I
disliked the girl in (from) my first impression.
***
Finally,
I finished my assignment in analyzing the novel. I hated (disliked, hate is for behavior..) literature so
much, especially in analysis. Huft.. It’s
(was) so horrible assignment.
But
it’s my consequence to take English (Education) Department major.
Although
I hated (disliked) analysis, I loved the novel. The description about
Edensor, a village
in Derbyshire, England astonished me. It is the closest village to Chatsworth House
and much of it belongs to the Dukes of Devonshire. I admire(d)
it. What a beautiful trees, valley, flower, and animals they are. When will I
go there? It’s just a dream, of course.
I
found a piece of paper folded in the middle of the novel’s pages. Hey.. It was
a poem.
A
Piece of My Voice
I’m lonely….
Just stand in terrace (porch
would be nice)
Nobody cares
I’m desolated….
Life in isolated
Nobody listened
I want to show my voice
But I have no choice
Even to get my joys
I
was completely stupefied by what I had read. The poem was so touched (touching).
I thought the author of the poem wrote it with deep feeling. Humaira, those
letters was (were) written in the end of the poem. She was the writer, I
guessed.
***
I
saw that girl when I intended to return back the novel on the rack. She looked
so confused. Who cares? I ignored her.
There
was someone touched (touching) my shoulder. I was startled. That girl! Oh no.
What (do) she want from me?
She
pointed (at) the novel I brought, murmured unclear words. I didn’t know what
she means. She pointed (at) the novel again and pointed (at) herself.
“Do
you want it?” I asked her.
She
nodded. I gave the book to her. She took that (it) and opened every page
quickly, looking for something. She looked so upset when (she) didn’t find what
she wanted.
I
assumed I knew what she (has been) looked (looking) for.
“Is
this yours?” I asked and showed a piece of paper to her, “I found it in the
middle of the novel’s pages; by the way, it’s a nice poem”
She
smiled and murmured something “Humm...”
“I
know your name is Humaira, isn’t it?”
“Humm…”
“Yeah,
don’t tell me again, I know your name “Hum Girl”, can’t you talk in (using)
clear words instead (of) just murmured (murmuring) like that?” I shouted
to (at) her.
I
was very angry because she never talks(ed) to me. Is her voice sound like a
bark?
She
opened her book. Wrote something and showed it to me.
“I
CAN’T SPEAK NORMALLY BECAUSE I’M A DEAF-MUTE”.
I
was shocked. It was (an) unpredictable answer. My judgment about her arrogance
was nonsense. It was my wrong opinion.
I
found her in tears.
***
I
met her in the next day after the incident to make (say) an apology. I
was lucky because I found her in library as usual.
“Ehm,
sorry Hum, I’m Firman. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just…” I was speechless.
“No
problem. Don’t feel guiltyJ” She wrote it and smiled to me.
“You’re
a kindly (kind) girl Hum. Allah protects you from useless words, useless
voice. He loves you in His own way” just that words I could say to her.
Humaira,
if only you could talk…
***
Hopefully one day you will be a greatest writer..amennn.
BalasHapus