It was one of the moments in life that I want to freeze, capture, and put in a frame. Not because of it's mere beauty, but the perfectness of the moment. As in a Hollywood movie.
Almost night in the little town of Salatiga. It was 2004 and the moon was a flawless crescent. The sky was fade burgundy, as the stars shyly showed their sparkle. A perfect view from a huge glassed-window in front me, that I felt the necessity to look out in awe.
I was working as a radio DJ and it was the end of my shift. After saying goodbye to the listeners, I decided to play a dramatic exit song. By dramatic, I meant Radiohead's Exit Song (For A Movie). Not popular, but aching in it's own way. While Thom Yorke's hissing, my mind went blank.
"What 'ja doing?" a voice suddenly appeared.
A friend, fellow radio announcer, showed up. He just done mixing for a commercial, I guess. Then again, I didn't really know what he was up to.
Our radio station has become some kind of home for all of us. We practically eat, bath, and sleep there, in addition to work. The workers - announcers and other staff - was a second family and we cherished each other. Sometimes, I'd sit on the chair in front of a friend who was on air, just to have a good laugh during the songs.
We were pretty wild, too. On night shifts, we brought vodka and let ourselves laughing like crazy over lame jokes. When in the mood, we'd do cruel games like truth or dare. Usually choosing 'truth' was banned, and 'dare' was licking extra hot sambal from someone else's belly. Yes, mean and low.
Back to the crescent-moon-night, I was telling my friend that the perfect night was sliding away wasted.
So he said, "You know what'll be so cool?"
I raised my eyebrows. This friend has known to have an amazing interpretation for the word coolness.
"A beer under the star," he said.
Okey, not so amazing. But I thought, what the hell.
Off we went, with a can of Heineken for each of us. Behind his back, on his motorcycle, the air was as fresh as a rain forest. Wet and warm.
He stopped at a cliff. My town has one or two landscapes like these. The one we chose was like a meadow. We sit on the grass that was dry and dusty, and started to talk about cheesy stuff. You know, stuff like 'How's your girlfriend doing?' and all. For the record, there was no romantic arrangements between us. We were friends and that was it.
When the chit-chat started to feel dull, we stood silently and watched the stars.
"Let's pretend to see a shooting star and make a wish," he said. I could smell that 'mean and low' game all over that sentence.
Thus, my answer to his call was, "Let's!"
You know what they say about young people: reckless and irresponsible. Well, we were.
I can't barely remember what he wished for. But at one point I was running across the meadow, so that must be NOT a cool wish. He laughed his ass off while I was at it. But instead of being pissed, I laughed in return. We broke the silence with laughter.
"My turn?" I asked. He nodded.
"I want Hollywood," I acclaimed.
He knew what I meant. Being together almost everyday, I'd say he had heard enough crap about my obsession of romanticism. I loved Hollywood. Not because of its nonsense about finding true love, but the romantic special effects in the movies. The slow-mo wind that fly your hair, the song suddenly played when you're kissing, and the dramatic entrances. Oh yeah, he knew exactly what I meant.
"Oh, fine..." he said. I thought he was reluctant, but by all means, he was not.
So he grabbed his cellphone and played 'Your Song'. Al Jarreau version, not Elton John. Thank God.
"Just like Moulin Rouge," he smiled.
He took me in his arms and led me to a dance. He wasn't a bad dancer, though not a good one also. But I appreciated his willingness. And for the sake of the bloody romantic scene, I held my laughter and laid my head on his shoulder.
I hope you don't mind/I hope you don't mind/That I put down in words//How wonderful life is/When you're in the world//
The end of verse one, then he looked at me. Eye to eye. At that point, my heart said, "Ok. This is the time when you start to laugh and punch each other's arms." But we didn't. I reciprocated and looked back into his eyes, with the same intensity as he did to me. They were gorgeous, the eyes. Had they always been so beautiful or I never looked at them that way, I wondered.
From then on, everything felt like a slow-motioned moving images. His body moved closer slowly to mine, swayed to the melody of the song. He closed his eyes, I did the same. His face closer, so did mine. I can feel his breathing and smell the beer - from his mouth or mine, I never really know. We kissed.
And it was a perfect one. Soft and tender, not in a rush. He bent my back backwards to add a little drama at the end of the song and I felt like Grace Kelly. Wind blows through our ears.
Some people say a kiss will be perfect if done with someone special. They were wrong. The kiss was perfect because of the kiss itself. Because it was in slow-mo and an Al Jarreau song in background. Because it was in the midst of a meadow, under the stars and the crescent moon. Because the night was perfect the way it is. That moment right there, I'd freeze and put in a frame. Perfectness.
It took us exactly five seconds after the kiss before everything became quite awkward. We let ourselves go and he kicked some dust. One, two more seconds of awkwardness. I picked up my beer can. It was empty. A lizard came out of it.
"Shit," I cursed.
He burst in laugh. One thing about laughter, it is contagious. So we both laugh and laugh, tears came down from our eyes.
"Oh, it's late," I said eventually.
"We should go," he added.
"We're good?" I asked.
"We're cool," he winked. We punched each other's arms and left.
The day after, and more days after, we never talked about that night. Life went on and we continued become best friends. I never know what the night meant for him, and I never intend to analyze either.
As for me, that night was a scene taken out from a movie. It was Hollywood and I thank him for the generous present.
