Shit Town
1.
Adventure left Bintulu at about half past six.
Filled up his rucksack with as many items as he thought would be useful for the long journey, gassed up the tank, left Mommy a note, and off he went.
Feels like goin’ on a college road trip, he said to himself. Like that senior-year summer in Kansas State. The Great Plains. The Grand Canyon. The vast, empty space between the harsh, treeless prairie and the smooth, Midwestern sky. The freedom to roam a body of land as far as the eyes can see.
Driving along the coastline on the road towards Miri, he saw a glimpse of familiar heaven. The beautiful dusk sky above the long stretch of beaches in Tanjung Kidurong, bathed in glorious hues of shimmering yellow, red and blue.
Sea, shining sea, he muttered. Sea, shining sea.
2.
The sun retired into the horizon, dinnertime came, and Mommy arrived home from her day shift to find a goodbye letter on the dining table: an anthill of yellow Post-It notes, pinned down by the weight of a cold can of Tiger beer.
Mommy dearest,
I have resigned from my post at the district office. This has got nothing to do with the working condition, or my boss, or the starting pay, or anything.
I have resigned because I am leaving, Mommy.
I am leaving because this shit town has got nothing to offer. I may have grown up here, but I certainly feel now that I do not belong here anymore, Mommy. I don’t feel at home anymore. I don’t even know who I am anymore.
Please forgive me, Mommy.
But you have to let me go and do this. This is important to me. I’ll be back someday, Mommy, I promise. I’ll be back, and I’ll bring home to you a beautiful wife and a cute little Adventure Jr., perhaps. But I will be back. I promise you.
Jesus loves you, Mommy. Always remember that.
Hugs and kisses. Your son, Adventure.
Mommy crumpled the notes, fell hard onto the chair, and broke down in tears. Adventure --her darling pride and joy, the apple of her eye, the jewel of her life— has left her.
Just as his daddy had left her and baby Adventure twenty years ago.
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