No Snow in Jakarta

I immediately chased that thought away. I was a detective, a man of logic and reasoning. To suggest such fiction goes against everything I believed. If I were to believe I went back in time, I’d need one last proof.
…Mom!

I ran until I arrived at a humble two-storied, tan-painted house. Home. I thought that if I went back in time—if I was still in Maine—then she would still be alive.

I entered through the front door into an unlit hallway. At the end of the hallway was the kitchen. Light spilled from it. I crept forward. My heart thrashed inside my chest, doom and hope battled inside for supremacy.

It felt like I was in that night again: woken up by the sound of struggle, creeping down the hallway, following a trail of blood into the kitchen. I’d turn the corner and find the body, and my life would spiral out of control. But now, the trail I followed was the sweet scent and ambience of cooking; platters clinking together, the roar of a gas-stove’s fire, and the smell of turmeric and santan wafting in the air. Then, a voice—a humming of a nostalgic song—one I thought I’d never hear again. I rounded the corner and there stood my proof.

Mom was stirring a pot of rendang, a green apron tied to her waist. The light from the window outlined her slim features and highlighted her silk-black hair. Her dark eyes concentrated as she brought the ladle full of that curry-like sauce to her lips to taste, but she immediately broke to a smile as she saw me.

“Welcome home. You’re a bit late.”

“Mom…”

My head swam and my knees turned to water. I wanted nothing more than to run to her and hug her. But I didn’t think I could do that without breaking into embarrassing tears.

She tilted her head. “Are you alright? Are you sick?”

Her eyes suddenly widened in surprise. My heart leapt to my throat, thinking she was as surprised to see me. But what she said was: “don’t go into the kitchen with your shoes! We may be in America but we’re not that American.”
I lifted my foot and saw mud and snow underneath my shoes. Mom chased me out the kitchen.

“S-sorry. I was in a hurry!”

“I bet!” She bent to look at my clothes. “You look frozen and worn! You should take a nice long bath then you come back here”.

She said it with such authority that I obeyed, until she said, “don’t forget to clean your room tonight. You’re staying at your friend’s house tomorrow, right?”

I stopped at the threshold. “I… I think I’m not going.”

“Oh? But you’ve been looking forward to that.”

“Never mind that!” I turned to her. “What date is it?”

“7th February. Why?”

6 days. Enough time. I couldn’t help but smile. “Nothing. I just have new plans.”

She frowned at my smile. “You’re not up to no good, are you?”

“N-no. It’s… well…” I was an adult, why am I so flustered?

Hearing my stammering, her frown broke into laughter.

I stared at her. I forgot she loved to tease me. I forgot how beautiful her laughter was. I didn’t realize how much I missed them.

It happened without a thought. I ran back into the kitchen, cutting her laughter as I pulled her into a hug. I waited for her to protest about my shoes, but it never came. She wordlessly returned the hug, confused, but not questioning it.

She looked just like her. Smelt like her. Sounded like her. Felt like her. It was her. I was too happy to cry.
After an eternity, I looked up to her and blushed. “So… no problem?”

“Nope.”

I smiled sheepishly. “Sorry about the floors.”

“Pish posh I can clean that later. Besides, didn’t I teach you that superheroes shouldn’t be afraid to show compassion?”

Now that made me bawl. She had to use her handkerchief on my tear-streaked cheeks.

That night, alone in my bedroom, I couldn’t sleep. I was planning. In a lucky twist, her death that has haunted me made me remember every minute detail about her case that, given a second chance, I knew the best way to prevent it. All I needed was time, and now I’ve got it

This time, I wasn’t figuring out how she died. I was figuring out how to prevent it. That has a nice ring to it.
A sensation bloomed in my chest. It was warm and it was soft. It breathed strength to my muscles and electrified my senses. It was hope, the hope that I can save her life, that I can save lives.

Just like a superhero. (*)

Editor: Reza Maulana Hikam