by Kat Bastion
“Riiight…” I got the sense he knew exactly where he was going. With the truck—and me.
At least one of us has a clue.
My worries about us began to fade away as the road ended where a grouping of huts began and more villagers greeted us, surrounding the truck. Mase jumped out, rummaged through one of his bags in the back, then brought out a bottle that glistened in the sunlight.
The friendly group guided us to their chieftain in the center of their community. A smaller man with wrinkled dark skin and a shock of white hair smiled up at us.
Mase extended his bottle. “A gift for you.”
The chieftain nodded and took the bottle of clear liquid, appearing to be vodka. Whether the man spoke English or not never became clear. But when a couple of teenaged boys shouted in excitement, pointing at our surfboards, communication had been struck. They ran off. A few minutes later, they returned, each with a board balanced over their head. After gleefully shouting words I didn’t understand, they jogged down a narrow path.
“What do you think they were saying?”
He gave me a one-shoulder shrug, then grinned. “Surf’s up?”
I laughed. “Works for me.”
Mase didn’t worry about our gear, so neither did I.
And ten minutes later, every thought faded away behind turquoise walls of glass, misty sea spray, and heavenly barrels that lasted until our legs gave out.
Later that night, we sat around a dying beach campfire with our two new friends. They’d settled down on the other side while Mase and I enjoyed the slight chill of the ocean breeze.
The air was crisp and clean. And each next inhalation tasted like rebirth…felt like freedom. I’d come with Mase, on my first adventure to fulfill my lifelong wish of traveling the world, without expectation of what the experience might bring. Yet the reality blew me away.
An unnamable magic, distinct and beautiful, swirled in the air around us. Among strangers, instant friendship bonds had formed with our common love of wind and sea; trust and joy abounded, plentiful and free.
“This,” I whispered to Mase. “This” —I nodded at our friends, toward the village behind us, then swept my gaze across the ocean before landing an intense stare on the one man beside me who’d made it all possible— “is the reason I wanted to travel.”
A content sigh escaped him as he gave a slow nod. “The fabric of the world. All of us unique threads within it.”
“Makes for a richer life for all involved.” Most Hawaiians honored connectivity to all. The soul of nature, and our oneness with those who heard it, sang loudly in our blood.
His chin dipped in another nod, his gaze going unfocused off into the horizon toward the west. After long beats of silence, his voice turned reverent. “Deeper…and stronger.”
A sense of importance pierced my heart, spreading warmth through my body until it settled heavy in my bones. Mase had wanted my realization to happen, wanted me to see. And the satisfaction I felt—from him, from me, from our connection to one another and everything and everyone around us—hung palpable in the air between us, intimate and delicate, yet vibrant and growing stronger.
And as I relaxed into it, the difference between our remote location and my home—his home now, too—became clear. I didn’t know how to get beyond that disparity. When we’d been at the beach on a faraway Pacific isle, the night we’d first met, I’d discovered the beginnings of the same thing—an escape from reality.
Every little problem in the real world had vanished.
Almost like…the way it felt to ride a wave.
Comfortable with the philosophical path my mind had wandered down, and trusting that I could be safe there with Mase, I asked the first question that came to mind.
“How do we go back to reality from here? From a world of total acceptance to…”
Challenges…
No need to clarify. He knew.
He folded an arm under his head. “On a beach in France, when I was a kid, I met a cool guy named Freddie once. He was a follower of Zoroastrianism.”
“Zoroastrianism? How did you even remember that word?”
He smiled. “Back then, I didn’t. Remembered the ‘Zoro’ part. Looked it up when I started college.”
“Where was Freddie from?”
“Iran, I think. I might’ve been twelve at the time, he had to be pushing thirty. But my broth…” He paused and took a deep breath. When I glanced at him, he cleared his throat, then continued, “I surfed with Freddie for a good five hours one day. And while we waited for our turn at the wave, he said a lot of things that went right over my head. But one of his phrases stuck with me. Humata, Hukhta, Huvarshta: Good thoughts. Good words. Good deeds.”
“Elegant.”
“And simple.”
“What does it mean to you?”
He gazed up at the stars. “I think the world is more complex than we could ever imagine. And we can’t even begin to fix everything happening around us, let alone political issues happening globally. But we can be the best selves we were meant to be. We can be pure and good. Forgiving and relentless. And when an obstacle lies in our path?”
He paused, then glanced at me. “Be like water.”
“Be like water,” I repeated, loving the modest phrase.
If only the world were so simple.
Mase…
“They’ve gotten so big.” Leilani cupped a chirping silver chick in her hand.
“Right?” Only had them a week and they’d nearly doubled in size.
She surveyed the rest of the burgeoning flock that scurried over fresh pine shavings in a large plastic bin. “Who’s been watching them?”
“Neighbor. We struck a deal: They take care of the place while I’m gone, I keep ’em in fresh eggs.”
After she deposited the fluffball into the container, I handed her a beer and we sat in my borrowed beach chairs, staring up at the night sky.
Head still tilted back, she glanced at me. “Remember when we first laid on the beach?”
“You drunk off your ass?”
She elbowed my side. “I’m serious.”
“Yeah, I remember.” Every moment, in vivid detail. “Kinda miss that girl.”
“What girl? She’s sitting right beside you.”
“No. The girl who’d let herself go. The one who’d let in a surfer boy she’d just met.”
Picking at the corner of her beer label, she shrugged. “That was the tequila talkin’.”
“What would it take for it to be just the girl, not the tequila?”
She turned and stared at me, eyes dark, jawline hard, chest rising and falling more rapidly at my question, at the unhidden challenge there. Finally, her eyes softened. “What I meant was do you remember the stars?”
“Yeah, I remember. They were amazing.” I glanced upward. “These aren’t bad either.”
“Wanna see better?”
“Of course, I do.” I’d seen some amazing skies in my life, but hadn’t appreciated them with someone in a long time. And I suddenly wanted to. With her.
With her…I’d do anything.
Suddenly, she popped up from her chair and disappeared. Seconds later, I heard keys jangling behind me. “You comin’, or what?”
Thirty minutes later, dressed in several layers of the second-warmest shirts I owned, sitting next to a petite girl practically drowning in the extra-large of my warmest, I did my best not to break out into a grin as we ascended Haleakala.
“Slow down,” she ordered in a gruff tone, for the third time.
“Already going five under.”
“Slower.”
I lifted my foot off the gas as commanded. “This okay?”
“Yeah, sorry.” She leaned forward, gripping the edge of the dashboard as she peered over the hood. “It’s the nēnē. They’re endangered. And careless drivers hit them on this road.”
I frowned, slowing down to a near-crawl. “Lemme turn the high beams off.”
As soon as ligh
t flooded onto the road’s surface instead of farther ahead, her shoulders relaxed. Before a full minute ticked by, there stood a pair of the large birds, in the middle of the road.
“They look like Canadian geese.” When they waddled off the road, I continued on at a crawl.
“They’ve evolved from them. Almost no webbing between their toes. Don’t fly anymore. Mostly hang out in the higher elevations.”
“You into birds?”
She shrugged. “Learned about endangered species on the islands in school. I’m into helping them when I can. Volunteer out at the Nakula Natural Area Reserve sometimes.”
“What kind of help do they need?”
“Healthy forest planted, for one. The British and Australians planted tropical trees and bushes they liked, which crowded out all of the indigenous trees that our birds need for survival. Planting new native trees helps where deforestation and grazing wiped them out. Fences have to be built to keep out the boars and deer.” She pointed off to the left. “Park over there.”
Sounded cool. “If you don’t mind me tagging along, invite me to go with you next time.”
Surprise washed over her expression, then she smiled and nodded. “N’kay.”
“Brrr…” I shivered as a brisk wind hit my face the instant I opened the door. At nearly ten-thousand feet in elevation, it felt like we’d traveled another planet away from the balmy tropics just over an hour downslope.
In under a minute, we settled on my new couch cushions that we’d earlier tossed into the bed of the truck. Then we quickly pulled the only two blankets I owned over us, up to our chins, and did our best to fend off the forty-degree wind chill in our makeshift observation deck.
For about five minutes, we laid like that, side by side, bodies huddled. Nothing overtly sexual about it, yet my body pinged with energy. But more than that, my chest felt heavy from the peaceful intimacy between us.
Her leg began to bounce. “You freezin’ yo’ da kines off yet?”
I frowned. “What kinds?”
“Da kines.”
“My balls?”
She laughed hard, curling her knees up into her chest. “Remember? We say ‘da kine’ to mean anything. You said it’s like ‘whatchamacallit’ in English.”
“For the record, I don’t say ‘whatchamacallit’ when talkin’ ’bout my balls. They’re my balls.”
“I’m not calling them anything.”
“You brought it up.”
Crossing her arms with an exaggerated drop, she stared intently at the night sky. “Well, I’m not talking about them.”
“Still are…”
She let out a soft snort, shoulders shaking again. But she said nothing further—giving in or winning, I wasn’t sure.
The silence stretched into minutes, but it was nice. Reminded me of our first night on the beach. Just her and me. None of my problems. None of hers.
“Fuck, yeah,” I finally admitted. “I’m freezing my balls off.”
But I didn’t care. Being there—with her—topped every experience I’d ever had.
Our breaths puffed out in frosted clouds, mingling together for an instant before vanishing with the next gust of wind. Countless stars glittered above in an infinite pitch-black sky; we were small specks below, grains of sand at the bottom of an endless ocean.
A deep quiet settled between us. Not the awkward kind where you struggle for something to say. No. What happened relaxed into our bones, turning every next frosty breath into something that warmed my chest, made each heartbeat heavier. And as the comforting silence wrapped itself around us, she reached her arm out, then brushed the back of her knuckles over mine.
The realness resembled what had happened that first night. Only no tequila flowed through our veins. We were ice-cold sober.
“You like our stars?” She’d said it as if they belonged to her. To Maui.
But they were more than that. Personal and private. “Yeah. I like ’em. Our stars.”
At the emphasis, she glanced at me. A hint of amusement crinkled at the corner of her eyes. Then she stared upward again.
Backs of our hands still touching, her fingers straightened against mine, relaxed with a slight curve, then stretched backward again, interlacing our fingers together.
That tiny act felt huge.
Nervous on a level I couldn’t remember feeling before, I let out a slow breath. The moment hit me hard, and I gently gripped her hand, holding on while trying not to shake. Or act like some lovesick teenager. Because I wasn’t.
What tempted me, what unfolded between us in gradual turns, was a journey bigger than emotional discovery, greater than hormones pinging out of control. Two people from different worlds had begun to reach across a gap an ocean wide, hoping to find safety on the other side.
For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, I’d truly connected to another soul again.
Never expected it to happen. Not this deep.
Cramp forming in the base of my throat at how hard her trust hit me, I sucked in a deep breath, then closed my eyes and exhaled, trying to calm my breaths and pounding heart. After a few seconds ticked by, my breathing began to calm, matching the rise and fall of her chest in gentle rhythm. Rise…fall.
Rise…
Fall…
The simple connection resonated deeply, strong yet fragile. I rubbed my thumb over the soft skin of her hand, suddenly more curious about her, what she deemed important. “What’s your favorite memory?”
“This one.” Her response, a bare whisper over the wind, held a potent fierceness.
“Mine too.” Without doubt.
Another matched breath passed without words, until I needed to know more. “After this one…”
Her fingers relaxed. Then she tucked her other arm under her head as she searched the starry sky for her answer. “My first time on a perfect barrel.”
I grinned, knowing the feeling. “Where at?”
“La Pérouse Bay. I was twelve. I’d hung back in the local lineup for years. Caught plenty of closeouts, because it was all the guys would let me have. Then one day, Makani had a feeling.”
“A feeling?”
“He gets gut instincts with waves, winds, coming storms…pain in his hand.”
“What happened to his hand?”
“He broke it. The outside blade of it; it aches when the air pressure drops. Anyway, La Pérouse tends to rock when other spots die down. Only this one weekend, a tropical storm in October had shifted course, sending perfect barrels streaming in to every sweet north and east shore.”
“Isn’t La Pérouse south?”
“Yep. Where no one was headed. Makani’s always been the cool one. Gave his sister grom a chance to catch a decent wave. And damn was it sick.”
She pulled in a deep breath, tightening her grip on my hand while still gazing skyward. “Perfect right-hander, arched up a sheet of blue-green glass” —her lips tugged into a slow smile— “trailed my fingers through the most beautiful wall made just for me.”
I nodded. Knew exactly what she meant: totally stoked for that first time—in awe of the power of it all.
“What about you?” She nudged my arm with hers. “What’s your favorite memory?”
Easy answer. I tightened my grip with hers, gave her a meaningful glance. “Being connected like this, but with someone else.” Difficult as fuck to talk about, though. “My brother.” Voice catching, I continued to suck in a breath, then swallowed hard. “Deacon. I called him Deke.”
She waited as I paused and huffed out a harsh breath. Grateful for her patience, I thought about the best time I’d had with him—focused on it.
“He and I used to stare up at the night sky, first person I ever did it with.” I glanced at her again. “Only person I watched the stars on the beach with besides you.” Hadn’t really thought about it back on our tiny island that first night, but the truth hit me right then: how much I’d trusted her from the beginning, clicked with her from the start.
“As kids on our parents’ stuffy vacations, we’d have to find our own entertainment. Surfed all day long. After sunset, we’d grab a quick bite, then race back to the beach. Planted our scrawny asses on the sand, then stared up at the sky for hours.”
“You ever fall asleep out there?”
“Yeah. Pissed my father off. Because my mother got worried sick. Only time she did, though. Like her motherly instinct couldn’t see through all the greed and glamour she and my father had packed into their schedule. But the moment nothing else distracted her, and empty twin beds stared back at her, her brain finally kicked in. Then she’d have a screaming meltdown.”
Leilani’s hand tightened then loosened again. Like she silently supported me.
“But we always ended up okay,” I added. “Because Deke always smoothed things over.”
More silent minutes ticked by. The cold wind whipped into the truck bed, then spun back out. But down on the couch cushions, under our blankets, we kept warm enough.
And in the protection of the two of us sharing secrets, my mind wandered into a replay of the best memories of Deke and me: As two kids bored out of our minds in the middle of the night amid the shiny retail shops in one of Chile’s beachfront towns, we’d broken into an ice cream shop at the end of the street, then sampled every colorful flavor in the case.
When we’d been teens in a beachside town in Andalucía, Spain, and he’d liked a pretty older girl for the first time, he’d conned a street florist to “loan” us a bouquet of roses for a few minutes. When Deke had presented them, taking her hand while trying to lure the smiling girl to surf with him, her boyfriend had arrived in a sideways-sliding green Torino, lunged out of the door that swung upon, then shredded the roses by beating the flowers over our heads while shouting foreign expletives.
“What’s your worst?” Her voice softened.
Thoughts dangling on Deke with red petals sticking out of his messy blond hair, I fought a smile. Not that one. Or a million other great adventures I’d had with him.
No. The worst was much worse…
“Losing him.” I struggled to suck air into my lungs. Then I blurted out the memory as quickly as I could…before I couldn’t. “Random gunfire. We were standing on the street outside his new dorm. All of a sudden, a deafening crack fired out. Blood exploded onto his shirt. He grabbed on to me. Stared into my eyes as the life faded from his. He couldn’t speak. Only looked at me with shock…fear…and love. I clutched his shoulders, holding him up as his legs gave out. Screamed for him to hold on. Hold on!”