Swimming Sideways (Cantos Chronicles Book 1)

by CL Walters

  “Hand me those pliers,” he says pointing to the workbench behind me. “The red handle.”

  I pick up the corresponding tool and hand it to him.

  “Thanks.” He leans back into the Brutus’s belly. “How’s school been?” he asks.

  “Ah. School,” I say. “I have this cool English teacher and art is good. How’s work?”

  “Ah. Work,” he says and glances at me with a smile.

  “Are you glad we moved?” I ask.

  His hand slips and he swears. I smile. I’ve grown up with his colorful language. I think my mom tried to break him of it when they were younger, but that would be like trying to change the color of his hair from black to blonde. “It’s different, but it’s not like I haven’t lived in the mainland before. I met your mom in college here.” He grunts as he tightens something and then straightens up. He grabs the blue cloth dotted with mechanical stains of grease and oil, something I wouldn’t even think about touching, and wipes off his hand from a mysterious Brutus substance. “I don’t think you can take the island out of an island boy,” he says.

  “Can you take the island out of an island girl?” I ask. I miss home, but not in the way I think he probably thinks. I do not miss my fake friends. I miss the razor-sharp Waianae mountains that cut through the sky like the teeth of the Manō. I miss the green of those mountains, verdant like new growth all year. I miss the way I feel when we would drive to town for a day in Honolulu, and then returned home, the echo of DeCambra’s[1] poem “I Come from a Place” a song on my heart; I’d stamp my feet in the red earth that stains everything and remember my place, my wahi pana; the longing to imagine Kamapuaʻa ravaging the land with his wily ways. I miss running over burning hot sand and splashing into the barrel of a wave, the cool water slipping over my skin as it knocks me over with an embrace and reminding me where my ancestors are from. I miss hearing ‘ōlelo, the Hawaiian language, and though I didn’t know it fluently, learning it sporadically reminding me that my belly piko is tethered to that place. I miss kalo.

  My dad closes the hood, walks around the front of Brutus and leans against the fender. He crosses his gigantic, tree trunk arms over his wide chest and I really see my Hawaiian father, but not as my father in that moment, but as a man in and of himself. “Our ancestors crossed the ocean in the wa’a using the stars. I remind myself of this when I lonely for home.”

  I realize we do miss the same things. I don’t know why this brings tears to my eyes but it does, the ache of his words. I haven’t thought about him losing something, only my own loss. He’s lost his father. He’s lost his homeland. He’s at risk of losing us.

  He continues, “I’m traveling now, as they did, on a journey sharing the wa’a with my ohana - with you all: Mom, you, Mattie and Nate. This is good. Maybe I’m not in my island home,” he says, “but I’m on a journey to discover something new. That is good.”

  His words become a tether connecting with my head piko. He knows more than I have given him credit for, when I could only see my poppa and lost sight of my father as he slipped under the waves of his own life. “I’ve missed you, Dad,” I say.

  He pushes away from the car and pulls me into his big arms. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone.”

  Mom calls us from inside the house. “Time to clean up,” she says her voice muffled. “Let’s grab a late breakfast before heading out to the field.”

  Dad gives me an extra squeeze before letting go.

  The Diner isn’t too packed. We’re passed the breakfast rush and beat the lunch crowd. Norma is working and serves us minus Matt who’s already reported to pre-game. As an observer, I watch my family. My dad and mom, my brother. By appearances, we are the normal, everyday family. Anyone walking into this restaurant might think so, and I want to agree. There is an under-current though, something running through the bones of who we are. My mother and father, struggling with one another. It’s in the way they sit side by side but have a canyon between them. It’s in the way they look at everything else but one another. There was a time when they couldn’t stop touching, smiling, existing in the radiance of one another. I wonder if they will find one another’s eyes again, afraid for them.

  After breakfast, my dad stops in at the hardware store for a whatever-he-called-it. Nate goes in with him. I avoid going in, not sure what to say to Gabe, feeling my face heat, appalled by his face surfacing in my mind while kissing Seth. Gabe who came to the football game and then disappeared. Gabe who saved me from a dangerous walk to town. Gabe who dismissed me from the junkyard. No. I don’t know what to say to him.

  “Mom?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Do you miss Hawaii?” I ask.

  She turns to look at me from the front seat. “Some things.” She searches my face assessing why I’ve asked this question.

  “What do you miss?”

  She looks at the empty driver’s seat and then out the front windshield. I see what she doesn’t say: I miss your father. “I mostly miss how we all were when you were little, right after your brothers were born. I miss the family parties and the Tradewinds, the way your dad would smile when he would come home when you were little.” She stops and swallows. I’m afraid I’ve made her cry. She resets herself and adds, “The usual stuff: the sun and the beach, the culture,” she says. I hear her words and juxtapose them with my dad’s language. While I recognize their common tongue, there is disparity too. Dad talks about Hawaii like its underneath his skin while mom understands it from the lens of an apparition walking along the surface but never delving into the soil to plant roots. As much as she wants to understand, she can’t - not completely.

  “Are you and dad in trouble?” I ask.

  Her head snaps around to look at me. She wasn’t expecting that question, her gray eyes large with surprise. She smiles, but not the kind of smile laden with mirth and joy. This smile is mired with the difficult job of reassurance. “I think all relationships go through ups and downs. I don’t know if that means we’re in trouble, but it does mean we have work to do. And Dad and I have always been willing to do the work.”

  I feel like she’s sidestepped the question, so I ask her: “That’s why we moved?”

  “Partially.”

  I look out the window.

  “Abby? What is it?”

  I don’t know if I can put it into words and don’t have to because we hear the voices of my dad and brother. Their car doors open. When they climb into the car, the energy in the vehicle changes.

  “And we are off to the field.” Dad says from the driver’s seat with a brightness that doesn’t match the strained atmosphere around us.

  18

  STANDING IN SHIFTING SAND

  It is a beautiful day, though the sky is a gunmetal gray, the usual color of a Pacific Northwest sky in the early fall, wisps of blue streak the smattering of clouds. A slight breeze is enough to be comfortable, but not so blustery that it is cold. I climb the bleachers with my parents and Nate, Mom produces blankets to sit on. She and Dad share one, Nate and I the other; Dad places a cooler he’s brought in between us. We settle to watch the game.

  I point at Matt. “There he is.” He’s warming up, kicking from the outside and runs around the backside of the goal.

  Nate smiles. “He’s an idiot.”

  “He looks so tiny,” I say.

  “Don’t let him hear you say that,” my dad says.

  I scan the players for Seth, and find him. He’s at the sideline with the referees, a captain. A whiplash of energy snaps through my nerves when I see him. The curve of his calves in the black knee-hi socks. The way his black and red kit stretches around the sinew of his muscles. When he finishes with the other captains and referees, he shakes hands and jogs back his teammates.

  “Hey, Gabe. You made it,” I hear my dad exclaim.

  My eyes dart to my dad, my heart unhooking itself and dropping into the acidic vat of my gut. I must have mistaken what I thought I heard. I follow the direction of his gaze. Sure enough,
Gabe Daniels is walking up the bleachers toward us. I can tell by his body language, hands shoved into the pocket of his hoodie, he’s uncomfortable. Maybe as uncomfortable as I feel having thought of him at the strangest moment. My cheeks heat and I remind myself he wouldn’t know, which is slightly reassuring. He holds his hand out to my dad and they shake. Dad introduces him to my mom. “You already know Abby and met Nate earlier,” dad says.

  I smile, politely and then look back at the field, one ear on the conversation he has with my mom and dad. Gabe doesn’t sit though. He remains standing, until my dad invites him to join us. “Thank you,” he says in his deep timbre and walks to the end of our family set up, where he sits next to me. I watch him the whole way.

  “You don’t have to look at me like I’m carrying a fatal virus,” he says. “Want me to sit somewhere else?”

  “I’m not.” I try and fix my face, though I’m not exactly sure what’s broken to make him think that.

  “You are,” he says.

  “You’re fine right there,” I nod to where he’s sitting. “And I’m not. I’m just surprised to see you,” I admit. “What are you doing here?”

  He says quietly so no one else hears, “Your dad. He said where you all were going in the shop a bit ago, and said I should come too. He meant well.” He continues watching the field. “My mom and dad heard him, so they pushed me out the door. They worry about me always at work. I didn’t really want to go anywhere else. Nowhere else to go.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here,” I say and even after the words are out, words that can be construed as noncommittal and meaningless, actually reveal the truth. “I turned to talk to you at the game last night, but you disappeared.”

  A whistle blows on the field.

  He actually looks at me. “What about?”

  I laugh.

  “You just surprised me is all. I mean, I thought, after that horrible interaction in the car graveyard, well, I thought you hated me.”

  He smiles - who knew his teeth were so perfect and white - and his face drops forward as though to hide. I’m unnerved by the effect of that tiny action on his face. The sharp planes soften and his eyes sparkle, the edges compressing so that the moment radiates like sunshine. “I don’t hate you. Far from it.”

  “Wow, Gabe. Smiling looks awesome on you. You should do that more.”

  “Mattie’s in!” My mom says.

  Nate looks at me and rolls his eyes.

  “Stop,” I say to my brother and laugh. “She just loves you.”

  “I know. It’s just a little embarrassing.”

  We laugh and watch the first half of the soccer game. I watch my brother, but I’m more interested in watching Seth. He is so graceful on the field, his body lithe and limber. He’s aggressive, fast, and accurate.

  “Seth’s game is off,” Gabe observes, more to himself than to anyone around him.

  I glance at him. “How do you know?”

  “Seth’s good, like really, really good, but his timing seems to be off.”

  A time out is called and I can see that Seth is upset. I glance at Gabe who shrugs. A man near the bottom of the bleachers stands and leans against the fence. He’s a handsome guy, older, tall and vaguely familiar, but I don’t know where I know him. Seth looks up at the man and realize it is his father. I feel hate like ice freezing everything about me that is human when I look at the man. Seth looks up at the bleachers, and I wave not sure if he can see. Seth’s father turns around and sees me. Another shark but I know that this one is a Great White.

  During the second half, Gabe, Nate and I visit the concession stand despite my father’s insistence that he’s brought snacks in the cooler, enough for all of us, and we should save money. “Dried Aku and pipikaula doesn’t count, Dad,” Nate says.

  “But your Uncle and Aunty sent it. A taste of home.”

  “I was hoping for something sweet,” I say and Dad gives me some money. I kiss his cheek.

  I choose a red rope and after Nate and Gabe have made their selections, we lean against the fence to watch the rest of the game. By the end of the second period, Seth has pulled through and I see the player that Gabe referenced. He is college good for sure. He’s scored three of the five goals to take them two over their opponent. It is good to see him smiling as he leaves the field.

  After the game, after the handshake, and after the short meeting, Seth walks over to the sideline grabs his duffle. He laughs at something a teammate says turns to shout something to someone else behind him, and then walks toward us. Nate leaves to talk with Matt. Seth looks up and meets my gaze, and smiles. That dimple.

  “I’m going to head back home,” Gabe says when he leans over to speak to me.

  I turn, look at him and vow not to think about his face the next time Seth kisses me, hoping for a next time. I nod. “I’m glad you decided to join us,” I say.

  “See you at school,” he says. “Thank your dad for me.”

  I watch him leave and then turn back to Seth who’s now almost to me. His teammates veer off toward the locker room. I smile at him, feeling as though my insides might burst.

  “Was that Daniels?” He asks. His face no longer smiling, his brow riding low over his eyes.

  “You know it was,” I answer and walk around the end of the fence between us.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him at one of our soccer games before.”

  “We invited him,” I say. Though it was really my dad who did it, I didn’t want to misrepresent my acceptance of Gabe’s presence.

  I think it bothers him, and I can only tell because his dimple disappears. "You gonna eat all of that?" He nods to the red rope.

  "Want some?" I pull it apart and hold out a portion to him. "Great game.

  "Thanks." He takes my elbow and leads me around the now closed concession stand, opposite the field and the bleachers.

  "What are you doing?" I ask, but I think I have an idea.

  "I want to kiss you so bad," he says.

  He drops his bag, grabs me by my hips and finds my mouth with his. There is a desperation in his insistence and it catches me off guard. He backs me up against the wall of the building we ducked around and what begins as a kiss between the two of us, it changes into a kiss that expresses his pent-up frustration.

  I push him away. “What the hell?” I’m confused and startled by this side of Seth, disappointed in him.

  He hangs his head pressing his forehead against my shoulder and stays there. He’s disappointed too.

  "Talk to me. What’s wrong?" I say.

  He stands up and leans against the building next to me. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he stops and then adds, “We got in a fight our freshmen year - about a girl.”

  “Who?” I pull some of the red rope and hold it out to him.

  Seth takes it. “Me and Gabe.”

  “We’re friends, you know. I think he needs friends.”

  Seth moves away from me and the building so fast, I start. “You don’t get it-” He says his voice strained with impatience.

  I’m confused by his short fuse. "You do that a lot - leave unfinished thoughts. What don’t I get?"

  Bad Abby reminds me she said not to get too comfy.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Seth waves a hand.

  “It does if it bothers you. I care about you.”

  “Do you?” He asks. “Care? I mean, I feel like I’m not sure sometimes. I feel like you are hot and cold. Want me. Want him.” His hands wave around demonstrating his irrationality.

  I’m speechless and taken aback by his words and guilt knocks at the door of my heart. Did he know Gabe had uninvitedly invaded my thoughts the night before when we’d kissed? How could he? I feel my emotions, anger, guilt, frustration, swim through my bloodstream and warm my face. It’s as though he’s punishing me for something. I want to argue, but what can I say? I look down at the grass at my feet, concentrate on the point of my shoes where the black canvas meets the white rubb
er and shake my head.

  “Ab. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m being a jerk.”

  Tears threaten to fall and I look up at him. I can’t hide them.

  Seth takes a step toward me. “Abby,” he says.

  “I didn’t mean-” I start wondering if maybe he’s right. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone.”

  Seth takes hold of me and pulls me into his embrace. “Please don’t cry,” he pleads. “Please. I didn’t mean that. You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s me.”

  I linger there in his arms for as long as I can despondent that the tide seems to have shifted again without me, but eventually I pull away. "I should go." I don’t know what else to do or how to get the magic back. I’m standing in shifting sand.

  He’s put up an emotional wall, but I don’t understand the shift. It is manic and unpredictable. “Yeah. Okay,” He says with a discordant edge. "I have to get to the locker room before my dad comes looking for me." He looks away. I follow his gaze and see his dad, the unpleasant look on that man’s face, and I wonder if he has anything to do with what is going on with Seth right now.

  Seth walks away and then turns back to me. He runs back and says, "Let me fix this. Would you like to go surfing with me?"

  This is the Seth I recognize. The kind one. The one who doesn’t have a sharp edge that cuts me to the quick. I take a deep breath of relief, coming up for air. “I don’t have a wet suit, yet,” I say.

  He says to me while simultaneously walking backwards toward the locker room, “Just come with me anyway. Sometimes the ocean and a sunrise is all that is needed to make things right again.”

  “Okay.”

  He smiles and jogs back to me. “Good,” he says and then kisses my cheek. “5:30 tomorrow morning,” He says. “I’ll be at your house then.