Ohana

by Dustin Stevens

  Little by little the distance between them began to shrink, Dyson's height and strength advantage coming into play. By the time they were halfway down the beach he had cut the lead to a board and a half.

  Ahead in his periphery he could see the four men exit the tent and make their way down to the water's edge, their hands overhead or extended in front of them as they clapped. Beside him Mahana remained picture perfect in her stance, not once glancing back as she pushed out a handful of strokes on one side followed by another handful on the other.

  The cheering from the men grew louder as the racers drew almost even with them, Dyson continuing to cut into the lead. The front tip of his board drew even with the rear of Mahana's, surging a few inches with each deep stroke he took.

  His breathing became labored and sweat poured down his face as the last buoy loomed closer, the distance from it shrinking to less than a hundred yards.

  Side by side the two raced, neither one acknowledging the other as they paddled for the finish.

  Dyson kept his eyes locked on the path of water stretched before him, counting out the strokes on either side.

  Fifteen yards from the buoy and with his board beginning to edge ahead, a smooth round disc rose in the water before him. "What the hell?" Dyson grunted, continuing to paddle.

  For the first time, Mahana pulled her eyes from her own path. "Turtle!"

  Dyson froze for a moment, staring at the green shape growing closer by the second. The sudden pause threw his balance to the side as he plunged his paddle into the water, trying in vain to right himself.

  Beneath him the left edge of his board dipped into the chilly water of the Pacific, tossing his body out to the side. Briny water filled his open mouth and nostrils, pulling him down and washing over him as he sunk until his feet felt sandy bottom before propelling himself back up.

  The surface broke overhead as he came up coughing and sputtering, salt water pouring from every opening on his head. Somewhere in the distance he could hear China and the others laughing loudly, whistling and calling his name.

  In front of him he could see his board floating upside down, behind it Mahana standing triumphant, her head thrown back with laughter.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  "Be honest, how embarrassed are you right now?"

  Dyson swam alongside his board to the shore, standing and walking once it became shallow enough. For her part, Mahana continued to paddle along parallel to him, a gloating smile splashed across her face.

  Their four vocal supporters ahead were already retreating back to the tent, bandying about between one another as they went.

  "You realize how much willpower it’s taking for me not to jump over there and dump you right now?" Dyson said, keeping his eyes everywhere but Mahana.

  "Willpower? More like self-preservation. Be a shame for everyone to see you get your butt kicked twice by a girl."

  "Something like that," Dyson said, grasping his board by the handle and hefting it from the water as Mahana glided to a stop in the sand. She hopped off in water rising just above her ankles and lifted her board as well, the two carrying them up the shore towards the tent.

  They walked along in silence as they went, Mahana keeping her smile to a minimum and Dyson trying to hide his chagrin.

  "We don't have to stay and talk any more story do we?" Dyson asked as they approached.

  "All talked out for one day?" Mahana asked.

  "Something like that," Dyson repeated as they both unloaded their boards, propping them up against the concrete barrier along the beach to dry.

  Together they stopped off by the tent long enough to thank China for letting them use the boards and to let the men each get in one good parting shot at Dyson. By the time they were done, he was glowing pink with embarrassment in a hue far brighter than anything he'd experienced with the sun.

  Promising to be back again soon, Dyson and Mahana departed from the crew, headed back out for the sand.

  "Where to now boss lady?" Dyson asked.

  "That name just never gets old, you know it?"

  Dyson pursed his lips in front of him, but let the comment pass. "You mind if we walk for a spell? I kind of need to dry out."

  Mahana reached out a hand to feel his still soaked clothes and said, "Yeah you do. You're not getting in my car like that."

  Together they set off down the beach, each of them carrying their sandals as they walked across the sand. The fine white powder billowed around their toes and stuck to their wet ankles as they went, the surface warm but not hot to the touch.

  Walking along Dyson raised his face towards the sky, letting the sun wash across his skin. "You know it was eight degrees when I left Bozeman? Negative-something with the wind chill."

  "Eesh," Mahana said. "I can't even imagine. It drops below seventy a couple times a year here in the evenings and people act like they're on the North Pole. Coats, hats, gloves, you name it."

  "And by people you mean..." Dyson said, letting the implication hang.

  Mahana shot him a look and said, "I might own a coat or two. Maybe a few heavy sweaters. Rarely, if ever, do they get worn though."

  "Mhmm.”

  Along the beach families began unpacking for the afternoon, setting up tent awnings and spreading blankets out over the sand. Scads of children ran back and forth, jumping in and out of the water, and a handful of young people jogged in the damp sand along the water's edge.

  "What's it like there?" Mahana asked.

  "Where? Montana?"

  "Is that where you’re from?"

  Dyson paused for a moment, sighing. "No, not originally anyway. It's where I've been for the last four and a half years now though."

  He paused and stared out over the ocean. The afternoon swells were moving in, slamming themselves against the coral breakers he'd been paddling along just a short time before.

  Beside him he could feel Mahana's stare, waiting for him to continue.

  "Back east, but I went to Bozeman for undergrad, stayed out there for graduate school. How about you? You said you're Oahu born and raised?"

  Mahana stare lingered on him a second before she too let her gaze drift out over the water. "I am. Never even been off the rock actually."

  "Really? Never?"

  "Well, I've been to the neighbor islands, but we don't really count that.”

  "Why? Are they all the same?" Dyson asked.

  "No, not at all," Mahana said. "But to us, hopping over to Lanai or the Big Island is the same as you guys driving down the road to the next town."

  "Ah," Dyson said. "So it's fairly easy? Getting back and forth between them?"

  "Oh yeah," Mahana said with an exaggerated nod. "Ridiculously so."

  "Any favorites?"

  "They're all so different, just depends on what you're into," Mahana said. "Maui is nice, and very unique, but also very touristy. Kauai has jungles and canyons. The Big Island has volcanoes and waterfalls. Again, just depends on what you like."

  "And for your money?" Dyson pressed.

  "Molokai," Mahana said without pause.

  "Reason being?"

  "It's nickname is the Friendly Isle. It's very relaxed and peaceful. People are all so nice, it's quiet. Lot of farm country."

  "If you swap mountains for beaches and overlook the climate, you just pretty much described Montana," Dyson said.

  "Sounds like I'd like Montana."

  "Sounds like I'd like Molokai," Dyson said.

  Comfortable silence fell between them as they started to walk again. In the air the smell of barbecue drifted by as the sands took on more and more visitors.

  "You know, I've never spent much time on a beach before," Dyson said, "but I'm starting to think they might be even better than airports for people watching."

  Mahana coughed out a laugh and shook her head. "I've never heard anybody put it quite that way, but I think you may be right. I mean, look at this tent for crying out loud."

  Ahead of them stood a tent open on three sides.
The top of it looked to have originally been blue, though it had been patched so many times it was difficult to tell for sure. Stretched tight across the back was a Hawaii Warriors blanket, blocking out the sun within.

  Flying high overhead was a black pirate flag with the words "Surrender the Booty" emblazoned atop it in red.

  Dyson snorted as they approached the tent, watching the flag flap in the breeze overhead. "That's great. I've got to find me one of those flags for my fishing raft."

  Mahana arched an eyebrow at him. "Such a haole."

  "Me or the guy standing in the tent?" Dyson asked, pointing at the solitary figure leaning against the front right pole. He wore nothing but a pair of baggy blue swim trunks and a pair of aviator sunglasses as he stood against the support, surveying everything before him.

  "I meant you, but he definitely fits the bill as well," Mahana said as they drew closer.

  "I think I know that guy," Dyson said, coming to a stop just in front of the tent. "Mr...Rider? Right?"

  The man nodded in approval. "Well done Mr. Nicks."

  "I thought that was you," Dyson said, stepping closer. "Mahana, this is Mr. Paul Rider, we met on the Arizona Memorial a few days ago. Mr. Rider, this is Mahana."

  Rider stepped forward and extended his hand towards here. "Pleasure to meet you, Mahana. Pleasure watching you use the old turtle trick on my friend here earlier too."

  Both of them took to laughing as Dyson stood with his jaw agape, shaking his head.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  "The old turtle trick huh?" Dyson asked, flicking his eyes from one to the other.

  Mahana did her best to stifle a giggle. "Hey, you saw the thing yourself. Such a trick does exist, but I didn't have to use it this time."

  Dyson pursed his lips, casting his eyes at the two, both quivering with contained laughter.

  Shifting his eyes into the tent, he noticed a half dozen cloth fold-out chairs all arranged in a semi-circle, each in various shades of blue and green. Behind them were an ancient red cooler and a small hibachi grill, a few plastic grocery sacks of chips and pretzels leaning against it.

  "You expecting folks?" Dyson asked, waving a hand towards the arrangement. "Are you we interrupting anything?"

  "I'm always expecting folks,” Rider said, “today it just happens to be you."

  Dyson folded his mouth into a small circle, looking a question to Mahana. She was offering a toothless smile back to Rider, giving Dyson nothing to work with.

  "You guys care to fill me in?" Dyson asked.

  "This is what I do," Rider said, nudging himself back from the support pole and walking around the chairs to the cooler. He reached inside and pulled out a beer. "You guys want something? Beer? Soda? Water?"

  They both accepted a bottle of water, all three settling into cloth chairs and staring out toward the water. A steady trade wind blew in over the lagoon, keeping the day comfortable without pelting them with sand. In the water to their right a father took turns tossing his small children, each of them squealing with delight.

  "So when you say this is what you do...?" Dyson asked.

  "I mean just that," Rider said. "Once, maybe twice a week, I load the truck up and come down here. Pitch the tent, light the grill, see who comes in off the beach."

  "Seriously?"

  "Mhmm," Rider said, nodding through a swallow of beer. "Been doing it ever since my wife passed seven years ago. Helps me get out and around people. Started out a little slow, but really picked up after I started hoisting the flag."

  Dyson could see the shadow of the flag above their tent flying across the sand, the mental image of it again making him smile.

  "Most people that come here all flock to Waikiki," Mahana said. "They go down there and wedge themselves in so tight they can’t get a towel down. The locals come here instead. The regulars all know each other. Everybody watches out for one another."

  "That's right," Rider added. "I've met some of my best friends in the world sitting right here."

  Dyson nodded his understanding, continuing to look out over the steady waves moving in, one right after another. He kept rolling over in his mind what they said and how vastly different it was from everywhere he'd ever been before.

  "I was just thinking I might light the grill here before long," Rider said. "You guys are more than welcome to join me. Got some fresh salmon and ahi from the market this morning."

  "Oh, no, that's okay," Dyson said. "Thank you for the offer though."

  "Besides, I'm introducing this guy to Hawaiian food tonight," Mahana said, offering a knowing smile to Rider.

  Rider matched it in turn, giving her a thumbs up as he took another pull on his beer. "How about tomorrow then? My friend Ola's coming and bringing her grandkids. We'll be grilling around five."

  Mahana looked to Dyson, who shrugged. "Yeah, we can do tomorrow. I have to work the afternoon for Connie, but Dyson is free and I can join you guys when I get off." She turned to Dyson and whispered, "You like how I'm making plans for you now?"

  Dyson leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees, his hands hanging down between them. He sighed and shook his head, hiding a small smile but saying nothing.

  "Alright, tomorrow afternoon it is," Rider said. "Ola's getting here around three, grill gets going at five. You're welcome to join us at any time."

  Both thanking him, they rose and made their way back to the car.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The sun was well on its way towards the horizon as Mahana and Dyson left the beach and headed north up the coast. Orange light danced off the water as they drove, punctuated by a late afternoon surfer or sailboat. Behind them, the late day rays reflected off of countless skyscrapers, their glass shimmering like diamonds.

  Rolling their windows down they let the late afternoon air fill the car, sliding effortless between them. Mahana's long dark hair whipped around her head as she drove, kept out of her eyes only by the oversized sunglasses perched atop her nose.

  "In Montana, in the summertime, it doesn't get completely dark until at least ten o'clock, sometimes ten thirty," Dyson said. His voice was a decibel louder than normal to account for the wind, his eyes fixed on the sun sliding down in the sky.

  "You're kidding me. That late?" Mahana asked, not looking over as she maneuvered the car through traffic.

  "Yep, because it's so far north and on the western edge of the time zone. A lot of times it'll be nine o'clock or later before I even get around to eating dinner because I just don't think about it."

  "You see daylight, you're outside playing huh?"

  "Pretty much. That's why this seems a little weird to me. It's sunny and warm, feels like summer. Sure doesn't feel like it should be getting dark at six."

  "It's because we're so far south. You'll get used to it. Heck, I don't even notice it."

  "But you also said you've never been out of state, so you have no basis for comparison."

  "Valid point," Mahana conceded. Making two quick turns in succession she wheeled the car to a stop in front of a tiny dive restaurant. The entire front of it measured just twenty feet across, a bright green sign announcing homemade Hawaiian food across the top.

  "Helena's Hawaiian Foods," Dyson said, snorting loudly.

  "What? You too good for Hawaiian food?" Mahana asked, a trace of surprise in her voice.

  "Naw," Dyson said, waving a hand. "It's just funny. Helena is the capitol of Montana, and you brought me to Helena's for the best local food in Hawaii."

  "Kind of ironic, huh?"

  "Little bit," Dyson said, following her from the car and through the front door.

  Inside, the restaurant looked exactly how Dyson imagined it would. A dozen small folding tables were arranged in a grid around the room, a cluster of padded metal chairs around each. A few posters of vintage Hawaiian scenes were angled across the walls, though on the whole the place looked fairly barren.

  With the exception of the groups of people clustered around almost every table anyway
.

  All but two tables were packed tight with people seated elbow to elbow, all tearing into heaping platters of food. Several gave sideways glances to Dyson as he passed, but said nothing.

  Grasping Mahana's elbow between his thumb and forefinger, he leaned in close beside her. "Uh, I'm starting to have that feeling I got driving through Makaha the other day. Like I'm being watched."

  "You probably are," Mahana whispered back. "This is a local treasure. People are a little protective of it. Don't worry, you're with me."

  "Aw, so you'll protect me?" Dyson asked.

  "In a manner of speaking, yes actually."

  Chuckling, Dyson released her elbow and followed her to the back, where a battered cash register sat atop a small white counter. Behind it they could see a pair of older Chinese women moving about and hear a man calling orders.

  Dyson looked up at the yellowed sign above them announcing the food offerings, many of them looking as foreign as the street names he'd been staring at for the last several days. Lots of K's and L's, but nothing he'd ever seen before.

  "So what are we thinking here?"

  "You're not thinking anything," Mahana said. "I've got this. Go grab that last table before it gets taken."

  "Yes ma..sistah," Dyson said, catching himself and heading for the table.

  As he sat down he could again feel people watching him, but kept his gaze locked straight ahead. For the first time since he'd arrived he wished he had his cell-phone with him, if only to give him something to look at.

  Mercifully, Mahana returned before his waiting became too unbearable.

  "So, what did you think of your first day going local?" Mahana asked, dropping her sunglasses on the table and pulling her hair back into a ponytail behind her head.

  "Is that what we did today?" Dyson asked. "I just thought we hung out on the beach."

  Mahana paused in the middle of forming her ponytail, closed her eyes and shook her head. "Such a haole."

  "What? What did I do this time?" Dyson asked.

  "I just thought we hung out on the beach," Mahana said, dropping her voice in an attempt to mimic Dyson's.

  "I didn't say it wasn't fun," Dyson defended. "I just said I didn't realize that was classified as going local."