Chris’ heart skipped a beat as he took in the strange eyes of the girl called Mina, her irises and pupils a dark inky black. She locked eyes with Chris for a long, silent moment, smiled a tiny, knowing smile and then turned back to her work. Chris’ brows furrowed in confusion as he leaned in toward Sonny and whispered, “She’s a what?”
Sonny whispered, sotto-voce, “Dude, she thinks she's a vampire.”
“Oh.”
The dark, distinctly Jamaican-looking individual with the beaded dreadlocks approached, placing two steaming plates piled high with cheeseburgers and fries on the counter as he engaged Chris with a wide smile. “Reg here is our local Rasta-man. You need weed, it's his sacred sacrament.”
Reg replied coldly, staring at Sonny with a frown of disapproval, “Don't make fun, boy. I'll end your Kama'aina rate.”
“Hey! Just kidding, man. Guys, this here's- Hey! What's your name, bro?”
“Chris.”
“Chris. Best rookie surfer I ever seen- and the richest. Later, Reg- Mina, keep workin' on that tan, girl.” And with a nod, Sonny grabbed both plates and backed out of the squeaky screen door leading to the porch beyond. Chris nodded to his new friends in departing, snagging both Cokes from the counter and followed with a final, hopeful backward glance to see Alani- one that to his dark disappointment went completely unrewarded.
Abigail hovered over the ball, wagging her club, the delicate tip of her tongue protruding from her lips in concentration. She took the club back ever so slightly and swung, and with a soft click the ball hopped gently off the grass. It bounced on the edge of the green and rolled in a long, curving track toward the hole. It struck the flag-stick dead-center and rattled in, and Abigail did a little happy-dance as she cried victoriously, “Yes!”
Walter strode confidently over to the flag and yanked it, dropping it softly on the green beside the hole. Taking a short step to his own ball only a few feet away, he smugly tapped it and smiled confidently as he watched it roll toward the hole, only to see it catch the lip- and roll even further away than it had started.
“Oh my GOD! What in the hell is going on?” he cursed, stomping over to it and smacking it viciously into the trees bordering the green. As he watched the ball disappear into the shadowy jungle he muttered to himself, “For cryin’ out loud, now I’m actually starting to feel like Job.”
Sonny and Chris wandered with burgers in hand along an impromptu gallery lining one side of the porch, autographed pictures both old and new of famous surfers, actors and various other celebrities that had visited over the years. Sonny took a long drink of his soda and nodded to one, a cracked and yellowing 8 X 10 of a smiling native man with an enormous vintage surfboard. “...so anyway, this guy, Eddie Aikua, he died in '78. He was a lifeguard here at Waimea for years- they even named the surf tournament after him.”
Beside that was a faded, plastic covered newspaper clipping, a strangely familiar face beaming with pride gazing back at them. The headline at the top read-
"Local Youth Captures Surfing Competition"
"...Sonny Nakamura, 13, rode the ride of his life today at Pipeline, narrowly beating out riders almost twice his age..."
Chris looked over at the now widely-grinning Sonny, a shock of realization crossing his face as he discovered who his surfing buddy was.
“So, you're-”
“Yep. Bin surfin' since before I could walk. My bruddah Buddy used to take me out before I could even swim.”
Sonny drained his soda, washing down the last of the burger, and pointed out to some impressive waves that were crashing to the shore. “Dude- Surf's up... Wanna go 'break' in your new board?”
Chris replied with a quick, backward glance to the door, “Uh- sure.”
As Sonny and Chris walked back to their surfboards, Alani watched through the binoculars, this time not-so-guiltily focusing on the tanned form of Chris. She couldn’t explain why. It wasn’t like he was the first, and certainly not the only tourist who had ogled her. And she couldn’t really blame him for trying for an eyeful up-skirt as she was on the ladder; the short plumeria-print mini-dress just barely extended below her hips- that was kind of the idea. But there was just something- different, about him, something that nagged at her core, a spark of something that had ignited the moment they met on the road, and fanned into flame when he first saw her at the counter. And now it consumed her attentions, and she wanted to know why.
As the boys plucked their boards from the sand, a whistle was heard, bird-like, distinct, and Sonny turned his head toward its source. At the edge of the beach, beneath a small clump of dragon-wood trees whose tangled roots carved out a small space away from the rest of the crowd, a skinny, tattooed Hawaiian youth waved a small white object leeringly in front of his face.
Sonny hesitated, thrusting his board back into the sand, “Uh- Yo, Chris! You go on out ahead, get some practice, eh? I be right out, okay?” And with that, he sauntered over to the group beneath the trees. Chris shook his head and frowned, and waded into the water.
Alani waved to the handsome Danish couple who were exiting the store, and then quickly grabbed the binoculars again as the door tinkled and closed. Focusing on the water, she easily located the golden-blond curls of Chris bobbing through the waves- but Sonny wasn’t with him. Lowering the binoculars with a frown, she raised them up again and swept her gaze along the beach, trying to seek out her absent brother. Her view panned back and forth, finally coming to rest on a small group of kids, two girls and a boy whose back was similar to Sonny. She focused, and immediately realized it was not him. Again she swung the magnified view along the beach, this time along the trees, sharpened the focus, but again was unsuccessful in her search. Panning slowly along the tree-line, her breath caught as she finally located her wayward brother, not because of her success of finding him, but because of whom she found sitting next to him.
Manolo Kapu’ana, local thug and notorious drug-dealer, passed a smoking joint to Sonny and leaned back as the smoke trickled from his grinning mouth. Sonny lie propped up on one elbow, lying casually in the sand, and as she watched, he took a huge hit and immediately began coughing explosively, silently, laughing and wiping tears from his eyes as he rose, gang-style hand-shakes all around. And then Alani’s heart sank and she felt almost sick as she watched Sonny reach into his board shorts and haul out a huge wad of money and hand it to Manolo, who pocketed it with almost sleight-of-hand stealthiness as he traded Sonny a large Ziplock bag in return.
In anger and frustration at her impotence of distance, Alani tore the binoculars from her eyes and a flood of conflicting emotions twisted her delicate features into a tortured mask of concern. Her gaze swung from the dusty window to the wall beside the counter, the number of the local police plainly visible on a stained and dirty business card. Shit! she thought, unsure of what to do. She couldn’t bust Manolo, that would only implicate Sonny, but the fact that her brother’s football career would be devastated if the knowledge of his blatant drug purchase got out bothered her more than the use itself.
She knew that he smoked, that he bought pot from Reg almost weekly, but that had always been ohana, a family thing, and this was different. Keeping his use private, insulated within the folds of ohana, the Hawaiian’s extended notion of family that embraced more than just blood, was almost a sacred thing, one never to be violated. But for Sonny to be branching out to the beach, a public beach at that, full of tourists and the occasional roving cops was a bad choice, and just the mere presence of Manolo selling dope a stone’s throw away from the store was more than cause for concern. It was something that transcended the bonds of family, of ohana, and conversely, directly affected the bounds of ohana extended to this act, if merely to preserve the family and its’ future.
And Sonny truly had a bright future. The star half-back and defensive corner for the Kahuku Red Raiders, Sonny was already being scouted at a young age, his prowess as just a Sophomore on par to set state records by the time he graduated. In sum, Son
ny had a chance, a real chance, of escaping this rock and moving on to better things, things that Alani had always longed for and had never been able to pursue. Things that because of her own steadfast devotion to the bonds of ohana were trumping her own inner desires and quashing her dreams of something more, something that she knew lay beyond the rainbow.
Walter looked to Abigail beside him in the golf cart, then back to the group ahead of them on the fairway. His patience now worn to threadbare and his frustration bubbling over at what was proving to be a miserable day on the links, he burst into another rant, this one more self-serving than pointed. He said, to no one in particular, “My God, what a bunch of- Look at them, do you see their feet? What the hell are they wearing on their feet?”
Abigail replied, matter-of-fact and nonchalant, “Golf sandals.”
Walter exploded in exasperation, “What?!”
Abigail continued with a frown, a rolling of eyes and a shrug of her shoulders at her obtuse mate, “Golf sandals. Seriously dear, you really need to get out more. I've tried them. They're very comfortable.”
Walter scoffed, his arms folded across his chest in resolute determination, “Blasphemer. Philistene. So sue me, but I'll keep my traditional footwear, thank you. What is wrong with the shoes we used to wear?”
Abigail rose and stretched with her club overhead, basking in the warm afternoon light. “Some of us just move with the times, I guess.” She gestured to the tee box as the group of fashion offenders disappeared around the dog-leg in the distance, “You're up, Mr. Conservative footwear man...”
Chris somberly piled the surfboard into the back of the car and sighed as he took one final glance at the beach. Having conquered blue-green giants and cheated Death thrice in one day, he was now bored- and being the person he was, felt compelled to seek another challenge to engage his restless spirit. So he turned, twisted his face into his patented grin, and walked cheerfully back into the store.
Alani was trapped behind the counter, ringing up a purchase for some Japanese tourists, all of whom traded bows and deep wide smiles.
Chris leaned on the counter as he watched them leave and mock-casually inquired as he studied his nails, “So, do you get a cut of Sonny's take?”
“NO! How much did you give him?”
Chris shrugged, “Minus the price of the board, about three hundred...”
“God DAMMIT! That little sh-!” Alani paused, biting off the expletive, furious at her brother, but conversely unable to be angry with Chris. It really wasn’t his fault- he was just the unwitting means to her brother’s devious ends. Alani looked to Chris and saw a warm, engaging smile that immediately diffused her anger. He was just too darned cute- in spite of his arrogance and ridiculous self-confidence. And then there was also that strange sense of- familiarity that nagged at her soul. She smiled a tiny, half-second smile and continued, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. It's Sonny…” And painfully reminded of her wayward brother, she suddenly turned and disappeared beneath the wide counter.
Chris leaned over the stained and faded formica barrier, trying to salvage his complete failure of engagement, and asked, “Is there something wrong...?”
“No... I- it’s nothing. I just need to get to work.”
“Aren't you already at work?”
“No, not really...” Alani looked around at the nearly-deserted store. “Oh, I see what you mean. No, this isn't really work- this is just ohana...”
“'Ohana'?” Chris paused at the foreign phrase, “I'm sorry, I guess I don't understand...”
Alani continued impatiently, hastily stuffing clothing and other items into the yellow backpack, “Ohana is- well...” and then she paused, trying to figure a way to easily explain a concept both deceptively simple and enormously complex to an ignorant Haole tourist.
She was suddenly saved from the task by the entrance of Noelani, who clattered down the stairs at the back of the store. Alani saw her mother and stiffened, masking her fears and concerns with a fleeting peck on the woman’s cheek as she darted around the open end of the counter and fled toward the door.
“Hi, Mamma. Bye’ Mamma!” And then called back over her shoulder to Chris as she yanked open the door, the chimes clanking with a decidedly un-musical set of discordant notes, “I got to go now- I see you around maybe- okay?” The slap of the screen door punctuated her departure, and the room went silent.
For a long moment, neither Chris nor Noelani spoke, each with their gaze focused on the dusty windows, each pondering a different explanation for Alani’s abrupt disappearance. As they watched in silence, the sound of Alani’s reluctant Jeep roared to life and it raced past the dirty windows, darting into the thronging mass of tourists traffic with careless aplomb, dove onto and over the ancient bridge, and was gone.
As the sound of the Jeep faded into the distance, a soft chuckle broke the silence. “That girl…” Noelani said, a slight smile on her lips, “She's always on the go, always late to be somewhere else.” And then she turned to Chris with an engaging smile of recognition, “Hey! You're that guy from the hospital, the one who crashed the plane.”
“Yeah, my latest claim to fame...”Chris extended his hand automatically. “My name’s Chris- Chris Matthews.”
Noelani took his hand in both of hers, holding it in a warm embrace for a long moment, almost as if gauging Chris by their contact. And as she did, Noelani stifled a gasp as a long-forgotten voice rang softly in the dim recesses of her mind.
“...he will come, from across the water...”
Noelani put a hand to her racing heart and then tilted her head as she looked at Chris curiously, studying him closely, briefly put off balance by the ringing memory of a time long ago. She found her voice and then asked, “Chris- Matthews? Like- the guy on 'Hardball'?”
Chris smiled with a self-deprecating shake of the head and replied, “No. I'm much better looking.”
“I'm Noelani- Noelani Nakamura...”
Chris smiled again, his dimples deepening. “Noelani? That's such a pretty name. So- exotic. What does it mean?”
Noelani was caught off-guard by the unexpected flattery. And then she recovered and said with a wave of her hand in casual dismissal, “'Noelani'? It means 'Mist from Heaven'.” Chris stared back in puzzlement, his smile morphing into a slight frown as he considered her translation. Noelani continued, smiling almost coquettishly, “You ever read 'Hawaii' by Michener? ‘Noelani’ was the first native girl the missionaries saw when they arrived. She was surfing- naked. Imagine their surprise.”
Chris stared at her and then reddened, quickly purging an impure thought, and then replied, “Oh. Wow.” Taking a quick breath to regain his composure, he queried, “Uh- Mrs. Nakamura, Noelani- I was wondering- can I ask you something? Well, actually, two things?”
“Certainly. What did you want to know?”
“Well, for starters, what's a 'how-lee'?”
Noelani laughed abruptly, a tinkling, musical sound that broke and sputtered into a choppy giggle.
Chris replied in confusion, “Did I say something funny?”
“Actually, no- no. It’s just that- the name 'haole' is not really a very nice word. Translated, it means - 'white person'. But here in Hawaii, it is kind of like what white people used to call black people.”
Chris replied blandly, momentarily placated, “Oh.” And then he realized what Noelani had actually said, and blurted, “Oh -! Uh- wow. Why?”
“Here in Hawai'i, you're the minority. To a lot of Native Hawaiians, you white people stole the Islands from them. They never forgave you for that.”
“Wow, I never knew. I'm sorry, I didn't-”
Noelani interrupted, smiling benignly as she looked off into the distance, “Oh, don’t worry about it, it's not your fault. If it hadn't been you, it would have just been someone else.”
Sonny and his gang sat lounging on the damp bus-stop bench, some sitting, some leaning, another perched at the top with his feet on the seat. Sonny passed the tarry br
own roach to one of them, who promptly popped it into his mouth as the unexpected sound and unanticipated sight of the annoyingly familiar vehicle approached.
Alani flew toward them in the yellow Jeep, tires skidding and squealing on the damp pavement as she slid to a stuttering halt. She leaned out the side of the Jeep and addressed Sonny with a flat, emotionless tone, “Get in- now.”
“What? Why?”
The anger swirling just below the surface of her sharp, frozen features, Alani replied, “I saw you at the beach, get- in.” Sonny stalled, gang-style handshakes going around in convoluted complexity until Alani interjected with a note of absolute finality, “Sonny, God-dammit- now!”
Sonny bounded into the Jeep with a twisted smirk, his blood-shot eyes creasing in annoyance. “I'm comin' already! Geez, Girl, what's your problem?”
Alani responded flatly, “I'm not your problem...”
Noelani continued, a broad smile creasing her smooth brown face, “So, what else did you want to know?”
Chris scratched his head absently, “Well, before she left, your- daughter- used a strange word- strange to me, that is. She was talking about this store not being work, that it was 'ohana'. What does that mean?”
Noelani looked off into the distance, gazing into the direction that Alani had gone- and perhaps a bit beyond. Noelani gestured vaguely around the store and replied, “She called this 'ohana'? It is, of course, but- well-'Ohana' means 'family'- if you take the meaning literal. But to us, 'ohana' is much more than that- it includes everyone and everything that has to do with the family. Ohana is…” And then she paused, trying to sum up the simultaneously complex and simple concept to convey its’ meaning. “Think of the Eastern notion of the extended family- mother, father, grandparents, siblings. Now add in cousins, aunts, uncles, and so on. The idea is as old as Hawaiian culture, older even than that perhaps, extending to the entire village, the entire tribe. Ohana is- was, necessary for survival in the old days. Nowadays, it isn’t so much about actual survival, but the emotions and devotion to family is still strong. You’ve heard the phrase ‘It takes a village to raise a child?’ It’s the same for us, so everything that affects the least of us affects us all. We still tend to keep things to ourselves, even the bad things, and try to solve them as a family, something we call ho’oponopono- for better or worse. So for Alani, working here at the store, it's not really a job, you know? It's just- life.”
Over the Rainbow - Book One - 'The Gathering Place' Page 10