The thought of having a kid, even back then, scared the shit out of me. What the hell could I give a kid? My wisdom? What a laugh. My Hideyoshi legacy? Even worse. What if I turned out to like my father? Even if I didn’t, me having a kid, where else would I take it? It would end up in Ka‘a‘awa. Fathers are usually not good about taking in their pregnant daughters, and they hate the thought of a younger man, the same one who they imagined raped their daughter, coming in and taking over. So we’d probably be in Ka‘a‘awa — me, my father, and its mother, all sitting there looking at the swords in the glass case, all probably staring at them, waiting for another to make the first move. I figured a couple of us would race for the katana to kill the rest, the other would rush toward the short sword wanting to kill themselves first. Fuck that, I wouldn’t have it. I was probably the only guy in Castle High who religiously used condoms. The fucking irony of all of this is that with age, I got more stupid. Because all of this shit ended up happening, and that’s why I am where I am today.
But back then, it would never have happened to me. Throughout high school I had only three girlfriends, and none of the relationships lasted for over two months. I was too busy being an asshole to make anything work. Besides, deep down inside I never wanted it to work, anyway. It’s an inevitable conclusion — the more you fuck, the more likely you’ll end up with kids. I’d seen it all around me, the results of teenage pregnancy.
Hell, no, I used to think, it’s not for me. The thought gave me a shovel powerful enough to dig up and sever my own roots. At school, I’d ignore Cheryl, not even wanting to look at her, knowing that I might succumb. She and Kahala were best friends, both grew up together in Ahuimanu, the hills of the suburban upper middle class. Ahuimanu sits right outside of Kahaluu, on the border between Kaneohe and Kahaluu, by the Valley of the Temples graveyard, you know, where they put Ferdinand Marcos’ corpse on ice. They were both beautiful. Kahala was taller, thinner, with the body of a sprite, Cheryl was shorter, thicker, more voluptuous. Kahala was Hawaiian-Chinese-haole, her bone structure Chinese, her dark features Hawaiian, and her green eyes haole. Her dad was an architect or something. Cheryl was hapa, Japanese-haole, beautiful light-brown hair, and hazel eyes. I think her dad was an attorney. Man, I wanted her, and I thought she was crazy for wanting me, thinking her dad would sue me on sight. Kahala’s dad must’ve been overjoyed at the sight of Koa. Fucking rich chicks, what were they thinking?
So Koa and I graduated, walked together, and decided that we would throw a graduation party at his house on graduation night. We wanted the party to end all parties. Uncle James bought ten kegs of beer, made the imu for the pig, put up the tent, and rented the tables and chairs. Aunty Kanani cooked the food, along with Koa’s other aunties, the basics: chicken long rice, squid luau, cake noodles with char siu and vegetables, sushi, macaroni salad, lomi salmon, and lumpia. Koa’s uncles brought sashimi and poke, cut from the aku and ahi they caught themselves. Others brought poi or bottles of Popov Vodka, Quervo Gold, Bacardi Rum, and Chivas Regal. Even my father contributed, though he hated going to social events. He gathered the coolers for water and punch. He even dropped a net into the ocean, bringing from the Bay mullet, awa‘awa, and papio. He steamed mullet, pounded the awa‘awa into fish cake, and fried the papio. The party mood was contagious and, as I stood in the sun, waiting to get my diploma, I couldn’t wait to step down and head to Koa’s house to tap the first keg.
Before Koa and I made it to his house, we stayed at the ceremony, receiving leis from family and friends. We let them stack around our necks. The mixing smell of plumeria, ginger, carnation, and maile tickled our noses. With each lei came a congratulatory handshake or a proud hug. I started feeling like people were suddenly expecting great things from me, or they were amused by my ignorance while welcoming me to the “real world.” The leis were like a series of nooses, stacked up so high that they rose up to my chin, and I felt my neck sweat under the weight. We had to take pictures and find our friends who also graduated to congratulate them. We wandered endlessly through the sea of faces, trying to make sure that we got to everybody we were supposed to.
Finally I found my father in the crowd, and walked toward him. He was conspicuous, standing there alone, wearing an aloha shirt I hadn’t seen in years. His head was turning to and fro, looking for me. His face wore that signature angry look, the one which never eased, the one that only got sharper as anger rose. When he finally saw me, he straightened out his shirt and coughed into his hand. He had no lei, instead he held out his hand. When I shook it, I felt a piece of cold metal in his palm being passed over to me. I looked at it. It was his Bronze Star from Vietnam. He told me, “No lose ‘um, ah.”
I said, “Thanks, Dad,” and looked at it again before I put it in my pocket. He looked around again. “Okay, congratulations,” he said, “I guess I see you at Koa’s house. Ova dea I give you your odda present.” I said thanks and watched him walk into the crowd.
I pulled the Bronze Star out of my pocket and looked at it again. What the hell kind of grad present is this? I thought. I knew that the medal was important to him, and I was honored to receive it, but I didn’t get what I was supposed to do with it, what it meant. I put it back in my pocket and thought about the other present he said he was going to give me. I didn’t have a clue what it would be. I mean, I didn’t think he had anything I really wanted. So I departed from the futile brainstorm and looked for Koa in the crowd.
When I finally found him, his parents weren’t with him. Instead I saw Kahala holding his hand, and I laughed as I noticed that he wore so many leis that his mouth and nostrils were completely submerged in a sea of stringed flowers. I walked up to them, kissed Kahala on the cheek, and shook Koa’s hand. Aunty Kanani appeared and told us, “Hey, you three, stand togedda so I can take pickcha.” Kahala stood between us and I put my arm around her waist while Koa put his arm around her shoulder. All three of us smiled into the camera. I still have that picture of the three of us.
After the picture was taken, we all decided to ride to Koa’s house together for the party. We looked forward to the celebration, and wanted to get off the campus as soon as possible. We were all happy in the knowledge that we never had to put one foot on it again.
It was a helluva night! Saturated with food, drink, friends, and surprise announcements, it was everything a party is supposed to be. Hundreds of people showed up. They crowded underneath the huge blue tarp Uncle James had put up. It was so big it looked like a wrinkled sky. Some mingled underneath it, while others hid in the unroofed darkness. Cherries glowed from lighted joints. I saw Mike and John smoking and laughed, thinking how far we’d come from the day they threatened me at the bus stop. John was as skinny and dark as ever, tall and emaciated, looking like he hadn’t slept for days. His mustache was still sparse, like the day I had met him. Mike, on the other hand, was a Hardy to John’s Laurel, round to the point where the bottom of his t-shirt failed to touch his jeans. Both didn’t graduate with us. John already had two kids and Mike spent a great deal of his teenage years in Olomana, the boys home. I walked up to them and shook their hands. Mike laughed. “Sorry ah, graduate. You too smart fo’ me.”
The three of us laughed. “So now what?” John said, “I heard you like move town. Why you like be one townie? You should hang wit’ us. Shit, you get ‘um good wit’ Freddie, you set.” He raised his hand and showed me his SYN tattoo, reminding me of that night we all put the needle in our skin.
I laughed and showed him mine. “Look, mine stay all green arready.” We all laughed and walked together to the keg.
After leaving Mike and John, I ran into Freddie. He was talking to one of Koa’s little brothers at the side of the house. Ikaika, the second oldest in the Puana clan, stepped back as I approached Freddie’s back. I put my finger on my mouth, telling Kaika not to say anything, and I slapped a full nelson on Freddie. He began to buck like crazy. Even though I was taller, my feet were off the ground, and he swung around violently until I finally s
aid, “Hey, you mental fucka, calm down, it’s me.”
He put me down and I released my grip. We began to playfully box each other, and Kaika laughed. We stopped. “Hey,” Freddie said, “what’s dis about you moving town?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. Fuck, I figure I stay hea, I only goin’ get into trouble, end up getting someone pregnant or goin’ jail or something. I cannot even get one job down hea.”
He laughed, looked at Kaika, and motioned for the kid to take off. When Kaika left, he said, “Shit, you know you get one job. Besides jail, you shouldn’t be scared. I get some boys in Halawa Corrections, no worry, you end up dea, you do easy time.”
I shrugged again. “Fuck, I no like do anykine time.”
He laughed. “None of us do, bradda, none of us do. But fo’ some of us, no matta what, we goin’ do time. I no care you live Ka‘a‘awa, Waiahole, Kahaluu, town. Some of us, we was destined to go.”
“Fuck dat,” I said, “I ain’t going.”
He laughed. “Too bad you like go town. I lived town befo’. Fuckin’ worse den ova hea. But I know you set on goin’ so I cannot say anyting. Too bad, too. Out of all da braddas I do business wit’, I trust you da most, especially since you quit blowing. Fuckin’ Koa ova dea, dat fucka like one vacuum cleana. Fuck, I hope his bradda not like dat.”
We laughed. Suddenly he turned serious, put his hand in his pocket, and pulled out a wad of bills. He handed it to me. “Hea, your grad present,” he said.
I counted the bills. It came out to fifteen hundred. I shook my head. “No fuckin’ way. You crazy? I not going take dis from you.”
When I tried to hand the wad back to him, he pushed my hand away. “Bradda,” he said,“you try give dat back to me and we trowing blows. Jus’ keep ‘um. I like you have ‘um. You need money you go town. Fuck, what you goin’ do wit’ out money?”
We began throwing the money at each other. When I threw it for the third time, he didn’t catch it. Instead he let it bounce off his chest and fall to the ground. He attacked me. He wrapped his arm around my head. I put my hands against him and tried to squeeze my head out. His grip was too strong, so I went for his leg. I grabbed the one closest to me and lifted it off the ground. I heard him laugh. I pulled the leg up as high as I could. I felt his arm squeeze my head harder as he lost his balance. We spilt on the ground. I still couldn’t get my head out. I was beginning to feel suffocated, beginning to lose my cool. I think Freddie sensed I was beginning to take this little play seriously. “You going take da money?” he said.
“Fuck you.”
He laughed. “Take da money or I neva goin’ let you go.”
I tried to struggle out of it, but I felt him adjust his grip. What was once a playful headlock was now a choke hold. I was stuck. I was enraged. I wanted to struggle out of it, but I knew it was too late.“I give,” I said.
We hugged each other and he walked away. I think he was pissed that I was getting pissed. I picked the money off the ground and buried it in my pocket. I dusted off my pants and walked back toward the keg. I stretched my neck.
The next familiar face I ran into was Aunty Jana’s. She was standing right outside the tarp, her hand resting on one of the poles which held it up. Several metallic colored balloons which read, “Congratulations” in cartoon letters, were tied to the pole. The wind blew and the balloons attacked her. She tried to box them away.
I had only seen her a few times over the last several years. Though Uncle Sonny still came around to drink with my father, Aunty Jana had stopped coming around after my mother died. She smiled when she saw me and we kissed each other on the cheek. She held me at arm’s length and said, “Wow, you one man, ah? I still remember when you was one little kid, and we used to take you camping.”
I smiled. “How you doing, Aunty Jana?”
“O.k., o.k., but neva mind dat. How you? What you goin’ do now?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “I was thinking about moving to town. Maybe go school or something.”
This brought a big smile to her face. The balloons blew in front of her. For a moment she looked like she had a shiny metal head. After the wind died and her fake head disappeared, she spoke. “Wow, right on. Would be good to see at least someone go college from dis side of da island. I know your mom always wanted you to go. She used to say, ‘I wonder where I should send Kenji to college? Berkeley or Stanford.’ She used to think you were so smart. She used to smile every time she saw you reading because you always read and no one ever had to tell you to.”
I began to feel uncomfortable, like a failure, thinking how if I went to school anywhere, it would be Kapiolani Community College. I thought about Freddie, who I had just talked to, and said to myself, “Yeah, Mom would be proud.” I thanked Aunty Jana for coming, kissed her on the cheek again, and made an awkward exit toward the tarp.
As I walked around looking for Koa under the covered area, I noticed that a crowd was forming. I approached it and saw Koa’s father and mine drinking together. They were calling people to them, saying they had things to announce. When they saw me, they waved me forward. As we stood there in the middle of the crowd, the sun was setting, and we waited for Koa.
About ten minutes later Koa and Kahala arrived and they were also called up. My father, by now drunk and happy, put his hand up, indicating that he wanted to speak. The crowd quieted. “Today, my son graduated from high school,” he said. “I feel so... surprised, really.” The crowd laughed. He continued, “Just think, about two, three months ago, I had to pick dis kid up from jail.” Again laughter. “Well, I’m here talking because I have a present to give my only son.” He pulled a piece of paper out from his pocket. “My son, da one always reading books, here, I give you your pass out of Ka‘a‘awa and your pass into school.”
I grabbed the paper from him. It was a check in my name for three thousand dollars. I was shocked. “Wow,” I mumbled. The crowd laughed.“I’m rich!” I said.“It’s three thousand dollars.” Everybody laughed. I shook my father’s hand and he smiled. People took pictures of us as we stood under the tarp, the crumpled artificial sky.
Next it was Uncle James’ turn. “Koa,” he said, “come hea.” He took a piece of paper from his pocket. He handed the document to Koa, and Koa began reading it. After several minutes of quiet, Koa stepped to his father and hugged him. They just stood there, hugging each other. After Koa finally broke the embrace, he said,“Dis is one deed in my name. My fadda gave me one quarta acre in Waiahole.”
Everyone clapped. Uncle James spoke. “Your great grandfadda used to own a lot of land dis side. Our family no more too much left, but I figure, one quarta acre, das good.You can build one house on top. Ken’s fadda arready said he was going help.”
Everyone laughed as my father put on an exaggerated look of surprise. Then he smiled and put his arm around Koa. “Nah, no worry, I help you. But no expect you goin’ get one mansion or swimming pool or anyting.” Everyone laughed. As the voices quieted, I heard a strong gust blow against the blue tarp. Violent wrinkles rode through the blue material like waves.
Then Koa spoke. “You know what, I get one announcement, too.”
He called Kahala over. She walked to his side and held his hand. He cleared his throat, whispered in Kahala’s ear, then spoke to everyone. “Me and Kahala, we goin’ get married.”
The place was silent. The wind blew harder. Everyone knew she was probably pregnant. I looked at poor Koa and Kahala squirming up there and I wanted to laugh. Not laugh at them, but just laugh to ease the tension.
Finally Koa’s father broke the stillness. He walked up to Kahala and gave her a big bear hug. Next, Koa’s mother walked up to her husband and daughter-in-law-to-be, pushed her husband away, who outweighed her by almost two hundred pounds, and hugged Kahala. Everyone laughed. I couldn’t believe it, I looked over at Koa, and he began to cry. He was so fucking happy, he started crying. I walked up to him and gave him a hug.
He wiped his eyes and asked, “So what
? You going be my best man, yeah?”
“You know dat,” I said.
Suddenly the wind blew harder, so hard that the blue tarp lifted like an opened parachute. The poles holding it up were ripped out of the ground and I heard laughter as the tarp fell down on everyone who was standing under it. I thought, the sky is falling. After I got out from under it, I looked up to the real sky and saw darkness. Suddenly balloons crossed my vision. Those metallic balloons with the cartoon letters were floating high in the sky.
Before the night was over I had a chance to talk to Kahala. I was drunk by then, not only from alcohol, but with the thought of my six-thousand five-hundred dollars. The two I had stashed at home, the fifteen hundred from Freddie, and the three from my father. Actually, the next day, I found out I had altogether collected nine thousand. I opened dozens of congratulation cards filled with twenties and fifties. But that night there I was, grinning with happiness, looking for the next person to toast with. That was when I saw Kahala sitting alone at one of the empty tables, shrouded by the night.
I sat down next to her. “Congratulations,” I said, “on the engagement, I mean.”
She smiled. “Thanks. You too, on your ticket out of here.”
I took a sip from my beer, and I don’t know, I guess I was feeling frank. “Your dad must be having a stroke over this.”
She laughed. “Yeah, he isn’t too happy. He told me I’m on my own if I marry Koa. He was especially mad because I told him I’d have to wait a couple of years on college. I was supposed to go to the University of Washington, but I turned it down. Jeez, he was acting like if I didn’t go this August, I’d never go.”
“Well, at least you guys got that land you can build on,” I remarked, trying to lift her enthusiasm.
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