by Katie George
Chapter Eleven
THE FIRST THING I breathed in was the scent of tropical paradise: fruits, flowers of all types, fresh grasses, maybe even the odor of pavement after a rainstorm. The salty air was normal for my nostrils, but this intoxicating smell brought me to Earth in a way that no other experience had. The rumor mill had been that the more one travels inland, the more one inhales additional fragrances of sugar cane and coffee from money-making plantations.
The drive over to our resort on the eastern shore of the island was quick, filled with mirth, and generated by our primeval interest in the Garden Island. My heart soared at the magic between the crystal blues of the sea to the lush green of Earth behind us. What aided my gentle content was the additional blessing of one of my closest friends, Sena, who was marrying in a fall wedding in Phoenix.
Sena was a close friend of Annabel’s and one of the original posse members when I was informally included in their group. She was half-Japanese, the most amazing artist I’d ever met, and a recently noted realtor for her father’s highly marketable company. She grew up in San Francisco and lived there now, though she was planning on moving to Phoenix after her wedding to expand the company and live with her professional football player fiancé.
On this beautiful day, Sena sat beside me, recounting our college days (a full two months ago, I know) while informing me of the impossibilities of living in the Bay area. “I’m so ready to get out of California,” she informed me as we passed a group of dolphins jumping from the depths. Seeing their agreement, she nodded again. “It’s time for me to get out.”
“I see.”
“You never had that problem, being from Texas and all.”
“True,” I said. “But LA and San Francisco are two very different places.”
The rest of our rental van composed of two other bridesmaids, Roxana and Isabel, and three groomsmen, who were busy serenading the women while Sena and I sightsaw in the back. Roxana was the other girl in the college trio, and honestly, the scariest member. At a formidable six-two, she terrified me with her girth. Isabel was Annabel’s childhood best friend who worked with her in the charity business, as she was an heiress of some phone mobile company. When her father died, she would be worth millions, if not already.
The van in front of us was filled with Annabel, Dexter, and their immediate families, including the wedding planner, Aunt Beatrice. The three vans behind us were filled with close friends, co-workers, and other miscellaneous people invited for the nuptials. Only about forty people were expected at the small (yet pricey) wedding, but it felt like a loftier number after being on a plane with the weirdos.
We were staying at a resort owned by a friend of Annabel’s father, so the rooms were close to gratis, but there were at least two people per room. Sena and I were lucky that we got to be roommates. I knew by heart that Sena preferred a cool sleeping space to warm, like me, and she also enjoyed late night science fiction films. A genre, I realized, that my best friend would be starring in soon, even if it was only as a supporting character. It was a big accomplishment for a twenty-two-year-old graduate of a Christian university.
As soon as we stopped in front of the giant megaresort called Gardenia Resort & Spa, my mouth fell open. The hotel was like a fortress surrounded by green juggernauts on one side and the cool blue ocean beyond. Yet what struck me were the flowers of all shapes, colors, and sizes, especially for the driest time of the year on the island. Blues, pinks, purples, and yellow flora surrounded the entrance, making its Gardenia namesake true.
“Can you believe we’re staying here?” Sena asked. She had grown up in an upper-class family, but by California standards, she wasn’t that rich. She had a strict upbringing, from what I’d gathered of her life, but she now reaped the rewards. She had a well-paying salary from her father’s business and a bright future. Me? Hopefully I would remain employed for the rest of the year.
As I lugged my suitcase with me into the grand foyer, I gulped. “I really hope Annabel got these rooms for free. Even her wealth would take a plunge if…” My tongue fell out of my head as I stared up into the glass windows at the ceiling, revealing baby blue sky. This place was the epitome of luxury, with a waterfall snaking down the elevators, a koi pond at its base. A rainforest-type element sat to the side, with animal sounds playing through speakers. I was still fazed by the windows at the top which shined down on us.
“Wow,” I breathed.
“Wow,” Sena blurted. “Just wow.”
We got to our rooms, which overlooked the mighty Pacific Ocean. Though I was used to the sea, I still felt tiny and small compared to what nature offered. A few rocks jutted out in the distance, little stony islands. A few people lay out on the sand, taking in rays, while a few others surfed in the perfect swell.
Sena fell on the bed, her long black hair standing out against the light blues of the comforter. I fell beside her, though we had two beds to split. “You know?” I asked.
“What?”
“Maybe we should just give up and move here. Find a cheap place, take up surfing, wear leis all the time.”
“We’d get island fever though.”
“True. So we’re supposed to meet everyone downstairs in a few hours—after everyone has a snooze?”
“Yes. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Sena’s eyebrows lifted.
“Of course! We might as well.”
We donned our swimsuits and hurried down the elevators, smoothing our skin with suntan lotion as we went down. Sena wore a blue one-piece that illuminated her svelte type, while I donned a purple bikini I’d bought with Nina Huston a summer ago, back when we (her, me, and Jamie) were an inseparable trio. My heart hurt at the memory, back when we spent all our time together. Eventually, Nina and Jamie became an item, and I respectfully bowed out to do my own things. Yet the memory of our togetherness—and now brokenness—hurt.
“Are you ready for some Hawaiian water?” Sena asked, her eyes aglow.
We took some beach towels and hurried out to the golden sand, where we dropped down and let the sun graze our bodies. Sena fell asleep under the sun’s spindly fingers, but I stayed awake, surveying the crowd composed of some wedding partiers, a few middle-aged couples, and some young people in love.
Eventually, I sat up and went to the water’s edge, allowing the water to lap my feet. Though it was colder than let’s say, the mighty Gulf of Mexico in summer, the water was refreshing to my skin. My back was baking from the rays, so eventually, I placed my head down on the tingly sand.
A few minutes later, a thickly accented voice called out, “Ma’am?”
I giddily sat up, wiping the sleep and sand from my eyes, and said, “Huh?”
A guy fell down beside me, his green eyes electrifying. I was speechless as he spouted off, “I’m Tyron McKenzie. You’re…?” He had floppy, long blonde hair. The accent, I realized, was Australian. He held a surfboard to his chest, along with a black wetsuit.
“Tyron?” I asked. “Hi, I’m Emma.”
“I wanted to check up on you, make sure the swell didn’t take you under. Also, I never resist a pretty lady.”
“Well, thank you?” I asked, not sure how to take him. “You’re the first Australian I’ve met.”
“Wow! Look at you go. A lot of Americans I meet assume I’m British, which is a low-blow. I’m not a bloke, or whatever they say. I was always extremely patriotic of my Australian heritage. Let me guess where you’re from. Most people out here are from California.”
“Well, that…”
“But you don’t sound like them. See, I’ve met enough Americans to deduce the accent. Like those Southerners, they’re obviously the easiest, with all the talk about beer and tractors. Then New Yorkers—their Italians and gangs.”
“Whoa, there, cowboy. You’ve been watching too many movies.”
He batted his eyelashes, his extraverted personality shining through. “There we go. You’re Texan.” When he knew he was correct, a hearty laugh emanated t
hrough his body. “You see, I don’t meet too many Texans. I think they’d rather vacation in Cabo. The swells there are mighty terrible.”
“The swells here are pretty gnarly, right?”
He laughed at my joke. “You surf?”
“Never.”
“Oh, geez. Well, if you’re up to it, I’ll teach you. For a small fee, that is.”
“A fee? Are you like some sort of gatekeeper to the ocean?”
Tyron positioned himself just a tad bit closer to me before saying, “I will reveal the payment after our lesson. Now, how much time do you have?”
“Not long. Maybe we should start this lesson tomorrow.”
Sena’s voice reappeared as she shouted, “Em? You okay?”
With a quick glance over my shoulder, I saw Sena stretched out across the towel, staring at us. “I’m fine, Sena. We’ll need to go in soon to freshen up.” Therefore I stood up and looked down at the young surfer, who sensed my own apprehension at the thought of his practice.
“It’s not that bad, Emma.”
“I’m sure it’s not, but you see, I believe in sharks and critters such as octopi, squid…”
Tyron laughed, his blonde curls moving like a mop on his head. He nodded quickly. “I will try this again tomorrow. Ciao.” There was a hint of a song on his lips, one I recognized from years ago. “Release your inhibitions.”
I stared down at him. “Fine. If we’re going to play that way, okay. I can surf. I’m sure it’s just like skating—which I can’t do, but that is beside the point.”
“Well, how about eight o’clock, then? I already saw the swell predictions for tomorrow, and they don’t look too gnarly.”
“You’re on, Tyron. Bye.”
TWO HOURS LATER, I sat at a giant table at a Kauai gem: a restaurant at one of the sugar plantations. Since there was almost fifty of us, it was a huge accomplishment to rent out the entire restaurant, and from the looks of it, everyone was in heaven. With a view overlooking the Island’s South Shore at sunset, we had nothing to complain about. We could see boats floating into the harbor along with airplanes swirling around the skies.
“So,” Isabel said, her big brown eyes like warm globs of chocolaty smores. It was hard to think that the skinny woman in front of me was already worth more money than probably Tahiti. “Tell us about your love life.” She downed some sort of alcoholic beverage in a jiffy.
I stared down at my placemat, dying for a food source. Sena began recounting how she’d met Steve Blackwood, who played for the Arizona Cardinals. Through the haze of storytelling, I stared out into the Pacific, dreaming of lollipops and candy canes, when finally my sizzling mahi-mahi was brought before me like a sea-based pearl.
As I dug into my fish, Isabel’s perfect voice crooned, “And you, Emma?”
“Emma’s always been Emma. She doesn’t need anyone,” Roxana protested, sending me a wink. Her hair was perfectly straightened down her back like a horse’s mane if it wasn’t braided. Even sitting down, she sat what felt like miles above me.
“Well, come on, Emma. You’ve had to have met someone, right?” Isabel gently cocked her head, an eerie reminder of the man she was indirectly referring to.
“Yes, I did,” I breathed, as soon as Roxana began choking on a piece of whatever meat she’d ordered. She grabbed her throat as she moved like an eel, destroying everything at our table, on a path to havoc.
I jumped up and did the Heimlich, using the skillset I’d gleaned from now-important TV shows Jamie made me watch. Roxana’s face turned a ruddy red, but then a giant piece of meat flew from her mouth and onto Isabel’s plate. Isabel then fainted.
“Rox, you okay?” Annabel squealed, running over. “What happened?”
Roxana breathed in and out, needing all the air she could gather. Finally, she choked, “Emma saved me.”
“You did?” Annabel’s eyes lit up.
My eyes widened to balls of starlight. I probably looked like a complete dork, yet I said quickly, “She was choking; I did what needed to be done.”
Roxana reached for me and to appease her, I acquiesced, so that she gently pulled me to her chest. Just in that one moment of physical contact, she managed to choke me like I was the piece of gruel blocking her windpipe. “You…deserve a medal of honor. Thank you.”
Suddenly the group broke into a fit of hoots, laughter, and applause. “To Emma!” they cheered. I smiled shyly, falling back down into my chair, and felt Sena’s hands wrap around mine.
“Girl.”
I rolled my eyes, playfully of course, and felt just the best giddiness from gathering some attention from others.
THAT MORNING I sat on a surfboard waiting for a good wave while Tyron informed me of all the approaches needed to be taken. It was a warm day, even for June Kauai standards, and the northeast trade winds had brought in decent whitecapped waves. Tyron continued to smile his way through our date, or whatever it was even supposed to be called.
“So,” he said, gently staring. His eyes were a jarring jade compared to the crystal of the navy waters lurking behind us. “Eventually, you just have to take a leap—or a wave—of faith. Got me?”
I paddled slowly when I felt the water rise beneath my lungs, and the next thing I knew, I naturally rose with a wave, before becoming crushed under gallons of the sea. I found my way above the water and onto the choking struggle of beach.
Tyron made his way to me moments later. “Oh, Emma.”
“Sorry. I know, I told you. I can’t skate—so I probably can’t surf either.”
“Emma, you want to know the truth?”
“What?”
“I don’t surf either.”
“What?” I choked, thinking seaweed was stuck down in my throat. Nope, it was just the shock from Tyron’s words.
He shrugged quickly, reaching for my arm. “You’re okay, right?”
“Positive. You’re not a surfer? We could have really died, then.”
He struggled to laugh. “I told you these were decent waves. Emma, these are actually baby waves. They’re child’s play. Not to say that I can surf them either.”
“Oh my. I want to drown you right now,” I said, slapping his arms.
“I’m a real estate investor in real life,” he said. “I’ve surfed a few times, but it’s not like I’m a professional. I can handle myself. I just wanted you to know, because I felt like you’d think…”
“Oh, dear goodness. Come here. You’ve got kelp in your hair. Or something like it.”
He didn’t bat an eye as I fished a green leafy thing from his scalp. Instead, he asked quite helplessly, “Do you forgive me?”
“Sure. Yeah, yeah. Okay, well we could try again, but I’m actually quite certain that I’m supposed to be trekking over to Waimea Canyon or something.”
“So?” His eyes glimmered with the hope that we would meet again. Soon.
“How about we meet at five o’clock this afternoon? Go out for a bite to eat or something.”
“An Aussie with a ranga? Of course.” He reached over and kissed my cheek. “If you don’t mind, I’m going back out to practice. I need to liven up my teaching game.”
“Okay,” I said, touching my cheek, thinking okay, well, what the heck. Let him kiss your darned cheek. He didn’t emanate a serial killer whacko vibe, yet I guessed the same thing could be said about Ted Bundy. “Wait, if you’re an investor, or whatever, why are you here?”
“Is it sad to say I’m vacationing alone? Well, I have a business conference partially—I mean, c’mon, it is Kauai. So I took some vacation days to surf, relax, take some time away from the normal work grind.”
“See you?”
“Bye.”
Then I was running up to my room, where Sena was painting her toenails an olive green. Her long black-brown hair honeyed with highlights splayed down her back like perfect rivers. Sena had the softest hair I’d ever touched, which she likened to a vegan diet and oils. She looked up and gave me a hearty smile, reminding me how m
uch I enjoyed being with her. One time, she took me to San Francisco with her to celebrate a Thanksgiving in which I had no money to fly home, but also because I had never been to the city. We’d spent the whole week sightseeing around touristy places—like renowned Fisherman’s Wharf, Alcatraz, and the like—but also lounged about watching TV and cooking together. I’d realized early into my visit that Sena’s parents were not that active in her life. They operated as a system of monetary feed, but in reality, they did not acknowledge us that often, if at all, besides the Thanksgiving meal, during which Sena’s brother Charles, who was a year older than us at Stanford, received much of the attention. However, what really troubled me was my observation that Sena did not really care if her parents paid any attention to her or not. She seemed more concerned about my wellbeing during our stay.
I pulled on a tank top, a light lilac shirt as a cover, and my favorite pair of hiking shorts. I laced up my boots, ready to see the Canyon, when Sena looked up at me. “So, Roxana and Isabel came over while you were down with that Australian hunk, and they mentioned not everyone’s going to Waimea. Some people are staying behind due to being ‘too tired.’” At this, she bunny-eared her fingers.
“Please tell me you’re coming,” I said.
“Of course. I mean, you know I’m the furthest person from a hiker, but I’ll go. We’re in Kauai, and I’m not staying in. Rox and Isabel said they’re coming too.”
Ten minutes later, we paraded downstairs in almost the same outfit. We were twins, minus the difference in ethnicities. We were both the same height—five six, and nothing above. People did ask occasionally if we were separated at the womb, especially when we ordered the same thing, made the same mannerisms, and hung out around each other literally 24/7 back in college. Nowadays, our separation made the heart grow fonder.
About twenty-five people were corralled in the lobby like little sheep. Annabel’s parents were fiddling with hiking gear, while Annabel and her fiancé stood massaging skin cream into each other’s shoulder blades. Tonight was her bachelorette party, which I could only expect to be a nature-loving thing. Annabel’s religious philosophy was a mixture of Christian-Buddhism, as she believed in Christ, but maybe not the fullness of the religious teachings. Yet she and Dexter had chosen to marry in a chapel, and in a picture she’d showed me, a cross hung from its front, so that was a step.
Rox and Isabel came up to Sena and me, and the first pulled me into another tough hug. “Thanks again, Em.”
“You’re welcome.”
Isabel was busy fixing the straps on a giant backpack she was bringing along. I didn’t feel the need to bring anything but a canteen of cool water, and Sena was lugging some sandwiches for us in her hipster purse. Yet a giant backpack seemed somewhat goofy, but I was one to talk. I’d read horror stories of people falling into caves, eating nothing for days until their rescue, and, wow, I wasn’t prepared. Plus, I was a horror fan and read novels about man-eating vines and the repercussions of not having any supplies.
So maybe the backpack wasn’t a bad idea.
Yet I stood stubbornly with my head rested on Sena’s shoulder. Moments later, we’d gathered everyone and headed to the rental vans. I sat by Sena, who was urgently yapping at someone on the phone, while I checked in with Jamie over text.
How is life?
Good, he responded. W/Ella right now, going to Huntington Beach later today. Miss you. Felix the Cat needs you.
We both know Felix is actually Fiona. Miss you too.
My cat’s gender identity was as fluid as a thrown water bottle. One moment, it looked like the cat had parts that aligned with the male reproductive system, yet at other moments, Fiona seemed to be purely feminine. I’d taken her to a barely-out-of-school vet who’d stated Fiona was definitely a she, but time and time again, we weren’t exactly sure. Jamie had taken the cat as a male and direct successor to his empire and named him Felix; I insisted the cat was a princess, like Fiona from Shrek.
“We’re here,” someone called from the front seat. Giddily, I looked out the window, analyzing nature around me.
What seemed like ages later, I was staring down into the most touching painting, which I realized was actually real life. I’d been to the Grand Canyon, but to think that this system of canyons was on a Hawaiian island blew my mind. A few stragglers tried to jump on rocks, but I ignored them, needing to have a moment to myself.
Wow, I thought. Just wow. Some people would never get to see this. Yet it had affected me, like all things inevitably do. My heart soared at the thought that while poignant, elegant harvests like this existed—so did I. In the midst of chaos—of turbulent waters, losing loved ones, or in the stress of normal life—or in the midst of the most plaguing bliss—a wedding (or six), a best friendship, or the most extravagant traveling experience—there was still life to be found. There was still life blooming like the hibiscus that made the Hawaiian Islands so enchanting.
While most of our wedding party snapped pictures, I inhaled the experience, not wanting to lose a moment. It was spiritual to me, proof of a living, breathing God. Proof that when times seemed dark, rough, and difficult—I would make it through. I wondered about the thousands of people who had seen Waimea Canyon before me. Had they had the same opinion as I about this? I hoped so.
Sena pulled me in for a photograph, and I felt her stumble against me. “You know,” she whispered when we were out of earshot, “some people aren’t even looking at the landscape. They’re just looking at their phones.”
The oranges from the canyon systems were bright and perfect accoutrements for greenness to the north. The juts and precipices of the canyon made it seem it was in no way possible they could be on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean; yet somehow they were.
Broken from my reverie, I smiled, knowing Sena’s statement was sadly true.