Mom comes home one night, she often comes home late, but this time is different. I hear her crying in the living room, along with constrained wails from Grandma. My uncle is yelling outside. I don’t hear Dad. I quiet my breathing and listen for his voice. They always come home together. Always. I lay still for a moment, but I do not hear him. Something is wrong. I try and listen from the room but I gather only one thing from the commotion, Dad is dead.
I crawl out of bed, tiptoe to the hall and peer downstairs. I pause for a second and look back at my brother and cousins, hanging back groggily behind doorways. As the eldest I must be the first to enter the chaotic situation so I can shield the younger ones from it. I bound down the stairs, ready to face the adults but then stop at edge of the living room to observe the lamentations of two generations of the Kaipaka family. Mom is clutching a chair for support, as if she might collapse at any instant. Grandma has arms raised up urging her to calm down. I Gather myself and walk into the living room, but stop again. I hang back as the smell of weed and the chemical tinge of meth that clings to my mother hits my nose. Mom grabs me, wrapping her weary, manic arms around my shoulders. I break free from her grasp, looking down. She tries to wipe the tears from her eyes, but rivers continue to fall, unfazed down her cheeks. She straitens up and cups my face in her hands, “Get your brother.”
“Dad… is… gone?” My voice cracks, unsure of its own sound. I look up to see mom’s worn face. She looks at me with a half-crazed, half-lost stare. Gathering some sort of strength from within, she manages to answer me in the clearest most direct tone I have ever heard come out of her mouth: “He’s gone, Nani. He’s Gone. Get Sam, we’re going to see your Father.”
We drive to the hospital and walk down its antiseptic halls past a group of cops standing by the door.
There I see a body. Dad is lying still on the hospital bed as if he were merely asleep. A cold has set into his face and hands. I imagine he is in a deep slumber. I do not dare wake him. The family stands around the bed. I look from person to person, but all share the same look of glazed confusion. The anger, the sadness, the pain of losing a family member. Even at this young age where the carefree years of true youth meet the cold reality of adulthood, I understand that all the feelings of loss will come in spurts and bouts at different times, at different levels. I walk slowly to the shape of a man who was once my father, lying on the hospital bed.
“Dad?” Hearing no response, I walk closer to the hospital bed, turning to my brother. He looks confused, unsure of the events transpiring around him. Mom breaks from the distance, takes a great stride toward the bed and places her hand tenderly on his chest.
“What happened, Mom?” I ask abruptly, needing to know. The cops are standing in the hallway but they don’t speak to us.
“He was shot, Nani.”
“Who did it?”
“They say it was the Nakoa boys.” Mom continues to stare, taking him in, feeling what vestiges of spirit still might cling to his earthly form.
Nakoa boys. I repeat the name under my breath. Those Nakoa boys! On the other side of the hospital bed, my uncle stands like a stone with clenched teeth, as if he could hear my thoughts and echo my sentiment. I look at him, dark and sinewy, molded by countless days of fishing for tuna on an old boat that has seen better days. Run ragged by years of hard living in a small forgotten place. He looks as if he might take them head on, but he alone is no match against them. The Nakoa are stronger in number and richer than us. They own vast tracts of ranchland in the islands interior and are known in no small part for being a mafia in their own right. Uncle Koa resolve seems unbreakable, and the fury builds in his eyes. This is a stark contrast to the sight of my young brother, on the last visages of his childhood. Would he become like Dad? What would become of us, of me? I need to get out, get my brother out of Makai.
“It will be O.K., Mom.” I say earnestly, trying my best to console her. I step in closer to the center of the room, observing the shape of Dad’s face, his thick curly hair that falls in ringlets, the hair that my younger brother Sam inherited. The dark, tanned skin from days spent fishing in the strong Hawaiian sun, the heavy curve of his jaw and the slight grimace of death. For all his drunken cruelty and bouts of violence, all I feel is pity now. Not pity for father, but sadness for the family to have lost one of our own.
Papa’s death was not a surprise. It was known that he was an addict and seller who had made deals with some guys from farther inland where meth and weed is grown in deep country beyond the reaches of authorities. We all knew it was only a matter of time that one of these deals went south. I can’t say I feel sorry for him, but his death has a huge blow on my mother, who has buried herself further in her drugs. I want to break her from her trance and remind her how he would come home drunk and high and remind her how sometimes he would bother my cousins and I, climbing in bed with us and fall asleep in our rooms. I want to remind her of the many times he had hit her, giving her a black eye, and those random bruises that would appear on her arms and legs. I am a little relieved that he is gone.
I live on what is known as Hawaiian homelands, kind of like a reservation, in this forgotten place called Makai, on a small stretch of land that sits right along the ocean. I grew up along a bumpy old beach road that leads to a derelict but often used boat ramp. Coconut trees and broken down ranch homes line the road, houses that seem held up only by the wills of the families that reside in them. The school is 30 miles away. Each morning I walk to the corner road and take the old school bus that tugs along a zigzagging path five miles up past jagged fields of black and barren lava rock. It’s a far stretch that not everyone can manage. Some of my cousins seem to have given up halfway, preferring instead the lure of spending the days and nights fishing, drinking and smoking. Dad’s death happens in my Freshman year of high school. Uncle Koa doesn’t get the revenge he desired, instead, he gets busted for dealing meth and ends up in a Honolulu jail.
The rest of the year is a blur but I manage to keep my grades up. I continue into sophomore year and things start to get harder. Mom keeps doing meth and she has lost most her front teeth. Whatever ways she was managing to bring money in before, the money isn’t there now. Sometimes she comes home so erratic as is her habit, and I have grown accustomed to her mumblings. Uncles from other towns and islands stay over from time to time, eyeing me.
I have learned by now to exist in this chaotic world. Grandma is the glue that holds us all together. I stick to my books, but only do so well. I couldn’t make it into the King Kamehameha school. I start to worry about Sam. Two years younger, he falls in the wrong crow, the only crowd in Makai. My mom brings another sister into the world. No one knows who the dad is, but the talk in the neighborhood is that it’s the baby of Jonny, the major meth supplier.
Cops rarely come down to the beach road. I think it must be too far from back-up. The closest police station is 40 minutes away. Things happen down here that no one talks about. I tell myself it’s no different than any other community. Cops or not. When you grow up in a small world, it’s all you know. In my senior year I learn that my uncle is dead. Only a few months out of jail, his body is found dumped alongside the shipyards. I hear the loose talk among the community, probably a drug overdose. This is too much for me, I fantasize about leaving tomorrow, always tomorrow. I’ll hitch a ride out of here, get a job by the university, attend college, get far away from this place. All the familiar faces holding the same sadness. I tell myself this world I know does not follow me, but it is something always ever present, a living breathing thing, not gone and dead like so many of my family.
We need more money. We live off EBT stamps and the money that mom manages to get from under the table house cleaning jobs. We share everything in the community, which isn’t much. Those uncles keep eyeing me. Their eyes speak but I refuse to listen.
Sam is losing it. I can see the changes in him, the falling away by the gentle pull into the path of lease resistance. I had noticed the pile of school books left on his bed earlier in the morning. After hanging out in town all day, he has returned, firmly planted into the corner of the couch.
“Your behind on schoolwork, don’t you care?”
“Fuck that,” he says,.
“You want to end up like Dad?” I say to him.
He rolls his eyes. “You sound like mom.”
“Yeah, but mom doesn’t really care.”
We both laugh half-heartedly, ashamed at the spoken truth.
“Listen to your sister!” Grandma chimes in from the kitchen. She never gets too involved in family quarrels and drama, maybe this why she has managed to survive here, managed to be the rock that holds this family as close to earth as can be managed, with so many of us flying high all the time. Baby sister starts to cry form the mild commotion. I don’t want to leave my brother here, in Makai, I don’t want to leave my little sister for that matter. I can’t leave them behind to face this world alone. Sam looks like dad in those old photos from the late 80s and early 90’s, the crazy hair, and wild look. I care for him the way mom cannot care for us. Grandma takes care of our little sister while mom is out for days. All the while, I plan my escape.
My brother, my baby sister, my countless cousins, they are a part of me, my blood. The Kaipaka’s. What am I without them? If the Nakoa family is strong because of their numbers, then what am I if I leave Makai? I wrestle with countless questions in my senior year of high school, balancing thoughts of selfishness with thoughts of ancient bloodlines and a never ending poverty that haunts my family.
It’s a month before graduation and I am set to attend University of Hilo. I’m leaning toward just leaving and letting Sam figure out his own way. My sister is too young to understand anything anyways. Grandma could take the reigns as she always has, even in her advancing age. Every day in Makai is one less day in Makai. I count the days. I stare at the graduation gown and hat that sits in my closet then head downstairs to the same living room that many Generations of Kaipaka’s had walked through. Maybe they had the same worries and fears that I have now. Sam is sitting on the couch, one of those rare moments that he is in the house these days. He sees me as I walk toward the kitchen.
“I’m going to get revenge on them,” Sam says.
I stop mid-track. “You and what army? No one knows who fired the shot. No one had any tips, no one was arrested.”
“I know who it was. The cousins said they will back me up.”
“Don’t be mumule.” I say to him.
“They got away with what they did. If we can’t avenge him then we’re a weak family.”
“The Nakoa’s would mess you up, Sam, just like dad.” I stare at him with an older sister glare but he manages only a half -glance before turning back to stare at the T.V.
Not long after, the volcano Goddess Pele awakens, and an eruption forces an evacuation of communities to the north. The police coax out most of the people closest to the lava, but some people deeper in the Jungle cannot be moved. Everyone is in awe as the orange glow of Pele shines brightly from the earth every night, growing brighter each day. Her heat and light reflected in the clouds. At night I open the window and climb onto the roof of the old-house and clutch my knees to my chest as Pele continues to spill dangerously fast hot lava toward the ocean. The moon shines a soft blue light, but Madame Peles’ firey hot glow commands respect from all directions. Dad and Uncle would have loved to see this now.
“Hey Nani, what are you doing?” A voice calls from the open window.
“I’m watching Pele.” I turn around and see Sam step out of the window to join me. We stare out to at the far away eruption for a good while.
“You think mom’s gonna be ok? Says Sam
“Mom always comes back, doesn’t she? No matter what.” I want to sound sure, and I find strength in my own words.
“The Nakoa boys are out there somewhere, I don’t think the cops are gonna get them to leave,” he says.
“So, what?” I ask angrily, annoyed that he is bringing them up again.
“Cousin Po’okela is talking about going out there.”
“What the hell, Sam, we talked about this. You know how dumb that would be?” I get up, exasperated. “I don’t want to talk about this.” I go back into the house and try and put it out my mind. If I don’t think about it, maybe Sam won’t either.
I graduate, with a great deal of fanfare from my relatives; the many leis that are draped around my neck after the ceremony reach my ears. It is a temporary status, as things quickly return to normal. We are still poor, still holding onto the seams of the proper western lifestyle we are supposed to be living. Sam is looking more savage, his long curly hair now falls in thick dreadlocks. I want to feel alienated from this place, but it is all I know. When I look at my little sister I see none of my mother’s features, but when she laughs, I forget about my worries. I tell myself that I just have to get through the summer and then I will start University in fall. I’m not concerned with the how, as long as I can get out. The summer comes and so does the yearly family barbeque. Months have gone by and the eruption shows no signs of stopping. There is a sense of danger among everyone now, and many in the community put on gas masks, reminding me of a post-apocalyptic scene against an angry sky unnaturally bright from the heavy volcanic gasses. One day Sam comes home with a new motorbike and some gear. He stole it from the evacuated areas. No one says a thing.
The yearly barbeque comes around and I like to see all the generations come together but I notice mom and she seems older and more ragged. The drugs continue to take a heavy toll on her. Grandma is an image of lively youth compared to this visage of a woman that looks like an older version of the mom I remember. Sam is hanging around the driveway with the cousins. Great. Just what we need. A bunch of Kaipaka boys in a group, like engines just dying to start up, to race toward oblivion. It is said that trouble follows the Kaipaka boys, but I know it’s the other way around. They stand around in a casual circle, temporarily still, waiting for something. The mothers and aunties are sitting comfortably under tarps and high shades, oblivious to the young men’s thoughts and agitation. The older men are placing chicken on the barbeque, talking about their younger years. Cousin Po’okela casually drives up in his pick-up truck and call out to the boys.
“HOOEEYY!”
As soon as he does, the Kaipaka boys move in unison toward him. In the midst of the group, I see Sam. The cousin’s jump into the back of the truck and he jumps into the front seat. I run to the driveway, my thick hair falling around my shoulders.
“What the fuck is going on?” I yell. “What are you doing, Sam?”
“Stay out of this Nani.” Says Po’okela as he Sam with a fast hug and a hand shake. He glances at me with cool, calculating eyes. His excitement tempered by his intent.
“You ready for this, Sam? We go get’um.” Says Po’okela. He looks like a crazy, determined fool, but the mana is undeniable.
“Don’t do it, Sam.” I give him a pleading look, but I’m not seen, not heard.
Sam stares ahead. “I have to do this.” He is clutching something in his right hand. The last of the cousins gets in the back of the truck. The sun is setting, the sky a bright lava red. They start to drive off. I can’t let him do this. How can I protect him, my little brother? The silly laughing boy perched high on his smiling father’s shoulders.
“Wait!” I start into a fast run as the truck slows. “I’m coming with you!”
There is no protest. As the eldest child, girl or not, they won’t say no to me. I jump in the back, squeezing in between two of my largest cousins. A bag sits in the middle. I only guess at its contents. A machete, a baseball bat, a heavy wooden paddle. The elders look on but take no action.
‘He confessed.” My large cousin Kale looks at me with a strange, bemused smile.
‘Who confessed?” I belt out, half out of breath.
“One of the Nakoa Boys. Tony, you know, the tall, skinny dude with one white eye.”
I think of this man who has brought such sadness upon my family. I see him in my minds eye. Something stirs in me. For all the faults of my family, for all the weakness, there is something more, I seek it out, this question in my mind, a fire burning in dark jungle. What is it? I look inward, I look outward, I dig my heart for a buried answer as I come to terms with the unknown events ready to unfold.
The truck bounces along an uneven country road as we hold onto the sides, anticipating every sharp turn and bump. The group becomes focused on the precarious ride and it gets quiet. As we head higher, I look out to the shining sea past long stretches of black lava fields that hardened and cooled decades before I was even born. My thoughts drift. I close my eyes and memories fill my soul. Nostalgia plays in my mind like a movie screen. I see it all pass before me. The get-togethers. The pork laulau cooked in an earthen oven covered in hot stones and the lei’s my aunties make, the men toiling away, pounding taro into poi, while the elder Kupuna talk story wistfully about old days. In my thoughts I hear the sweet laughter of my baby sister, and the songs of my Grandmother.
As the sun sets, my kind memories are replaced by dark ones. I do not resist. I let them flow through me. Memories of survival in a paradise riddled with drugs, violence and death. The truck hits a pot hole caused by a volcanic fissure and I shake out of trance. I look up at the faces of the Kaipaka cousins and notice all at once the familiar striking eyes in varying shades of blue to brown and the family features that bind us. The strong jawlines, rock solid bones and thick hair. The contagious upturn of these humorous mouths make me smile. Though now, all stern eyes, in the face of the unknown, I am warmed by bouts of heady laughter at a crude joke or a misplaced smirk. I look to the outline of my little brother in the front seat. Not so little anymore. Yet I would do anything to protect him from the dangers all around. I hear the warning sirens wail in the distance. A new eruptive vent has ruptured. Po’okela ignores the sirens and keeps driving. We head straight through a bright orange cloud of smoke coming from the eruption. Sulfur fills the air with a stench of decay. We see the police check point up ahead. Po’okela makes a hard right turn off the highway before the cops notice us. We head through overgrown brush onto an old hunting road. Tall grass whips at the sides of our faces as we enter further into the deep jungle. The sky through the trees begins to drain of its sunlight. We reach a clearing and the truck comes to a sudden stop. I look ahead and see a rundown cabin. Three dark figures step out into the doorway. One walks ahead of the others, tall and slim. Sam turns to look at me, trying to hide his trepidation, my heart beat quickens. Whatever comfort I had in the pride of this moment is gone. Sam looks at me for reassurance, but I have none to give. I grab a weapon from the bag.
Drama
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What an amazing story about loss, drugs, and revenge. You really have a way with words! And you’re really great at digging into people’s emotions.