How many sunrises and sunsets have there been that have passed over this house, this yard, this roof? How many have seen the day we first moved in, not sure what our future might be, and whether we’d still be living here in a month or in 10 years? With those sunrises and sunsets have come beautiful days of wistful happiness and days so dark that we worried about whether another sunrise would ever visit us again. With each cycle came growth, age, and the wonderment of a new world seen through the eyes of our own child and, a few years after, our grandchild Koali. Our grandson and I spent many moments together with him sleeping on my chest as an infant, or on drives to get French fries and other confections. My wife and daughter-in-law often scolded me because Koali always got his way, and his Papa (me) didn’t know how to say no.

I don’t deny it, of course, but I will say that no matter where Koali was in the yard or in the house, if I heard him crying, I’d drop everything to find out what was wrong. I’d pick him up, and we’d head straight to my car and go for a drive to the nearest drive-thru or shaved ice store down the street. On his first day of school, I worried about whether I should bring Koali. My wife stepped in and said, “His parents can do it.”

It turns out our son Keala and his wife Nani were the ones with separation anxiety. The second they got to the classroom and put Koali down, he ran into his classroom, waved goodbye, and didn’t look back. But they set it up so I got to pick up my grandson after school. I wasn’t totally left out after all. Many more sunrises and sunsets saw Koali get older, taller, and more articulate. Soon, his need for me to rescue him when things got difficult was no longer as prevalent as it once was. As sunrises and sunsets go, it’s life. It happens with or without us.

As parents and grandparents, it’s natural to worry about how our kids and grandkids will turn out as they get older. Will they be good people? Will they be happy? I was never concerned about Keala becoming some rich celebrity when he got older. I just wanted him to be happy within himself and to know that his mother and I were always here for him.

He and Nani did just that. They both had jobs they loved, and more importantly, they loved each other, and they loved Koali. Our grandson grew up to be a kind and decent young man who was humble, compassionate, self-effacing, and well-liked by everyone who knew him. The thing is, Koali had never been in love before.

His meeting Francesca Rose at a housewarming party for one of his workmates at the bank changed everything for Koali and for us. Francesca was a roommate of Dara Fiesta, Koali’s secretary in the loan department. She had recently moved here from Maui and worked at an expensive art gallery in downtown Honolulu.

Miles Nishiki hosted the housewarming party, having just bought the Tudor-style, three-story mansion after months of haggling and negotiations. Everyone else who worked at the bank was there, adventuring through the home, examining its various rooms, nooks, and crannies. A few ventured out to the deck, which looked over the street. Others found spaces on the rock wall leading up the driveway. Koali made his way to the kitchen, where the potluck foods lay on a vast counter. Long before Miles became branch manager of the bank, he started as a buyer for a local record and comic book store that moved around over the years but kept a strong following.

Miles was your typical anti-everything from the mid-80s and 90s until he used his knack for finances and went to school to get a degree in it. He still had the old stereo system from back in the day, and he played vinyls on it that filled the whole space. The opening chords from Get Together came out of the speakers and created the mood for everyone. Koali reached for the pasta salad when Dara came out of nowhere and slapped his hand.

“How dare you try to eat that shit without trying my stuffed mushrooms first!” Dara practically shoved the tupperware of mushrooms into Koali’s chest. “Try one, try it!”

Koali took one, put it in his mouth, and began chewing. “What is that?”

“Mushroom, jasmine rice, and cheese from the can all melted together.” Dara beamed proudly. “You like it?”

“It’s really good, I have to say.” Koali nodded.

“Now, drink this with it.” Dara handed Koali a shot glass. “One gulp. It’s not for sipping.”

The alcoholic beverage burned Koali’s throat, but once it settled in, the taste was familiar. “Geeze, what the hell is this now?”

“Apricot brandy,” Dara said, smiling. “Nice, right? It brings out the flavor of the stuffed mushroom.”

“Whew!” Kaoli shook his head.

“You see the girl sitting in the corner?” Dara pointed. “Hawaiian Stevie Nicks.”

“Oh yeah, yeah,” Koali nodded.

“She’s my roommate. Take these mushrooms to her so she can have some.” Dara pushed Koali in her roommate’s direction. Guitar chords, bass, and tambourine came out of the speakers as he made his way over to the aforementioned corner.

Love is but a song we sing.

Fears the way we die

You can make the mountains ring.

Or make the angels cry.

“Hi, I’m Koali,” Koali said. “Dara asked me to bring these over to you.”

“I’m Francesca,” the girl said while taking the Tupperware tray from Koali. “Thank you!”

“Sure.” Koali waved slightly and walked away.

“Wait,” Francesca said, touching Koali’s arm. “What do you think about this song?”

“The one that’s playing now?” Koali asked.

“Yeah, this one.” Francesca smiled.

“Wasn’t this the hippie anthem back in the day?” Koali asked.

“Wow, hold on, how old are you? Not too many people know that!” Francesca was stunned.

“Oh no, you hang out with Miles long enough, and you start to learn this kinda stuff,” Koali laughed. “Just empty trivia. Oh, hold on, let me go get the apricot brandy chasers!”

Koali returned with two shot glasses, and Francesca raised her glass to Koali and made a toast. “To empty trivia.”

The two of them made the face that strong brandy brought on.

“What about this one?” Koali asked as the next song came on.

“The Air That I Breathe? That’s obvious. Give me a harder one next time.” Francesca took another mushroom, followed by another shot. “Dara says you’re her boss?”

“She’s a secretary who does secretarial work,” Koali replied. “We’ve been friends since school, so it sounds weird saying that I’m her boss, you know? What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m a curator at an art gallery,” she said, bowing her head.

“Then, why are you Dara’s roommate?” Koali said. “I’m sorry. That was intrusive and rude. I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine.” Francesca held her hand up. “Your first thought is your first intent and your first words. Although I curate art, I have a stalker, so I’m holing up with Dara for my own safety.”

“I get it, and I’m sorry to hear that,” Koali said, bowing. “I’m heading back to the kitchen. Is there something else you want?”

“Your company is fine.” Francesca regarded Koali with a bit of admiration. He was the only man in the party who wasn’t trying to convince her to go with them to a more secluded place for a private conversation. ELO’s Strange Magic came through the speakers just then. Francesca took that as a sign. When Koali returned, he had two bowls of pasta salad and two bottles of water. He handed one of each to Francesca, and they sat there, talking about her art career and his job at the bank.

You’re sailing softly through the sun.

In a broken stone age dawn

You fly so high

I get a strange magic.

Koali and Francesca danced slowly together while the party carried on around them. Conversations in various forms, weed passed around in a circle of like-minded accountants. People zoned out on a bean chair listening to the music while looking at colorful wax lamps. In the kitchen, some of the tellers gathered around a very intense game of checkers.

The predawn light found Koali and Francesca sitting on the roof outside his bedroom window, huddled close together, quietly talking about themselves.

“My papa worries about me all the time,” Koali said. “He might wake up if he hears us talking too loud.”

“That’s nice of you to worry like that,” Francesca said, playfully nudging him. “It would be a nice change of pace to have someone worry about me as you do with your papa, rather than stalk me and give me stress.”

“Do you want to share what happened?” Koali asked.

“Just a guy who made more of a situation than what it was,” Francesca said. “I was helping this person buy a piece of art, and I was nice to him, and he made it out to be something else. The next thing I know, he’s showing up everywhere, and he’s calling me all the time. It got weird, so I had to involve the police. It was one big mess. Dara and I were in the same yoga class for a long time, so when she found out what happened, she offered me some sanctuary, and I took it.”

Koali looked toward the east at that moment. “The sun’s coming up.”

“I better get going,” Francesca said. “Do you have a bathroom I can use?”

“To the right,” Koali pointed. “Right past my dresser.”

While Francesca was in the bathroom, Koali changed the clothes he’d been wearing and put on his U.H. tracksuit.

“I’ll walk you out,” Koali said as he opened his bedroom door. “Oh wait, are you hungry? I can make some breakfast before you leave. It’s not a problem.”

“Uh, sure,” Francesca agreed. “If it’s not a problem.”

“It’s not,” Koali assured her. “This is my section of the house, so it’s fine.”

The two enjoyed a delicious Portuguese sausage, spam, and cheese omelet with toast and guava juice.

That Monday morning, Koali sat at his desk going over the daily reports. Dara walked in and couldn’t help but ask her boss. “So, you and Francesca left the party together?”

“Yes, we went back to my place and talked until the sun came up. I cooked breakfast for us, then brought her home. I’m sure you already know that.” Koali gave Dara that look.

“You need to be careful with her, Koali,” Dara cautioned her longtime friend and boss.

“I know,” Koali assured her. “She told me about the stalker from the art gallery.”

“That was a while ago. That guy’s been in a mental ward for ten years,” Dara said. “I’m talking about her husband.”

“Her husband?” Koali was confused.

“He was crazy abusive to her. When she handed him divorce papers, he lost his shit and tried to kill her. She’s got a bunch of restraining orders against him, but the police can’t find that guy. his name is Gilbert Cariosa.” Dara said. “Maybe don’t hang out with her so much, for your own safety.”

“You live with her. What about your safety?” Koali was genuinely concerned.

“We’ve got a rehearsed plan in case the shit hits the fan,” Dara replied. “This is specific to our place. If you’re with Francesca out and about, that makes you fair game. This is why you need to be careful, and just so you know, Francesca got an earful from me. Any man she comes into contact with is in danger, and she knows this.”

“I’ll remember that,” Koali assured her. “I need those Amfac reports, by the way.”

Koali’s phone rang just then. Dara could see that it said, Francesca. “Please listen to what I’m telling you.”

Koali ignored her and took the call, gesturing for Dara to shoo out of his office. “Aloha, good morning!”

“Aloha and good morning!” Francesca giggled a little.

“What’s so funny this early in the morning?”

“You are,” she replied. “I haven’t heard someone answer the phone with an aloha in so long. It feels like I’m calling my mom’s house.”

“But you still call her, right?” Koali asked.

“No, she’s been gone for a while,” Francesca answered. “I wanted to thank you for Saturday evening, and then for Sunday morning, by taking you to lunch if you have time?”

“Sure, where should I meet you?” Koali glanced at Dara’s office, which was separated from his office by a glass wall. She mouthed, “Be careful,” and Koali waved her off.

“Come to the art gallery,” she told him. “Do you know where that is? It’s right off of Bishop and Merchant.”

“I’ll find it,” he told her. “See you then.”

On its exterior, the art gallery has a large, tall, oversized door that looks like something from the tales of The Arabian Nights. Opening the portal is as effortless as opening the door to your own bedroom. Inside is a vast, warehouse-like space with climate control. Various pieces of art sit carefully on large shelves or hang in glass cases on the walls. As he entered, Koali texted Francesca to let her know he’s there. Come toward the back, was the reply.

Eventually, Koali sees an open door. Inside is a card table with two rotisserie chickens, a bottle of wine, and two wine glasses. As he steps into the space, he sees Francesca standing there, looking at him with a blank expression. To her side is a man holding a shotgun to her head. Lying on the ground, moaning and writhing in pain, is Francesca’s boss, the gallerist.

“Gilbert Cariosa,” Koali said.

“Oh, so you know me?” Gilbert was wide-eyed, teeth bare, nostrils flared. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. “Francesca told you about me?”

“No,” Koali replied evenly.

“Must’ve been Dara, that fucking bitch,” Gilbert spat out Dara’s name. “She’s got her whole place booby-trapped.”

“Francesca, are you ok?” Koali asked, but Francesca shook her head, not to say no, but to indicate to Koali that he shouldn’t talk to her directly.

“You talk to me, fucker!” Gilbert shoved the barrel of the gun into Francesca’s temple. “My wife tells me you two are meeting for lunch. Well, here’s the chicken and the wine! Don’t mind me. Have at it! Or… were you planning a different kind of lunch, huh?”

“It’s nothing like that,” Koali said, his last words before Gilbert turned the shotgun on him and fired, leaving a big hole where Koali’s stomach used to be. Out of pure instinct, Francesca shoved Gilbert hard enough that he stumbled over Francesca’s boss, giving her time to run. Francesca disappeared after that, and so did Gilbert.

Luckily, or not, the whole incident was captured on a security camera, which would have been great in court, except no one could find Gilbert to arrest and prosecute him to the full extent of the law. Keala and Nani asked that Koali’s death not be featured in the news, newspapers, or on any social media platform. To our surprise, everyone obliged.

To say we were heartbroken doesn’t capture what permeated our home and our lives. Grief isn’t sufficient either to describe what our son and daughter-in-law must have felt as parents. They had no words to give it clarity because the loss of their only child had no verbal description. It was a tempest of emotions that would never abate entirely. It left a mark on your soul for lifetimes.

As Koali’s Papa, I wouldn’t dare say that my grief was greater or less than that of my wife’s or my son’s, but I carried him, I fed him, I held him as he slept, and in return he pooped, peed, and threw up on me. He marked me, this little boy who was the light of my life. We’re connected by the sacred aha cord between the two of us. Keala and Nani spent nights sleeping on Koali’s bed. When they left for work in the mornings, I did the same thing until my wife came to get me.

On one of those mornings when it was darkest before the dawn, I heard a significant creaking outside the window. The sound woke me, and I went to the window to find its source.

It was Koali.

His spirit was sitting there, hands wrapped around his knees. What would have been his lower back was now the gaping hole where he was shot and killed. His head was turned to the east as if he was waiting for something. In my state of utter grief and disbelief, I called his name.

“Koali, Koali, my mo‘opuna.” Tears blinded me, and I had to wipe them away.

His spirit adjusted and turned toward me. “Papa, the sun is coming up. Stay with me. We can watch it together.”

Sobbing, I stood at the windowsill and watched the sunrise with Koali. The sky was dark purple, and the clouds were shifting from black to their natural white. When the first sliver of light appeared, Koali pointed excitedly. “Look, Papa, the sunrise!”

Koali slowly dissipated as the light became brilliant and life-giving, as it always has. Still, no matter how many times my grandson’s spirit appeared every morning, repeating the same words and pointing in the same direction, the sun never again rose for him. Koali always faded out right before its brilliant light gave birth to a brand new day. The sun set for him the moment he was killed, and he’d never see another sunrise again.

Gilbert Cariosa was gunned down in a dive bar on Hotel Street when one of the patrons recognized him from the wanted posters online and plastered all over town. The reward money was too good to pass up. When the police made their way into the front and back entrances to the bar, Gilbert was unprepared, and yet he had a gun on him, which he intended to use to shoot his way out of the establishment. He never made it past the bar.

Francesca was another problem. No matter how much information Dara gave the police regarding her former roommate, the authorities couldn’t find her.

One day, someone posted a picture of the actual Gauguin Arearea. The ad said that they were clearing out their house for a move and found the painting. Come get it; we don’t want it. The verbiage was concise, and the person giving it away clearly didn’t know its value.

By the end of the week, the seller of the painting received a call from an art curator interested in seeing the Gauguin. The address was a home on Round Top Drive. They set the meeting for 11 am. Francesca Rose drove up at 10:55 am and rang the doorbell from the garage entrance.

“Just come up the stairs,” the voice came over the speaker. “The door is open.”

Walking up the steps, Francesca could see the Gauguin through the open door hanging on the opposite wall. She couldn’t have gotten there fast enough. She hadn’t taken her shoes off when she entered the living room. That’s how excited she was to see the painting.

Turning her body toward the entrance, she meant to say something, but a loud popping sound cut her off. A bullet pierced her temple, and she hit the floor hard. It took some work, but eventually Francesca’s body was wrapped in plastic and duct tape, and then spackled into the wall just behind the painting. She would stay there until either the house fell apart or the people living there decided to renovate. That wouldn’t be for a while.

In my retirement, I have to keep myself busy, so I do some drywall contract work on the side. The house on Roundtop Drive was one of those contracts. I’ve known the family who owns the place since we were kids. They were gone for a month, but asked me to do some drywall work in their home while they were away. The first thing I saw when I entered the living room was the Gauguin. Without knowing it, my friends had given me a way to draw Francesca out from hiding.

Koali’s life was taken from him by a crazed, insecure husband whom he’d been warned about and who Francesca knew was a danger to any man she came into contact with, whether intimate or not. However, she was cavalier and didn’t care. As for her life, I didn’t care either.

CHECK IT OUT!

When the sun goes down, the dark side of paradise comes alive.

This Halloween night, Lopaka Kapanui presents Tales of Haunted Hawai‘i.

October 31^st at Blue Note Hawaii. Pre-sale starts now.

Get your tickets HERE.

The coffee was warm, but I wasn’t in the mood for more disappointment, so I said nothing to the waitress. Really, it would be easier if she just left the coffee pot at the table. If it gets warm, that’s on me, and I wouldn’t have to ask the poor young girl working her part-time job while going to U.H. or whatever school to freshen up my cup of Joe.

The Spot, as it’s called, is teaming with people sitting in front of their devices, caught up in their self-encapsulated spheres. Others sit and have real conversations with one another, with no device in sight. The younger crowd is having conversations too, but they do it loudly so others can hear how cool they are. That is, until the overworked server has to go over and beg them to lower their voices.

My job at The Spot is to meet the clients, who are due to arrive at any minute. I got here 30 minutes early for some breakfast and a cup of coffee. Fifteen minutes later, the waitress clears away my plate but leaves the coffee. Fifteen minutes after that, a young man walks in the front door. Beside him is a much older man with a black tote bag slung over his shoulder.

I make eye contact with the younger guy, and I wave him over. He bows slightly and taps the older man on the shoulder, pointing to where I’m sitting. The older man waves slightly and bows as well. I stand and offer my salutations.

“I’m Puna, with Hacket Tomita & Choi Law,” I say, taking their hands in mine. “Please sit, and order whatever you want. It’s on me.”

Read more

Rain fell through the canopy as early sunlight illuminated the heavy drops of water anointing all life in the deep forest. In the overall scheme, you realize how small you are as a human being. Everything that sustains us lives in this forest. Yet, even knowing that, developers want to remove it all to make way for condominiums on either side of the valley, with an ancient river running through the middle. I breathe and give thanks to all creation around me, and for the creation of myself. After all, aren’t we all one?

Somewhere in the depths of this valley is the person I’ve come to see. The trek is unkind to the feet if you are not wearing the proper footwear. As your foot bends while you walk, your shoes should be made of material that adjusts as it moves. A material that isn’t flexible will only hurt your feet. Luckily, I chose the right shoes.

Without warning, the fireballs came tearing through the canopy, their heat nearly searing the side of my face had I not moved my head at the last second. Running wasn’t an option. I’d never make it. In a perfect world, I would have anticipated this kind of attack and brought a good-sized mirror to deflect the flaming orbs. That would mean carrying a huge mirror in a huge backpack. It sounds good in your head when the idea is ruminating.

I lay flat on the ground and hid myself under a close gathering of ʻape leaves, hoping for the best. My understanding is that ‘ape protects the home and the person from spirits with ill intent. These fireballs were not random; they were akualele, meaning they were sent for a specific purpose to an intended target.

Me.

Allow me to explain. The sender of the akualele is the person I’ve come for. After many years of dancing hula, our kumu has decided to take me and five other haumana through the journey to ‘uniki. This means we are going through the process of becoming Kumu Hula. Teachers of the art of hula. At this point in the story, only one other student and I are left to complete the process. For whatever reason, the other three fell out over time, one by one.

A month ago, our Kumu instructed that since we are close to graduating, it was important that we thank the people in our lives who helped us and supported us during the ‘uniki process. That part was easy. The difficult part came when Kumu told us we must reconcile unresolved issues and hurts so none of those ill feelings permeate the sanctity of our graduation ceremony. My hula brother, the other ‘uniki candidate, had several phone calls and meetings in which apologies, forgiveness, and reconciliation were required.

I had but one: my tūtū kāne, my first hula teacher.

He wasn’t mad at me because, after a lifetime of sitting at his feet and learning our family hula traditions, I went to dance for someone else. It was deeper than that.

At various points in his life, the contemporaries of my tūtū kāne found religion—specifically, the religion of those who would overthrow our kingdom. Each of them proselytized him, trying to persuade him, convert him. After years of trying, he finally gave in. Perhaps it was his own mortality that changed his mind.

Making me aware of this, he disassembled the hula kuahu and took down the images of Hi’iaka, Laka, and Kapō’ulakina’u. He lifted the hula kapu, which he himself had placed on me when I was old enough to dance. The most heartbreaking sight was having to watch my tūtū kāne burn the hula ki’i and every instrument he’d made by hand. A few days later, I left my little home in the wao kele and went to live and work in town.

I had to crawl on my back so slowly, literally inch by inch, so the hovering akualele could not become aware of my presence. There was no sense of time or how much of it had passed by the time the orbs of fire left. I prayed deeply, giving thanks to the familiar spirits of the wao kele to whom I had prayed daily in my supplications.

The forest opened into a field of pili grass I hadn’t seen in a long time. Where the mau’u had once been kept nice and trimmed, it was now overgrown. Whether I walked the perimeter of the field until I got to the other side, or if I went directly through the tall pili, my tūtū’s akualele would find me. The direct route appeared to be the logical choice, which my tūtū probably knew I would take. So, I ran the perimeter.

I broke out into a dead run and kept up the pace until I was at the other side of the pili grass. The first akualele hit me from behind. Lifting me by the scruff of my shirt, it tossed me up against the trunk of a kukui tree. It knocked the breath out of me, but once I gathered myself, I jumped to my feet and pursued my route. The second akualele came through the canopy and grabbed me by the hair, yanking me forward till I was face-first on the forest floor. It held me there until my nostrils and mouth were filled with the dark lepo. It lifted me to my feet, then threw me, sending me tumbling.

I used the momentum to regain my footing and run, spitting the dirt out of my mouth and fighting to get a deep, cleansing breath. I ran until I entered the polar end of the forest. The orbs of fire raced closely alongside me, punching me in the face, painfully pinching whatever of my flesh they could get a hold of. They hit my thighs to make me stop running, but I ran no matter what. Letting exhaustion get the better of me meant that the akualele would have their way and beat me to death or singe me to a crisp. They were crass in that their discouraging voices said horrible things to me.

Pu‘u palanaio

Pupuka

Mūhe’e

Opala

It may not seem hurtful to you, but these were words that hurt me in my childhood from bullies at school. These akualele somehow seeped into my subconscious, and now they’re being used against me. The worst words came at the end, when I saw the old house where I was raised.

Manu-ela Boy

I hated that song and everything it meant. The other kids sang it to me in a high, whiny tone every chance they got. Of all things, this nearly broke me. But when I stopped at the old house, I saw the akualele buzz past me and fly through the open front door. A second later, my tūtū kāne came walking down the front steps.

“I sent you warnings, and you still poʻo paʻakīkī.” He said, wearing his bermuda shorts and white T-shirt.

“I’m going to ‘uniki soon, and I came to mahalo you for passing our family hula to me. I also came to ask for your forgiveness, and to say that I forgive you.” I was no longer the young, small, skinny grandson who did everything this man asked without question. He could see that. My tūtū kāne was older than before, even in stature, but his mana was still the same even though he’d converted to a Western belief.

“You forgive me? Who you think you? And what the hell am I supposed to forgive you for?” He scoffed as he came down to the bottom step. “You one mahū! You fornicate with kāne! God is not going forgive you for that!”

“That’s why you sent akualele? Because I’m gay? I’m your grandson!” I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with the old man. I thought age would have mellowed him out, but here he is, stuck in his personal muck. “Those things nearly killed me!”

“Then thank goodness for mercy, heh? He pointed up to the sky.

I shook my head and wondered why I ever bothered, and whether my Kumu would be upset when I told him that this part of the mutual forgiveness process didn’t work out. Perhaps he wouldn’t let me graduate.

“A hui hou, tūtū kāne,” I said my farewell to the man who was my world and who raised me in a world of traditional hula.

“No say that,” he replied. “We not going see each other again.”

I ignored him while my bruised and battered form walked away, heading through the tall pili grass and the wao kele, until I reached my car in the city park parking lot.

His last words fell flat on my heart, “Only God can judge you for ‘uniki, not your kumu.”

“I don’t care,” I said to myself. “But I still forgive you.”

The day of ‘uniki came, and it was a wonderful ceremony and a wonderful day. My hula brother and I were nervous because we had to perform every chant and every dance in front of our kumu. Dressings, lei, drum chants, kahiko, instrumental chants, and hula—dances for the gods, and then the ali’i.

When our tests were complete, our kumu gave us the regalia that made us kumu hula and declared us graduated. At the moment, a brilliant red rainbow formed in the cloudless sky, arching miles away from the old valley where I grew up until it completed itself in the very spot where I stood. It was a hō’ailona that my tūtū kāne was gone. This told me that although he’d converted to the Western belief, his sacred bloodline did not, and that he was with me after all, for this very important moment.

How well do you really know Hawaii? Because there are stories about these islands you won’t find in any guidebook.

Stories of spirits. Night marchers. Haunted places. And things only seen after dark. This Halloween night, join me, Lopaka Kapanui, for Tales of Haunted Hawai‘i, where I bring Hawaii’s supernatural stories to life, live at Blue Note Hawaii.

October 31st, one night only. Get your tickets HERE.

My lecture at the small college in town covered telepathy and various types of psychokinetic firsthand accounts, from homemakers to politicians. What validated the lecture was a series of photographs given to me as ocular proof of what the subjects shared.

People needed everyone to know that they (the subjects) were not crazy. In these lectures, I always make a point of saying that the videos and pictures I share could be anything, even though I’ve already provided a detailed parapsychological explanation. After the lecture, audience members can ask questions. Many of the questions are innocuous and, of course, easy to answer. Many others want to share an experience, which is fine as long as they keep it to a minute. The last hand went up after the adjunct announced a short window for one more question.

“Yes?” I pointed.

The young lady appeared to be in her late twenties to early thirties.

“It’s not a question,” she said. “It’s an apology because this happens to me everywhere I go.”

The smell in the air went strangely pungent. Strands of her hair began to stand on end, and the heavy wooden podium and chairs on stage were knocked over and slid to the opposite side of the stage. The seats on the empty chairs in the auditorium flipped up and down on their own.

People freaked out. Some remained seated, and others got up and moved away from the activity. The rest ran to where I stood on the stage, clustering around me for some sense of comfort and security. I walked to the young woman and pulled a small packet of Hanapēpē salt from my pocket.

“Put this under your tongue,” I instructed her. She obliged, and once the salt was placed, the activity stopped immediately.

“Am I possessed?” She broke down in tears. She began to lean toward me as if she expected a hug, but I slowly backed away since I didn’t know this young woman, who was now in a very vulnerable state. Luckily, the adjunct stepped in, led the young woman back to her seat, and sat next to her.

“I bet nobody got this on your phones, did you?” I joked to break the tension.

It turns out everyone in attendance was so rattled by what just happened that they were more concerned about getting the hell out of there than recording it on their phones. Back on stage, I straightened the podium and took the microphone.

“Perhaps a continuation of your therapy may reveal what’s at the bottom of what happened just now.”

“I never said I was in therapy,” she said clearly. “How did you know that?”

“I don’t think that what happened just now was the result of possession or a demon,” I began. “I think it might be bottled-up, repressed energy. This is why I’m suggesting that you continue your therapy sessions.”

The lecture ended, and I made my way out the backstage door. My car was parked directly behind the theater, and it wasn’t long before I was driving the road that led off campus. At the security gate, I waved and said thank you.

“I’m a fan!” The guard waved, and I briefly stopped to give him a business card.

Reaching Kalaniana‘ole Highway, I took a right turn, which led to the traffic light at the intersection at Nenue. I looked up and saw the young woman from the lecture standing in the middle of the road just as the light turned green. She ran to my driver’s-side window, which I hadn’t rolled down.

“This thing you saw tonight, it wants to harm you,” she said matter-of-factly. “Be careful. It saw you tonight, and you saw it. You’re not safe anymore.”

Car horns began beeping, and I drove off, leaving the young woman there on Kalaniana‘ole.

Post-it notes littered my desk. Poltergeists in Kaka‘ako. Menehune in a house in Mililani Mauka. Bones found at a development on South King just off of McCully. Nightmarchers processing through a newly built church. A curse on a woman at a Mah-jong game. And one short voice message.

“Watch yourself,” was the young woman’s voice. “‘Cause who will save your soul?”

I pushed my office door open and quickly made my way down the stairs until I reached the busy sidewalk. Scanning the area, I didn’t see anyone suspicious. That is, until I pulled the door open and glanced in the direction of the bar next door. The girl from the lecture. There she stood looking at me as if I’d given her an unwarranted root canal. She turned and ran, but she did so in such a way that she was expecting me to chase her.

Whatever this was, I wasn’t taking the bait.

I made my way up the stairs, and suddenly heard someone running up behind me. It was her. Rather than run, I let her come toward me. At the last second, I put my back up against the wall and let her stumble past. I ran down the steps and locked the door behind me. My office door upstairs was locked too, so she was trapped. The police came eventually and took her away as she yelled strange claims about my future.

Camille Robella. That was her name. She was 23 and worked as a clerk at the same small college where I gave the lecture the night before. I found out later that the adjunct put her in a little corner office in the farthest building on campus, where she couldn’t bother anyone.

“I should have told you,” the adjunct would say later, when it was too late and way after the fact. “Camille has some unsolved issues. Abuse. A lot of it. There’s a lot of repressed energy there.”

But that doesn’t explain Camille’s claims that a negative telekinetic energy was floating about somewhere in the ethers, biding its time until it could attack me.

It struck on a quiet Sunday when I was alone in my office catching up on a few writing projects. The door creaked open, and the bell that hung above it gave its usual tinkle. I didn’t recognize the sound of the footsteps. It didn’t sound like bare feet, shoes, or slippers. Neither was it the sound of the secretary’s high heels that my wife always remarked about. The sound was too sharp, as if the heels could double as some weapon. It couldn’t have been the secretary because Sundays are her sleep-in days, and she and her husband do some light shopping later.

I turned to see who it might be, since only my wife, the secretary, and I had the keys. The sound stopped right behind me as I turned, and the air suddenly grew pungent. A second later, my entire office exploded toward me: shelves, desks, computers, the water cooler, everything in the bathroom, along with filing cabinets. I was buried under the rubble of my own office.

The monster filing cabinet against the wall missed my head by inches, then moaned forward and hit the floor. The unseen entity then grabbed me by the ankles and dragged me out of my office. Yanking me down the stairs, my head bounced off each step no matter how I tried to protect it.

The door at the bottom of the steps exploded into splinters as I was tossed out onto the sidewalk. My instinct was to grab my cell phone and run, but whatever it was grabbed me by my shirt and slammed me up against the worn wooden walls three times. I crumpled to the sidewalk in a heap, certain that I had broken ribs.

Somehow I managed to get my phone out of my pocket and call 911. The EMTs took me to the ER at Straub Hospital. On the way, I called my wife to let her know what had just happened.

After triage, during that long period where they place you in a room and you have to wait for the doctor, I nodded off once or twice. I heard movement beyond the curtain and sat up a little. To my horror, Camille stepped through the partition.

I was sure she came to finish me off. Instead, she stuffed a pinch of salt into my mouth. An ear-splitting scream filled the space, then faded. With it went the pungent aroma in the air.

“When you did the same to me that one time,” Camille began. “You exorcized it out of my body. It was mad at you, and it intended to harm you. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, but instead you went full pussy and called the police to take me away. I had to sneak in just so I could help you.”

“Thank you,” I croaked.

My wife came a few minutes later and was shocked to see just how beat up I was. When I was better, we both went to take a look at the office. It should have looked like a war zone, but it was organized chaos. Everything lay facing toward my desk.

“Shit,” I gasped.

“Stick to the lectures,” my wife said. “Leave the Hanapēpē salt to the experts.”

“But,” I started to protest, but my wife cut me off.

“Stick to the lectures.”

Paradise has a dark side.

This Halloween night, October 31st, discover Tales of Haunted Hawai‘i with me, Lopaka Kapanui, live at Blue Note Hawaii.

One night only. Get your tickets HERE.

Suzette Tano was killed in Downtown Honolulu. She caught the bus in Waipahu and rode it to the stop at South King and Bethel. Several people got off the bus before she did, but the second her feet touched the pavement, a random man stepped forward and plunged an ice pick into the side of her neck and walked away.

The police never found him, even though several witnesses described him as around five feet eight inches tall, wearing a blue aloha shirt under a gray windbreaker, tan slacks, dark shoes, and sunglasses. The guy had short hair that was slicked back, a large mole on his right cheek, and another one above his eye. The fact that he just disappeared into the crowd at a busy bus stop was a mystery.

She was one of the good ones that everyone liked and was always pleasant to have around. After graduation, we all kept in touch and made a point of hanging out together as much as possible. Suzette was always there and always provided the best sushi and shoyu chicken. We all worked. Some of us were single, and a few got married and started families. Such is life.

The strange thing is that for weeks after, I kept having the same dream. In it, Suzette stood outside my bedroom window, pointing to our high school yearbook. Her little radio was perched on the outside of my windowsill, and it was playing the song “I Can’t Tell You Why.”

Every classmate I told about this dream basically said the same thing. Suzette was telling you she was remembering our high school years and that the song was her favorite. I didn’t believe that at all. I really felt like there was more to the dream. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

In her casket, she looked as alive as she ever was. She wore a high-necked gown that hid the scar from the stabbing. Everyone left with a heavy feeling. Her parents and siblings were completely wrecked, and rather than giving a eulogy, they asked everyone’s help in finding the killer.

The line for the viewing was long, but no one minded because it gave us all a chance to say hello and catch up on old times. I was going to the back of the line when Gerda Liwayway reached out and grabbed my arm.

“Eh, Kalani,” she whispered.

“Gerda! Howzit it going?” We exchanged a brief hug. Gerda was always husky in school, and her voice had the same rasp.

“Ah, I got cancer,” she waved her fingers in front of her face. “The moles I used to have. The doctors said the thing got cancerous. That’s why I get the lady bus driver haircut.”

“You take care,” I replied. “Get better.”

She gave me a long, tight hug and said softly, “Now, Suzette.”

Then she broke down. I gave her a pat on the shoulder and went to wait my turn.

Read more

Terry Kalima graduated at the top of his class from Pu‘unui School. Most students from this school went on to become lawyers, corporate officers, or politicians. A few became athletes, some became Olympians, and others became well-known actors or musicians. Out of the big five banks in Hawai‘i, Terry, through his father’s connections, got a job at the top in our state, Mālama Banking.

The top three positions in the branch were bank president, managing director, and chief executive officer. Because of Terry’s acumen for the banking business, he moved up the ranks in no time. By his 30th birthday, Terry was primed for a promotion to the first of the three top levels, Bank President. However, on his journey up the ladder, Terry made a lot of enemies because, despite his natural talent, he was also an asshole.

He made no secret of his ambitions, and he was always wont to harass the clerks over even the slightest hiccup needlessly. In school, Terry personally bullied all the Asian students for money, as well as all the Hawaiian students whom he considered to be from a lesser bloodline than his. The haole students got grief from Terry for being colonizers. Anyone else Terry missed would, at the very least, get a random shove out of nowhere. Now, after 10 years of climbing a corporate ladder while throwing everyone else under the bus, he was about to be promoted to one of the top 3 positions, which could only be acquired if someone was fired, transferred, or died.

In his entire time at Mālama Banking, Terry had never met, or even seen photographs of, any of the bank’s top three men. Like everyone else, he knew their names only from company memos and the internet. Yet, here he was today, soon to make their acquaintance face to face. That morning, when Terry arrived at his office, he found a Post-it note on his desk.

Meet us at noon. Walker Park.

Arriving at the appointed time, Terry saw three older gentlemen in their suits and ties lingering near the fountain. They saw him too and waved him over. They each extended their hands and introduced themselves. They were all older Hawaiian gentlemen.

“Kūlani Ho‘one‘enu‘u,” the first man said. He wore a full head of thick white hair. He was devilishly handsome for his age, and his eyes were bright and intense.

“Kūpono Ka‘ilimoku,” said the second man. He wore his white hair in a short mullet style, with tattoos on both sides of his head.

“Just Kū,” the third one said. His voice was deep, and his demeanor more subdued than the other two, but he seemed to be in charge.

“They’re all Hawaiian,” Terry thought to himself. “How the hell did they become corporate magnates?”

“Traditionally, when a meeting like this happens, it’s never in an office setting. It’s always been held here.” Kūlani explained and then gestured to the lawn in front of them. Twenty paces away from where they stood were two stakes sticking out of the ground, eight inches apart.

“This is moa pahe‘e.” Kūpono was next, and he held two wooden darts in his hands. You try to throw and slide the rounded end along the grass until it goes between those two stakes. The rounded end is heavier, and that’s what gives it its momentum when you toss it along the grass. You get three tries as a practice run, but when it’s for real, you only get one try.

“I don’t understand,” Terry protested. “What does this have to do with my promotion?”

“If your moa pahe‘e makes it through those stakes, one of us steps down, and you get your promotion.” Kū placed his hand on Terry’s shoulder.

“If I don’t make it?” Terry prodded.

“You stay where you are,” Kū replied. “And you never get promoted again, so if I were you, I would take this opportunity to stop talking and start practicing. You have eighteen minutes left on your break. I suggest you begin making use of your time.”

Kū handed the moa pahe‘e to Terry, who immediately began practicing, while the three top officers of the Bank stood off to the side, commiserating with one another. Terry glanced at them now and again, still in a state of disbelief that three Hawaiians were at the top of a corporate food chain. With each toss, Terry always got one out of three, never two or all three, but just one. By the time the eighteen minutes expired, Terry had his suit jacket and his tie off. Both lay on an adjacent rock wall.

“Mākaukau?” Kū asked as the conversation between the three broke. Now, their focus was solely on Terry.

Terry nodded with anger more than confidence. “I’m ready.”

“You’ve got one chance,” Kūlani reminded Terry. “This could decide your whole future.”

“Take your time,” Kūpono advised. “Relax your body.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Kū nodded.

“What a future this could be for me,” Terry thought to himself. “These old farts are croaking soon anyway. All I have to do is wait for them to die. How hard can that be?”

With that, Terry made his throw. The moa pahe‘e went gliding across the lawn without effort. It seemed to hum as it went along, literally spinning and showing off its unique brown-and-cream swirls. Terry stood up and breathed a sigh of relief. Turning to smirk at the three older Hawaiian bankers, Terry arrogantly dusted off his hands and then flicked imagined dust off his shoulders. “I’m in, I’m waaay in.”

Clack!

The sound was sharp enough to make Terry jump. When he turned around, the moa pahe‘e lay far off to the right of one of the stakes. It never went through the middle. Terry wasn’t just shocked. He was mortified.

There was no promotion now. He’d always be a manager of the underlings. No matter what fancy name was next to the title, it was still a manager’s position. Terry turned to the three older Hawaiian gentlemen to plead his case. Kū struck Terry on the back of the head with one of the moa pahe’e.

When he awoke, he found himself in a large room with his clothes off. He lay on a platform of handset stones before he could come to realize what was going on. Kūlani, using a sharpened swordfish bill, cut open Terry’s chest. Kūpono reached into Terry’s cavity and removed his liver. Kū took the liver and ate parts of it before sharing with the other two Kū. Terry’s brain was still working by the time he figured out what was going on.

“Moa pahe‘e may seem like a simple, keiki game, but in this capacity, it decides promotion or death,” Kū said.

This Halloween night, Lopaka Kapanui presents Tales of Haunted Hawai‘i.

October 31^st at Blue Note Hawaii. Tickets on sale now HERE.

When the sun goes down, the dark side of paradise comes alive.

Mike Baskin recently returned home to the islands and tried to put together the hike. We argued against it because the hiking trails from Mike’s childhood time on Oahu had changed significantly. We couldn’t afford to stall out if Mike suddenly got disoriented or turned around because a marker from 30 years ago was suddenly gone. So, Fredrika Ramos won the vote for the weekend hiking guide.

Mike was offered the opportunity to reacquaint himself with the hiking trails as they are now, so that leading us wouldn’t be a problem in the future. Mike took it as an affront and stormed off, muttering under his breath that we would all rue the day when we chose a brown-skinned woman over him.

Rue the day? Who says that anymore?

I’ll say that Mike’s time growing up on the mainland surely depleted his aloha spirit. Or maybe it was never there to begin with.

The obvious choice for beginners like us was Kaniakapūpū. Yes, it was all uphill but gradual, not torturous in any way. Fredrika was a good hiking guide. She not only led us, but also checked in on everyone to make sure they were alright and had the right hiking shoes. She also offered repellent in case anyone forgot to bring theirs. She packed a couple of spray bottles on her duty belt, too, in case anyone felt overheated.

“We have to be observant about where we step on trails like this, especially when roots are sticking out of the ground. We don’t want to trip or roll our ankles, or worse.” Fredrika cautioned.

When the trail opened up to the ruins with an open canopy above it, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Waiting for us was Mike Baskin, whose feigned surprise was too obvious.

“What are you guys doing here?” He held his arms open, walking toward us. Fredrika avoided him, while everyone else half-heartedly shook his hand. The other two women got a hug from Mike, whether they liked it or not. “This is quite the koinky-dink, isn’t it?”

“Mike,” I said. “Don’t cause any trouble, alright?”

“It is what it is,” Fredrika added. “We don’t want any trouble.”

With that, we continued our trek to the waterfall, leaving Mike behind. Lulumahu Falls is a magnificent sight to behold, but it’s so pristine I felt it should be left alone. We stayed until the area became overcrowded, then made our way back with Fredrika taking the lead. Passing Kaniakapūpū, I was delighted to see the group that maintains the structure scolding locals and tourists who were climbing on the walls of Kamehameha III’s summer palace. Overall, the hike was uneventful from beginning to end. I was worried, given Mike’s appearance, that he would make a scene by starting something, but that didn’t happen.

Monday morning, we all checked into work for the day of dispatching a fleet of tour buses to various parts of the island. We noticed that Fredrika hadn’t shown up yet. Another hour passed, and the dispatch speakers were blaring instructions from us, telling the tour drivers not to leave the hotel until every guest was accounted for. Fedrika was still not present.

By noon, the front office secretary walked in with the word. “Fredrika Ramos was found dead in the parking lot by security this morning. They reported it to the authorities. The police and EMTs are on the way.”

Read more

Blessed by a kahu, the pa‘akai came from Hanapēpē, Kaua‘i.

On O‘ahu, the priceless salt was brought before an ‘ahu in a spacious, empty hangar for another blessing before it was placed in a large wooden bowl and then covered with thin saran wrap, which was tightly secured around the edges. Then, they placed everything in a large lauhala basket and covered it once more with more saran wrap. From there, they walked it by palanquin across the tarmac until it reached a large black SUV.

Once secure within the vehicle, the lone Suburban headed to the west side of the island. Inside, Kalapana’s music filled the cabin. The driver drove silently. The other four occupants listened and watched the neighborhoods of Honokai Hale, Nānākuli, Ma‘ili, and Wai‘anae pass one by one. It appeared as if gentrification and tradition were trying to exist simultaneously but were failing at every turn.

The large pohaku where the demigod Maui sat and contemplated all of his tricks and adventures sat in the middle of a parking lot near a laundromat. A plaque in front of the large pohaku explains this clearly.

“Yup,” the driver said to himself. “Side by fucking side.”

The black SUV was no anomaly on Farrington Highway. There were several. Some were new and well-maintained; others had lost their luster and showed signs of wear and tear. This black SUV gave the air of being government-issued, but it was more than that, and it functioned outside the perimeter of anything clandestine or otherwise.

Soon, it turned up on Makaha Valley Road and kept that direction until it entered the gated community and parked on the path leading to Kaneaki Heiau. The occupants, all wearing coats and ties, emptied the vehicle, removed the palanquin from the back of the SUV, and carried it along the path to the ancient temple of human sacrifice.

This endeavor was not without a busybody resident who made a point of inserting himself into their undertaking.

“What do you think you’re doing? Do you have a permit to be here?”

The driver looked back and immediately noticed the interloper. Walking toward the resident of the private gated community, the driver removed his taser and fired it at the middle-aged man’s chest. The man went stiff, then his body vibrated uncontrollably until he wet himself. The procession moved on until it finally reached its destination. Waiting there was a local woman with her daughter, who sat on the ground.

“Please,” the woman begged. “Before the spirit possessing her body takes her completely.”

“No,” the daughter pleaded with her hands raised above her head. “Please, it’s not me.”

“That’s what this spirit keeps telling everyone,” the mother explained. “It’s trying to gain your sympathy. Don’t be fooled.”

“Please,” the daughter sobbed. “Please.”

“This spirit possessed my daughter and ruined everything. It drove my other children out of my home. It seduced my husband and turned him against me,” the mother said, shoving the girl with each explanation. “Now that I have it, you can expel it so it leaves my daughter’s body once and for all.”

“Of course,” the driver agreed.

The four men set the palanquin down, the driver removed the lauhala basket, unwrapped the saran wrap, and took out the bowl with the Hanapēpē salt. “Hold on to her.”

“Go ahead,” the mother nodded. “I’ve got her!”

The driver poured the entire contents of the blessed Hanapēpē salt all over the mother. The salt didn’t bounce off the woman and fall in sprinkles around her. It stuck to her as if pancake batter had been poured on top of her. She fell to the ground and writhed back and forth. Her body contorted in impossible angles. Her screams shifted from human to reptilian hissing, then back to human. The daughter got up and ran to the driver’s side, hysterically crying. Eventually, the Hanapēpē salt melted away, and with it went the girl’s mother.

When her crying finally subsided, the daughter explained.

“My mother died last year after taking something from this heiau and the ice pond. Then she showed up a week ago and held me hostage. When she finally fell asleep, I called you. I tried running from the house then, but she caught me. How did you know we’d be here?”

“We follow the instructions given to us,” the driver explained. “We’re not allowed to ask questions. The less we know, the better.”

CHECK IT OUT!

When the sun goes down, the dark side of paradise comes alive.

This Halloween night, Lopaka Kapanui presents Tales of Haunted Hawai‘i.

October 31^st at Blue Note Hawaii. Pre-sale starts now.

Enter pre-sale code SpookyHi when you get your tickets HERE.

Banyan trees today should be admired for their height and outstretched branches, which provide perpetual shade for anyone who cares to sit beneath their canopy. Banyans also house pigeons that leave random gifts on your clothing and in your hair. Rats seem to have a place in the hierarchy of things that live in the Banyan, including people experiencing homelessness.

Banyans are also where people troubled by personal issues go to sit and be. Just as Siddhartha sat beneath the embracing arms of the Banyan at Bodh Gaya and attained enlightenment, so too do people of all manner of differences and likenesses come to sit, as if on the lap of a parent, finding comfort and safety.

Ophelia Caldero came to sit. She was exhausted after expending every effort to make Marcus Larrymore see how much she loved him. Yet, Marcus did not reciprocate.

She found a parking space and thought she was walking across the park at random when, unbeknownst to her, she was being drawn to the huge banyan whose branches curved over the sidewalk. Ophelia walked in and around the confines of the Banyan, her nostrils inhaling the unique aroma that only a Banyan has. Near the wide trunk sat a picnic table, surprisingly pristine and free of graffiti, cigarette burns, and bird droppings. She sat, held her large purse close to her chest, and rested her head on it.

Noises that normally filled a park were absent. Only the wind moving the leaves and the creaking of the branches above her filled the air, as if the space around her had become encapsulated. Sitting up and setting her large purse next to her, she noticed a little boy standing to one side of a large root, probably no older than ten. She smiled, and the boy waved back.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

Nodding and smiling at how cute it was that someone so small and so young asked such an adult question with genuine concern, Ophelia replied, “I’m fine. How are you?”

“My parents are in the car arguing, so I came here to play,” he explained.

“Oh no!” Ophelia felt a little pang in her heart. “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want to come sit over here until you have to go?”

“No, it’s better if I stay here in case they call me. My parents don’t like it when I take too long.” The boy looked cautiously toward a parked car, where the couple who must have been his parents were arguing.

Ophelia reached into her bag to find the uneaten Hershey’s bar she got at the convenience store not less than an hour ago. When she found it, she held it up so the little boy could see the confection.

“You can have this if you want. I’m not gonna eat it.”

Walking to her and taking the chocolate bar in his two hands, he sat across from Ophelia, where he neatly unwrapped the paper and took a nibble. The sweet flavor changed his disposition.

“This is good, thank you!”

“Is that the only thing you’ve eaten today?” Ophelia knew she’d feel horrible if the little boy said yes.

“It is.”

Read more

As far back as the days of primative men who had not yet discovered the secret of fire, darkness ruled their world for the duration that darkness was allowed to live. The light of day brought hope and a sigh of relief.

It is, however, interesting to carry the thought of what that fear of the pitch-black did to their primative imaginations. They were valid fears, of course. Creatures of all varieties, shapes, and sizes used the cover of night to hunt for food. There were also creatures which were born from the imagination and primal fear of the unknown, that which was not tangible, visceral, and corporeal. Fear drove primitive man to extremes, as it drives modern man to mindless extremes today.

The biggest storm in a century came through Hawaii and left darkness in its wake. The storm knocked out most of the power on the island. Workers were doing their best to remedy the malady that would leave us all in the literal dark once the sun laid its head in the west.

We, in our household, are concerned about the sustenance and safety of our hale. Still, the depth of night without electricity leaves the imagination to its vices when all is quiet enough that the normal ambient noises are far removed from the everyday routine. This becomes unnerving for those not used to the silence of the dark, in sight and sound.

Things have been changing slowly for quite some time now. I hear our adult kids telling their children stories that begin with, “Back in my day…”

Back in the day, we had some semblance of security. We had public gatherings, and malls, and movie theaters. Back in the day, our neighbors were neighborly; we helped one another and shared meals and heavy work. Now, we just smile and wave. No one really trusts anyone anymore.

The adults in our home took shifts overnight to safeguard our home from possible looters and other nefarious types. My shift was from midnight to dawn. When it was our oldest son’s turn, he would give his customary series of coughs while he tinkered about the bathroom. Eventually, he came walking out with a Pop-Tart, biscuit, or some breakfast food in his hands before he took over. Routinely, Iʻd walk into the house and head to the shower before allowing my head to sink into my pillow.

My wife lay next to me, warm and cozy, lost in whatever dream it was she was dreaming. She oversaw the household and had everything running like clockwork.

Our daughter-in-law took the noon-to-6 shift, then our second-oldest son took the 6-to-midnight shift.

One night, while I was on shift, a squad car drove up and down our street three times. I waved the first two times, after which the patrol officers waved back. On the third pass, they stopped.

Walking slowly to the squad car with my hands facing palms out and shoulders raised, I said, “Aloha officers, how’s it going this evening?”

“Good,” the officer who was driving replied. His name badge said, Gabriel. “Whatʻs going on?”

“Just enjoying the quiet for once, Officer Gabriel.” I inhaled and exhaled. “Before we get electricity again.”

“Be careful,” Officer Gabriel replied. “Have a good evening.”

The low rumble of the dual exhausts revved twice before the squad car continued up the street until it reached the stop sign. Then it took a left turn and drove off into the depth of the night. I went back to the comfortable chair, positioned halfway in the garage and halfway out.

I had a clear view of the entire street, coming and going. Everyone knew everyone else, if not by in-person conversations, then by waves of hello and goodbye. The person I saw walking up the street was not one of us. I could make him out as I saw him round the corner, walking on my side of the sidewalk. From this distance, I couldn’t make out his features, but he wore a black, unbuttoned long-sleeve shirt. Under it, a green T-shirt and a pair of dark jeans with dark shoes.

Whoever he was, he wasn’t in a rush. Maybe he was out for a casual stroll. He seemed to be lost in thought, but as he approached, he noticed me, or maybe he feigned noticing me. He made eye contact and nodded.

“Good evening,” he said in a low voice.

“Good evening,” I replied.

“Guarding the home,” he said, nodding to the house. “Good idea. Can’t be too safe these days, especially with no electricity. You donʻt know who or what is out there.”

“You never know,” I agreed. “Youʻre out for a walk this late at night?”

“In no particular direction,” he chuckled. “Just needed some fresh air and to clear my mind. Couldn’t get that WITH electricity, if you know what I mean?”

“All that noise,” I pointed to the hotels in Waikiki that still lit the skyline, while most of Oahu was in the dark.

“Well, would you look at that?” He scoffed. “Priorities, I suppose.”

“You be careful while you’re trying to clear your mind,” I said. “It’s the reason I’m out here watching over my house.”

“I’ve been walking for four hours now. Oh, and I am so sorry for being rude. I’m Carion, like the luggage, except it’s spelled differently.”

“I’m Nathan.” I nodded my head, making no effort to shake Carion’s hand because I didn’t know him. “That’s four hours of thoughts you had to clear. Must be serious.”

“To be truthful with you, Nathan,” Carion took a step forward, and his eyes rolled over black.

I stood and removed my Glock from my waist belt.

“The lights aren’t gonna go back on until I take a soul tonight. That means your soul and everybody else’s in that house of yours.”

Just then the squad car pulled up. It was Officer Gabriel. “Carion, you’re out of your jurisdiction.”

“I’m just doing what I always do,” Carion shrugged.

Officer Gabriel took out his iPad and looked it over. “According to my calendar, Nathan has another thirty years before his time. His wife, about the same, almost two years after Nathan passes. His kids, another fifty.”

“You can’t blame the devil for trying, right?” Carion laughed while walking to the squad car. Officer Gabriel stepped out of the squad car with a water gun, drawing a bead on Carion.

“Now, now, Gabby, let’s not get carried away.”

“Till this day you still wonder why you were cast out? Move on and don’t let me catch you out of your jurisdiction again.”

Carion didnʻt move fast enough for Officer Gabriel, so he gave him a little squirt on the arm. Sizzling smoke and fire erupted, and Carion’s scream shook the entire neighborhood. Then, he dematerialized. A second later, the electricity came back.

“Take care, Nathan. Good looking out.” Officer Gabriel smiled.

Like before, the squad car rumbled to the end of the street before it took a left turn and disappeared. With the electricity coming to life, the dawn came at the same time. Life went back to normal, just as Nathan said it would.

We all went in our due time, one after the other. However, somewhere out there, a man is roaming your neighborhood, looking for an easy conversation and a soul to steal. Mind your courtesies and don’t be so forthcoming.

Once, a woman sat at a desk tucked into the corner of a living room, with too many bookshelves and even more piles of books on the floor. She nursed a glass of whiskey while she read through a large volume she had just begun.

“This Scheherazade is telling a story to the King Shahryar each night for the sake of her own life and the lives of the women he’s married and killed the next day,” she said.

“Why is the king doing that?” Asked her male counterpart. He had been generous enough to give the woman a place to keep herself safe until the circumstances of her family strife had abated.

“According to this story, the King is angry and sad because his wife betrayed him, and it seems that every woman in his kingdom must suffer for it.” She returned her answer.

“No less familiar than your own story,” the male counterpart replied. “To be fair, I’ll tell you my own story. I’m a cartographer. I study, research, and make maps. I’ve been trying to find a common connection between a series of lava tubes that appear to begin at Punchbowl and end at Kewalo Basin. I’ve been unsuccessful thus far.”

“This is a story of your occupation, but not a story of who you are,” the woman replied. “Beginning there is what is fair.”

“Noted.” The male counterpart bowed slightly and smiled. “I’m Lono Kawelo, originally from Kauai but now a resident here in the towering edifices that overlook Kaka‘ako. My parents were Leeanne and Scott Kawelo. I’m not married because I’ve never thought about it, and everyone tells me I have an overactive case of fairness, which means you are in no danger of me doing or saying anything untoward to your person.”

“I was never worried about that,” the woman assured him. “My story is as you saw it yesterday in the office parking lot. You and I work in the same building, which means you’ve seen me around, and because of that you were nice enough to offer me some respite until things blow over.”

“Your sister was trying to kill you,” Lono said.

“I slept with her husband, so her anger was merited,” the woman agreed. “I should have known better, but I was caught up in the moment and became complicit.”

“As I said, you can stay until everything blows over.” Lono poured the woman more Whiskey.

“It won’t blow over. She means to take my life.”

“But she’s your own sister.”

“We’re complete opposites.”

“Like oil and water?”

“Like water and fire,” the woman corrected Lono. “I’ll have to leave soon before she finds me, but you haven’t finished your story.”

“Ah yes,” Lono remembered. “In school, I was pushed around a lot because I always dressed nicely, which my classmates didn’t appreciate because the school was located in a low-income housing area. They just assumed that I was being ho‘okano. Prideful. We ended up there because my Dad lost his job, and we lived across the street from the housing. My mom worked her regular day job at Kelly’s restaurant, and luckily, when my dad found work, they saved enough to move to Kapahulu. I never forgot that experience at that school, though. I count my blessings every day.”

“You didn’t get beat up?” The woman asked.

“Oh yes, every day,” Lono laughed. “I didn’t put up with the teasing, so I got into fights a lot.”

“You seem like such a nice young man.”

“Now you,” Lono poured her another shot of whiskey and also poured another glass for himself.

“We never got along, my older sister and I,” the woman recounted. “We literally could not be in each other’s company for five minutes before we were trying to pull each other’s hair out. It must have been some chemical reaction. Maybe a resistance of opposing magnetic forces. Who knows?”

“Yikes.” Lono shook his head.

“It had gotten to the point where as soon as we reached our teens, we were given separate rooms on opposite sides of our home, so that we wouldn’t run into each other. In public, like at family gatherings or just shopping with our parents, we put on a good front, but if the sun rose the following day without her or me included, neither one of us would bat an eye.”

“That’s sad, actually. It must have been burdensome for your parents?”

“Well, here’s where the burden part comes in,” the woman cautioned Lono as if he might not be prepared for the next part of her story. “My sister brings Andrew home and introduces him to everyone. Of course, I’m last for introductions, which is whatever, really. Next thing we know, they are getting married at the end of the year, right? Of course, I’m not invited to be part of the wedding party, which is to be expected at this point, and I don’t really give a shit. My sister and Andrew have their wedding ceremony in Diamond Head Crater, then at Punchbowl Crater, then at Koko Head, and finally at Hanauma Bay. It’s the 4 places where they kept running into each other one day. A bit too tedious, if you ask me.”

The woman held out her glass to Lono for another pour, and he obliged.

“The reception happens at the Kahala, a real swanky location. Everybody but my sister and her maids of honor gets there on time, and it’s taking forever because she decides she wants pictures of her and the girls at their favorite swimming spot, Kaimana Beach. Turns out, the place is packed with tourists, but she doesn’t care. She’s getting those pictures no matter what. I’d been drinking a lot at that point, and everybody was pissed, especially Andrew. My sister isn’t taking his calls. After he’s hung up for the millionth time, I go over and hug him, and the next thing we know, we are all over each other. We end up in my room, which I booked for myself only, and I don’t have to tell you the rest, but after we’ve done the deed, I tell Andrew, ‘You know what this means, right?’”

He says, “I have to marry your sister.”

At the same time, I say, “You have to leave my sister and be with me.”

“What?” He screeches.

I screech back, “What?”

“I’m not leaving your sister. I’m going to marry her!” He insists.

“But we made beautiful love.” I hold his face in my hands and kiss him.

“That was a mistake,” he replies. “We got caught up in an emotional storm!”

He walks out of my room and heads back downstairs to wait for my sister. They still get married. I take off and drive to Andrew’s house, and I set it on fire. Andrew, pussy whipped as he is, turns out to have a conscience, and he tells my sister everything a couple of days later. On that very day is when you saw her in the employee parking lot trying to kill me.”

“You burned your brother-in-law’s house down?” Lono gasped.

“From the bottom up,” the woman replied. “Don’t worry, you gave me a place to stay, so nothing untoward will happen to you.”

“May I say,” Lono began. “And I mean this in the best way possible: you slept with your sister’s fiancé and burned his house down...”

“Technically, my sister’s house,” the woman held up her pointer finger. “She put down the money for the deposit.”

“Were you at all surprised that she wanted to kill you?” Lono asked quietly.

“Can I ask you a question?” The woman gave Lono a strange look. “When you witnessed my sister trying to kill me, do you remember how she was trying to do it?”

“Yes,” Lono said while forming his hands into a choking motion.

“No,” the woman said, shaking her head. “No.”

“Oh, right, she was actually trying to,” Lono’s right hand made a stabbing motion as if with a knife.

“No,” the woman said again while laughing slightly.

Lono made a motion like a gun, pointing toward the woman. “Like this, right?”

“She didn’t have a gun,” the woman confirmed. “What happened might have been too much for your mind to comprehend, so that you might have blocked it out.”

“Your sister didn’t try to set you on fire, did she?” Lono was concerned.

“Uh… no,” the woman shook her head. “She tried to drown me in an embryo sac of water.”

“Drown you? In the employee parking lot? How is that even possible?” Lono was sure at this point that the woman he had rescued was crazy and that he had made a grave error in bringing her to his home.

Finishing off her last sip of whiskey, the woman stood up and let out a deep breath. “My sister’s name is Namakaokaha’i. I am Pele. When you walked into the parking lot, the sight of you broke her powers momentarily. That broke her embryo, and I used that spare second to rescue you and get you out of there. I also peeped your wallet and looked at the address on your driver’s license.”

Lono was ready to toss her out of his house, but now, as she inhaled and exhaled, her hair glowed brightly with fire, then abated, and glowed again with each breath she took. He couldn’t run. His feet were rooted to the spot. “I told you, nothing untoward will happen to you.”

Just then, the pungent aroma of sea spray filled the space between them. Without another word, Pele leaped forward, grabbing Lono in her arms. Like a rocket taking off, a burst of flames came from her feet, propelling the two of them through Lono’s roof and up into the late afternoon sky. Below them, Lono saw that a massive wall of water had drowned out his entire home. In the aftermath, there stood a beautiful woman, not unlike Pele, pointing at them with death in her eyes.

“Aloha!” Pele waved while cackling the whole time.

“My house,” Lono cried. “It’s all gone!”

“She’ll put everything back the way it was,” Pele reassured Lono. “She knows you’re an innocent and that in your ignorance you were only trying to help.”

Pele set Lono down on the top of Kohelepelepe. “Ugh, this place gives me trauma. Good thing my other sister Kapō helped me out. Anyway, I’m deeply appreciative of your kōkua, and I won’t forget it.”

Pele was gone in an instant, but she must have been heading south because a giant surge of a wave suddenly appeared and was heading in that same direction. Lono was grateful he was alive, but he was even more grateful when he saw his house completely restored, as if nothing had happened. Pele was true to her word. Pele also never forgot the small kindness Lono extended to her, even though he didn’t realize he’d put himself in danger. So, the greatest thing that Pele did for Lono for the rest of his living days was to be absent from his life.

My older brothers were too busy working on the ‘55 Chevy Bel Air to help me with model cars. When they saw me coming, they turned up the volume on the cassette player resting on the toolbox. Ventura Highway drowned out my pleas, and because I didn’t want to get Charley-horsed by them for the millionth time, I let it go and went back inside.

Looking out my bedroom window, I noticed that my mom must have been doing laundry because Peter and Blaine’s underpants were hanging on the clothesline. I grabbed my Boy Scout pocket knife and ran out to the backyard. I was lucky that the Cat Stevens song kept their attention while they worked on the car engine. I had just enough time to cut holes into their Fruit of the Looms before hurrying back inside.

Later that day, right before dinner, my mother swung my bedroom door open and whipped my butt. When she was done, she held up the two pairs of underwear.

I was very well prepared to lie and say that it wasn’t me who did it. But my mom called out toward the living room and said, “It was John. He did it!”

To my horror, Pete and Blaine walked into my room, and my mom left and shut my bedroom door behind her.

“When you gonna learn, shrimp?”

With the Charley horses came a promise from my mom that if she heard me crying, I’d get it worse from her. I didn’t cry out, but I did get it worse from my father after my mom told him about what happened.

A couple of days later, as the bruises on my thighs began to fade, I woke up early and got dressed for school. I waited in my bedroom until I heard Pete and Blaine in the kitchen talking to my mom. I burst out of my room and ran to the kitchen. Both Pete and Blaine were drinking from their coffee cups when I ran up behind them and slapped them on the back with an open hand. They spat out their coffee, choking and heaving. I ran out of the house for dear life like there was no tomorrow. By the time I got to the end of the driveway, I was laughing hysterically over the revenge I got on my two older brothers.

Alas, I celebrated too early. They were right on top of me. They tackled me to the ground, but instead of Charley Horses, I got the small hairs on the sides of my head yanked right out of the flesh. I crumbled to the ground, screaming bloody murder. The next thing I knew, Pete and Blaine picked me up and tossed me into the back of their 55 Bel-Air. They were bringing me to school because my mom asked them to.

“Get out, shrimp.”

Pete nudged my butt with the bottom of his work shoe. Blaine simultaneously snapped the back of his fishtoothed comb on my neck.

When I got home later, I went straight to my room and did my homework. Pete and Blaine got home an hour later and started helping around the house before they went out to the garage to do more work on their car. By the time my father came home an hour after that, my older brothers had already invited their girlfriends over for dinner. Leila and Henrietta. The four of them played together in a band called 4 West.

They were really good, I’ll say that for them, but they just had to introduce me to their girlfriends as ‘our little shrimp brother, John.’

Because of that, Leila and Henrietta couldn’t find their hippy sandals when it was time for the two to leave. Eventually, the sandals appeared in the trunk of the Bel-Air. My brothers drove the girls home, and as soon as the car reached the end of the driveway, my mom yanked my ear and hissed at me.

“I’m saving your brothers the trouble of beating your ass when they get back.”

Pete and Blaine died, five years apart, both from heart attacks. Born just a year apart, Pete was 63 when he passed, and a year later, when Blaine turned 63, he passed away too. Our parents were long since dead by that time. Leila, Henrietta, and their children were heartbroken at the services, and so was I.

Today marks the 10th and 11th anniversaries of their passing, and as we gathered at the Oddfellows Hall, we reminisced about Pete and Blaine. Leila and Henrietta both shared stories about how they met their husbands, who were brothers. In both stories, it was mentioned how much of a little shit I was. I couldn’t disagree, because I was.

You see, when Pete and Blaine were teenagers, they took me everywhere, and we did everything together. But once they finished college in their 20s, it was like they began to exist in their own separate world, and it felt like they forgot about me. As much as I tried to be a part of that world, they never let me in. I think I became a little shit to them because I was more hurt than I was angry. They were supposed to be my big brothers, but they treated me like I was a skin tag.

As I got older, I grew out of that resentment. Whatever world it was that Pete and Blaine had together, it wasn’t important to me anymore. They stayed with my parents, and when they both got married, Leila and Henrietta moved in; they both began to grow their own families. It was what my mother wanted, especially after our father died. She needed her kids and grandkids around her.

At my father’s services, 4 West, Pete and Blaine’s band, played our Dad’s favorite song, Alone Again, Naturally.

When they were done, they called me up to do a song, too. I sang Leader of the Band. My brothers were shocked afterward.

“Where you been hiding those pipes, shrimp?”

“Daddy would have been proud if he were here.” Blaine hugged me.

At our mother’s services a few years later, 4 West sang a Joni Mitchell song, and I sang Longer. Mom liked that one.

“Why don’t you join our band, John?”

I was floored. That was the first time in my entire life that Pete ever called me by my actual name. John

“Yeah,” Blaine agreed. “John would be a great addition.”

Two for two! Are you kidding me right now? But wouldn’t you know it? Life happened, I got married, and I never joined the band. Ten years later, Pete dies of a heart attack. His services were small, and Leila was too broken up to sing anything. Henrietta and I sang You Can Close Your Eyes. Blaine broke down twice while playing the guitar. On the drive back to Blaine’s house, I finally asked him.

“How come you and Pete never let me hang around you guys?” I asked.

Blaine let out a long sigh, and his eyes began to tear up. “We knew how much you loved us, and we never wanted you to know that we were not your real brothers. Mom and Dad were babysitting us one night while our birth parents were killed in a car accident, so they adopted us.”

“You and Pete were adopted?” I screeched, with tears brimming.

“No, stupid. We’re your real brothers.” Blaine deadpanned.

I rained down punches on him. “You fucking asshole!”

“It’s because you were a pain in the ass.” Blaine shoved his hand in my face while he drove.

Needless to say, at his services I cried endlessly. No one sang a song. Instead, they piped in Blaine’s playlist on a Bluetooth speaker. Now, at this anniversary of both their passings, it was my turn to speak, and I kept it short.

“Pete, Blaine, I love you both.”

I didn’t stay for the dinner, so Leila packed a plate for me to take home. I guess I was so wrecked from all the tears and emotions that when I got home, I was famished. I took the plate of food and sat at the kitchen counter. When I opened the Styrofoam container, it was filled with shrimp.

On the inside of the cover was a Post-it note that said, “Pete and Blaine said to serve this to you after either one of their services.”

I didn’t get it right away. I just stared at the contents in the Styrofoam container.

“Shrimp?” I wondered out loud. Then I got it, “Shit!”

There, in the living room, hovered the spirits of Pete and Blaine. They tackled me off my chair and began to give me the worst Charley horses in the history of Charley Horses.

Fuckers.

It was 3 hours before I could check into my hotel room. I decided not to linger around the lobby or sit at the bar. Instead, I drove the rental car to Hilo Pancake House, where I requested a booth in the corner so I could enjoy my corned beef hash, rice, bacon, sausage, and scrambled eggs. The place was half empty. Or half full, if you want to look at it that way.

“Clyde Kuo,” Grace, the hostess, greeted me while grabbing a menu. “Back again?”

“Back again,” I confirmed.

“Business this time?”

“It’s always business, Grace.” I smiled, and she led me to the corner booth.

“With a smile like that,” she said, lowering her voice. “It’s more than business.”

“I can’t fool you,” I laughed.

“You better watch yourself,” she cautioned me. “This is Hilo, not Honolulu.”

“Okay,” I nodded.

When I spent my summers in Hilo as a kid, our nights found us at Hilo’sfor dinner. Grace wore the beehive hairdo and the Kat glasses with her form-fitting mu‘umu‘u. She was captivating. All these years later, she dresses the same way and has still managed to keep her svelte figure. Except now, she’s a bit more acidic, but in that way that elder Hawaiian aunties tend to be, and there’s really nothing you can say about it.

“Okay, Mister Clyde, here’s everything you asked for. That would be your hash, rice, bacon, sausage, and scrambled eggs. What are you drinking?” Grace asked.

“Grace,” I said, “How do you manage to carry a menu and a plate full of food and still be sexy?”

“You watch your manners, Mister Kuo!” She cautioned me. “I’m old enough to be your second cousin once removed! Now, what are you drinking?

“Water, please,” I laughed.

“Not the plantation iced tea?”

“It’s too early for plantation,” I said, placing my hand over my stomach. “Just water for now, please.”

Grace walked away and stopped the head waitress who had just returned from serving a larger table of guests. “How’s this kid over here, calling me sexy?”

“He wouldn’t know what to do with you.” Both women cackled and went on about their business.

After the meal, I drove over to my hotel hoping to get an early check-in. Bingo! I lucked out and thanked the front desk clerk profusely. I didn’t bother to change out of my clothes. Instead, I lay on the edge of my bed and fell asleep. When I woke up, it was 2 am, and I was hungry, but everything was closed. Well, there was the 7-Eleven on Kino‘ole Road, but should I be eating something from 7-Eleven at this hour?

Maybe a can of something agreeable, like Ravioli or Palm corned beef? I guess we’ll see when we get there. In a few minutes, the rental car idled at the corner of Kamehameha Avenue and Lihiwai Street. I looked up and saw Grace crossing the intersection. I turned right and drove ahead of her until I could park in the Bay Front parking lot. I got out of my car and went to see her, and there she was, walking in my direction.

“Grace, where are you going?”

She walked toward me and then walked right past me. “I’m going home.”

I walked alongside her. “Let me give you a ride. It’s not a problem.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Grace, did you walk all the way from Hilo’s?”

“Of course, I’ve been walking to and from work my whole life.” She looked at me. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

“You don’t have to walk, Grace. I can bring you home. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“Where’s your car then?” She stopped and looked at me like I was wasting her time.

“I’m parked over there,” I pointed to the rental. “I was on my way to the 7-Eleven, and I saw you in the crosswalk.”

I began walking to the car, and she followed close behind. “I’m just letting you know right now, Kuo, that you’re giving me a ride home, and that’s it. There’s no dessert on the menu after, you understand?”

“I understand.” I bowed my head and placed my hand over my heart. I made it a point to open her side door first, but instead of getting in, she leaned up against the passenger side and let out a long sigh. “Everything alright?”

“If I walk straight and don’t stop, I won’t get tired. But now you’re giving me a ride, and for that one second you made me stop, you also made me tired.” Grace got in the rental and buckled her seat belt.

The ride took us all the way to Aikane Road, across from the gym.

“Thirty years working at Hilo’s, and I walk to and from work to keep myself in good shape.” Grace shared. “Same routine, day in and day out.”

“That’s four miles to and from.” I couldn’t believe it. “No wonder you’re in such good health!”

When I got to her house, I was impressed by how well-kept the old plantation-style home looked from the outside. It warmed my heart to see that houses like this still existed.

“Mahalo for the ride,” Grace told me. “You come inside. I’ll make something for you to eat. That way you don’t have to eat that 7-Eleven food. Yeesh!”

Grace’s house was filled with everything that was her life, from her childhood to her teen years to her adult life. There were even wedding pictures.

“That’s my first and only husband, and me. His name was Keoki. He died from an accident at work. He was a stevedore, and he didn’t see the Matson container coming toward him. I loved him so much. I couldn’t remarry after that. It’s why I don’t have kids.”

She emerged from her small kitchen with a plate of rice, steaming laulau, and a bowl of poi with ice cubes.

“Wow, your food is giving me flashbacks now,” I told her. “Mahalo for going out of your way. I appreciate it.”

She sat down on the other side of the small kitchen table. “Don’t worry about me. I ate at work. You go ahead.”

I made a point of chewing slowly so I could savor every bite. The poi was fresh and sweet, bringing back delicious childhood memories.

“I know I always give you a hard time when you come in, but I’ve known you since you were little. You came in the summertime with all your cousins and your uncle. Look, you’ve grown into a handsome young man, and you’re successful.”

“What happens for you after you retire?”

“There’ s no retirement for me. I keep going until I cannot. Then, I die.”

“No,” I waved her off. “What about your ‘ohana?”

“There’s only me,” she mused. “I lost everybody else at Laupahoehoe.”

I ate everything on that plate, making sure nothing was left. I stood, ready to take it to the kitchen to wash my plate, but Grace cut me off.

“Don’t be funny, Mister Kuo. You’re my guest, are you trying to make me look bad?”

“No, I just thought I should because you fed me.”

“Put that down,” she quietly demanded. “I’ll do it myself after.”

“Alright,” I agreed. “I’ve troubled you enough. I’ll get going now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Grace bid me a good evening and held her front door open for me as I walked down the steps.

My business meeting started the next morning at 8 am and didn’t let out until 11 am. These damned executives are clueless about what real people need, so their business decisions are always outdated. My job is to steer them away from antiquated habits so they can see what’s relevant now.

By the time I got to Hilo’s for lunch, I was famished and ready to inhale my food. Walking in, I found the lobby filled with wreathes, large bouquets, and a profusion of scented lei everywhere. The head waitress, Kalena, came over to bring me to my booth. I immediately asked, “What are all the flowers for?”

“Grace died of a heart attack last night in the lobby.” Kalena broke down.

“No,” I snickered. “I gave her a ride home last night. She fed me.”

“That can’t be,” Kalena argued. “She clocked out from work and had a heart attack and died in this lobby before she even walked out the door.”

“What time was that?” I asked.

“Two in the morning.”

That was when I woke up, lying on the bed, still wearing my clothes. That’s when I got in my rental to drive to a 7-Eleven, where I saw Grace crossing the intersection. I gave her a ride, took her home, and she invited me in for a meal.

I turned around, ran to the parking lot, got into the rental, and drove to Wainaku on Aikane Road. The house from last night was still there, still in the same condition, but without Grace, it was lonely and lifeless.

Everybody at Hilo’s put their money together to help with Grace’s services, but it wasn’t enough, so I paid for everything and made sure that everyone at Hilo’s got their money back.

Since Grace had no surviving family, I spoke to her landlord and made an offer. I bought her house, but I never lived in it. I just made sure I kept the place nice and fresh. I only stayed there when I was in Hilo for business. Otherwise, if I couldn’t make it to Hilo for a cleanup, the ladies from the restaurant would come and do it. Afterward, they’d have a meal together to honor Grace.

Book spaces that aren’t libraries or tied to a national-level bookstore don’t have a long shelf life here. Many have popped up in and around downtown Honolulu, do well for the first couple of years, and then disappear.

Gavin Asuncion was the youngest of his 17 siblings. He was also the only boy, which meant he was incredibly spoiled. That is, until he reached his delinquent years; then he became insufferable. His hobby became going to every bookstore he could find, big and small, where he would steal comics and whatever else he could get away with. Because he was only 13, the bookstore owners trespassed him but didn’t arrest him.

Gavin’s family suffered the humiliation of his actions, but Gavin had no care as to what they or anyone else felt or thought. Even after receiving a beating from his older siblings for his criminal actions, Gavin persisted. One Sunday afternoon, the entire Asuncion household went to the open-air mall on Ward Avenue. They visited eateries, novelty shops, clothing boutiques, and a newly opened specialty bookstore stocked with books about the otherworldly, the supernatural, and other kinds of oddities.

Something Wicked.

That was the name of the establishment. It could have been another Razor-Concepts, except every color was black, red, or green, and every space, big and small, contained books. Whether done purposely or otherwise, the aroma of formaldehyde permeated the space, unnerving Gavin’s family enough to make them quickly exit the bookstore. Gavin stayed behind, casing the place from top to bottom.

“Books,” he mumbled to himself. “There aren’t even any comics here.”

Passing a large shelf with a sign that read Legerdemain, Gavin saw a sizeable skateboard with blue and orange wheels resting against it.

Read more

Waikahe Stream was so old that no one remembered when it was fresh, clear, and flowing uninterrupted. Even experts could not determine when the rocks, stones, and pebbles were newly born and hadn’t been worn down by centuries of a steady current. At its bend stood a lama tree that was as old as the stream. It may have been there before the stream came to be. Romantics have dreamed that the two elements might have once lived as companions and that when time came to gather their corporeal forms, mercy and compassion cast themselves upon the two lovers and turned one into a flowing stream, symbolizing love never ending. The other became a lama tree, sitting at the bend, its roots endlessly fed by the stream, providing shade and comfort where the stream paused for a moment. Its branches dipped into the stream, giving the only moment when the two could touch and be one.

The bustle of classes at the university made everything seem like afternoon traffic at the Punahou off-ramp. Unnecessarily clustered with no real purpose, yet there it was, an unwanted anomaly that required patient navigation. Lamakū, or Lama for short, saw this as human wayfinding. Rather than navigating a vast sea using natural elements to find a way, Lama used patience and compassion to navigate a tight hallway of newly born, first-year college students to find his first class of the day.

Lama did a fair job of filtering through the crowd until he saw the open door with the printed sign in bold letters. WAIKIKI HISTORY 101. He was nearly across the portal when the crowd surged forward and pushed Kahealani, or Kahe for short, toward Lama, but it might as well have been fate that brought her forward because the two, whether intentionally or not, kissed.

The girl was flushed with embarrassment and exclaimed, “Oh shit! What the fuck!”

Lama apologized profusely. “I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

“Watch where the fuck you’re going!” Kahe blurted out. Those already seated in class saw what happened and immediately went over to the two and explained that neither of them was at fault. That really, it was the people crowding the hallway who literally pushed them into each other.

Even with that justification, Kahe said a parting word to Lama before she found her seat in the classroom. “Still, be careful next time, asshole.”

For the rest of the semester, the two gave each other a wide berth. Lama eventually forgot about the incident and went on with his studies, personal life, and occupation. Kahe, on the other hand, let the incident fester in her mind.

Toward the end of the semester, the class went on a mandatory field trip in Waikīkī. A minibus provided by the university dropped the class off at the Hawaii Prince Hotel, and from there it was a walk from one end of Waikīkī to the other. The class took a lunch break at the Waikīkī Plaza, then walked through the International Market Place, where the instructor explained that the property once belonged to Queen Emma and, before her, to King William Charles Lunalilo.

Next, they stopped at the Moana Hotel and the Princess Ka‘iulani Hotel. The excursion ended at Kaimana Beach, where the instructor spoke about the strain Kamehameha, his army, and his people put on the natives of Waikīkī when they occupied the area.

“The production of food and accommodations doubled, and left little for everyone else,” the instructor said.

Just then, the minibus rolled into the parking lot, and the class boarded, thrilled and exhausted from learning so much.

“Next week, we’re taking a field trip to a secret location that I know all of you will appreciate.”

The minibus pulled into the campus parking lot later, and Lama sat and waited for everyone to get off before he stood up and made his way out of the vehicle. Lama had no idea that Kahe, who sat in the front seat, had hunkered down so as not to be seen by Lama. Once she saw Lama walking down the narrow steps, she lunged forward to push Lama, but her efforts were silently interrupted by the bus driver, who grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Frustrated that her efforts were cut short, Kahe shrieked at the bus driver.

“I dunno what happened on the field trip, but from start to finish you’ve been giving that boy stink eye. Now, you were gonna push him down the steps like that. Did he do something to you?” The bus driver asked.

“Yeah, he kissed me the first day of class.” Kahe’s breathing was labored.

“Was that against your will?” The driver was concerned now. “Because if it was, I can push him down the steps myself.”

“No, it was an accident,” Kahe confessed. “It was nobody’s fault.”

“Did that boy at least say he was sorry?” The driver was still waiting to understand Kahe’s reasoning.

“He did. He said it was his fault, and he asked if I was alright.” Kahe had calmed down now.

“Then, I don’t understand why you tried to make anykine to him!”

“He’s ignored me this whole semester like I don’t exist.” Tears came. Now the driver understood. “Like, he could have offered to get me coffee or take me to lunch at least.”

“Can you blame him for not doing that ?”

“No,” Kahe eventually confessed. “If I pushed him down the steps, at least he wouldn’t ignore me anymore.”

“I’d hate to be your boyfriend,” the driver laughed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kahe quietly demanded.

“If this is how you express romantic interest, I’d hate to see you when you’re mad.” Kahe got off the bus and walked to her car in the parking structure.

A week later, the field trip took the class not to Waikīkī, but to the mountains behind the Dillingham airfield. It was a stream purposely left off every map back when maps were being recorded of each island. Those haole who came upon the stream felt its serene atmosphere, which literally changed their mindset, and knew it needed to be kept secret from those who might take advantage of it. The students in the WAIKIKI HISTORY 101 class felt it too.

“I know this is not part of our regular class, but very few places have the true mana like this place.” The instructor said. “Enjoy it, explore it, but don’t go far.”

Many students gathered around the instructor, talking and learning at the same time. Others explored but didn’t venture away from the gathering. Kahe decided to follow the stream as far as she could, then to turn around and go back. She eventually came to a bend in the stream, and there stood a large tree so old that its branches dipped into the water. Kahe was drawn and walked straight to it. The site fascinated her, but something resonated more deeply; she could not yet identify the feeling.

“Don’t get too close to the edge. You could fall in.” The voice came from behind her.

Startled, Kahe turned around and saw Lama sitting there. “Shit, you scared me.”

Lama was sitting up against the trunk of the old tree, but was now standing and making his way to leave. “Sorry. Anyway, be careful.”

“Stay,” she asked, not being as caustic as Lama had experienced at the start of the semester. “In case I do fall in and nobody will know. Besides, it’s kinda haunting, this large tree overlooking the stream.”

Lama nodded but remained silent. He sat back down, tense and uncomfortable. Kahe sat close to him. The whole time, Lama felt as if Kahe was about to strike him again with either her fists or her verbal thunder.

“I’m sorry for the way I came off before. I was embarrased and rather than assess the situation, I always go to the extreme opposite so I don’t end up looking like the idiot.” Kahe began. “You didn’t deserve that. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Alright.” Lama stood up again and walked off.

“I deserve that,” Kahe sighed as she stood up and followed Lama.

Eventually, they rejoined the group and stayed with them until it was time to leave. Lama took the seat closest to the window in the back. That left no room for Kahe to sit next to him and engage in conversation on the return to town. A few people talked excitedly; others stared silently out the window, while a few had fallen asleep. The minibus dropped everyone off in the parking lot in front of the center for Hawaiian studies, where they walked back to their cars in the adjoining structure. Lama was already sitting in his truck and ready to go when Kahe knocked on his window. Lama didn’t bother rolling the window down and just looked at Kahe.

“What is it?”

“Can you meet me at the mall food court? I wanna buy you dinner.” Kahe asked.

“For what?” Lama asked back.

“What?” Kahe pointed to her ear.

Rolling his window down, Lama repeated himself. “For what? You already apologized, and I said alright. We’re good.”

“Listen, I’m asking nicely, but I’m not begging. I’ll be at the mall food court near the Poi Bowl if you wanna meet. If not, I’ll understand, and I won’t bother you again.” Kahe walked away and returned to her car. Twenty minutes later, Kahe sat at the food court, promising herself she’d wait 30 minutes, then leave so Lama could go on as he had all semester. At the 30-minute mark, when Kahe stood up to leave, Lama was standing on the other side of the table.

“What do you want to eat?” Lama asked. “It’s gonna get crowded soon, so you should hold this spot while I go get the food,” Lama said.

“The Hawaiian plate from the Poi Bowl, and an iced tea,” Kahe said.

“Shoots! Two Hawaiian plates and two iced teas,” he answered. “I’ll be right back.”

The two sat and ate together, having a long conversation about everything and nothing until the food court closed and it was time to go. The next day after class, they went to the student lounge, where they shared snacks and talked for the rest of the day until it was time to leave. Kahe invited Lama to her house, where he met her parents, who couldn’t believe that their daughter had a male companion who she hadn’t chewed up and spat out.

“Congratulations,” Kahe’s father said, hugging Lama. “You survived!”

Kahe’s mother laughed, while Kahe insisted they stop trying to ruin Lama’s perception of her.

“It’s not perception,” Kahe’s mother said. “It’s the truth!”

Lama’s parents were pleased that he brought home such a nice and pretty young lady. “How did you land this one?” Lama’s mother asked.

“Hun, you’re trying to say that our son isn’t good-looking enough to have a beautiful girlfriend?” Lama’s father interjected between them, hugging Lama close.

“Well, you landed me, and I still married you,” Lama’s mom said.

Lama and Kahe fell deeply in love, and after Lama’s parents passed away, he inherited the house where he and Kahe were married and had several children, and they adopted a dog.

That would have been the happy ideal for both of them, but here is the reality of what truly happened on that day of the field trip into the mountains behind the Dillingham airfield.

“I’m sorry for the way I came off before. I was embarrased and rather than assess the situation, I always go to the extreme opposite so I don’t end up looking like the idiot.” Kahe began. “You didn’t deserve that. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say anything.” Lama whispered. “Just sit here and open yourself up to this place. Be like this stream. Calm and ever flowing.”

Kahe sat next to Lama and did as he suggested. The longer she sat, the more she opened herself up to the place, and the more the place opened up to her. Time slipped away for Kahe. She felt herself become the stream, consistent, calm, and adjusting itself in all manner of situations.

Lama felt himself become the ever-present tree he sat under. Looming with protective branches, nourished by the soil and the stream.

Kahe felt that old part of herself slip away. There was no longer a need to be overly defensive and take everything and everyone as an affront. Lama felt as if he had perceived the secret of life: that all beings, animate or inanimate, possessed the same life quality which made all things one energy, one mana. It was there that the two became one, and when their lovemaking was complete, they bathed in the stream fronting the large tree. The cold of the water awakened all their senses, physical and otherwise.

Eventually, the instructor and his class had no choice but to return to the university. The instructor reluctantly filed a missing persons report while the authorities combed the area for Kahe and Lama. The instructor blamed himself for taking that field trip on that day.

Previously, nothing ever went wrong. The class went to the location, commiserated, and left, everyone promising never to reveal it. Now, it would become public knowledge. Indeed, the location of the stream in the mountains behind the Dillingham Airfield became known to the populace, but with one caveat. Anyone who came upon the old Lama tree at the bend near the stream and spent too much time there would never be seen again.

Not only did hikers vanish, but so did paranormal groups who hiked there after hours. Over time, hikes to the ancient stream diminished, and it was left as it had always been.

The few who were gifted would often see the spirits of Lama and Kahe around the old tree, laughing, sharing love, or sitting in one another’s arms, gazing at the stream as it found its way to the ocean. Some even said they saw a child with the two spirits, who gave Lama and Kahe days of happiness. Others claimed to have come upon a house with the lama tree in the front, overlooking the stream, and that they had actually met and spoken to Lama, Kahe, and their child. They were friendly and kind and offered food for hikers to take on their way. However, a few hours later, as they ventured back, the hikers said the house was gone, and so were the couple and their child.

There was no trace that anything had ever been there except for the large Lama tree with its branches dipping into the stream. One hiker took a picture of a new lama tree sprouting from the stream, where some of its branches touched the old lama tree, while the other branches dipped in the water. Because the location was so old, no native of the area could remember its name. So, they called it Waikahe.

Flowing water.

Details you’ve never noticed become more pronounced, more visceral, more vivid—little things, like a folded-up piece of paper and a random pen lying next to it. You begin to notice whether the light on your computer desk is stark neon or the soft, natural orange glow from the Indonesian lantern hanging above your collection of knickknacks.

Thoughts about people who disliked you for whatever reason aren’t as troublesome as they once were. You’re no longer sitting for hours contemplating retaliation because it no longer matters.

Life is a single swath of a large paintbrush across a vast canvas, and you only get one try. I always thought I’d leave a poem or a memoir. Maybe there’s still time for that.

I’ve always walked close to the veil, and now the veil wants to hold hands and never let go. Ancestral spirits have begun to manifest along with spirits I’ve never met before. It’s not as if the doors have never been open, but now it is not just faces. Now, it’s whispered names and half-messages. Of what use is this to me if I am soon to cross to their side?

In the beginning, I was concerned about those who would be left behind and what morsel of a legacy I would leave them. Then I realized we have been conditioned to believe the whole ceremony is for the departed, when really it’s for those who remain—the living.

Had I had enough time, perhaps I could have applied for a grant to start a business providing follow-up services for those who have lost a loved one. A place for them to mourn, grieve, remember, laugh, cry, and love. It would serve them well in the interim, although love for a departed person never abates.

My mother once said that our ancestors walk side by side with us and we extoll them in chants, mele, and hula. In that way, they are always near. I can’t say that this will be the case with me once my corporeal form diminishes because no one knows what happens after the last breath is taken and the last conscious thought becomes a fading light.

---

A little toddler came waddling by the other night while I spoke to a group of people in front of a 140-year-old banyan tree. I saw the little one in my peripheral vision, so I stopped what I was saying. I quickly looked for the little one’s parents. However, no one else was there besides us. By pure instinct, I went to pick up the wee one in my arms, and as I got closer, it disappeared. Frantically searching for where the toddler might have gone, I saw my group of people standing there, looking at me as if I’d lost my mind. Or, hopefully, they thought I’d become possessed because that might have made them feel better, considering the reason why we were at the banyan trees in the first place.

“No one saw where the baby went?” I asked.

Blank stares greeted me. “What baby?

“The baby that walked right past us,” I pointed to the empty spot near the roots of the banyan. “It was right there!”

More blank stares.

“Anyway, as I was saying.”

I talked about those who perished during the smallpox epidemic and explained that I was going to show them a single photograph of an adult male.

One of the people in the group raised her hand and said, “I think it’s another photograph.”

I turned my iPad around and saw that, indeed, it was not the one I usually share. The new photo was a group of Hawaiian children and a toddler sitting on a hospital bed, severely stricken with smallpox. The toddler was the one I’d just seen waddling past me.

“My apologies,” I replied and moved on to another photograph.

---

Later, as we walked past the Likelike Gate at ‘Iolani Palace and proceeded to the Hakalele Poni Gate at the back of the palace, I was pleased to see that the Royal Guards were posted at both locations. There must have been an occasion of some sort on the palace grounds or perhaps in the palace basement.

“That’s nice that they have the royal palace guards this evening,” I remarked.

Again, blank stares. I continued with the rest of the program, ending with a prayer in Hawaiian. Everyone departed in their own directions, and I headed back to wait for my ride.

The lane led to South King Street, and across the lawn fronting the state library came a horse-drawn carriage approaching from the gates of Kawaiaha’o. Lunalilo’s tomb was not there, and the church itself seemed different. Then, as quickly as I saw the tableau, it was gone.

A few minutes later, I stood in front of the Kekuanaoa building waiting for my ride. I glanced up when I saw a pair of bright headlights come into the parking lot. It didn’t stop, though; it drove right past me. A Chevy station wagon filled with a Hawaiian family pulled in, looking eager and excited, as if they were seeing this part of town for the first time. The family’s appearance was a bit disconcerting. They didn’t seem to be from this time period. They regarded me strangely as well.

The license plate was the old yellow one with one number, one letter, a dash, and four more numbers. 9C-4723. At the bottom, it said, 1969.

It slowly faded out as it drove through the parking lot.

I was hesitant to go to our regular dinner spot after this, for fear of who or what might manifest. An old waitress? The occupants of the cemetery where the restaurant now sits? Or the mangled spirits of those who perished in car crashes at the intersection? I’ll just go home and hope the man who in life was a double agent in the Vietnam War keeps his torture methods to himself.

After showering, we went out for our late evening walk in the neighborhood. Whole blocks glitched in and out, vascillating from the present neighborhood to nothing but fields of kalukalu grass moving with the wind. Artesian wells and natural ponds dotted the area here and there, and then the present-day Kaimuki and Kapahulu came back.

Later, as I fell into a deep sleep, I was suddenly awoken with a harsh tug on my leg. I’d actually felt the two hands grab my leg and yank on it. Standing there was my mother, 33 years departed.

“You’re not dying, stupid,” she said. “Your gift of sight is becoming more pronounced. Keep exercising and stop eating shit food, and you’ll be fine.”

I was sitting up at the edge of the bed. The room smelled of Vicks VapoRub. She was there, my mother. That was her personal sign whenever she presented herself from the other side of the veil.

So I’m not close to the veil in the way I thought, but one can never be too prepared.

Fourteen years ago, my brother was killed in a car accident on the way home from his job in Mililani, where the Veterans Freeway merges with the Queen Lili‘uokalani Freeway.

Gabriel Cabab, the other driver, cut across five lanes of traffic to get to the far-left lane, where he could speed the rest of the way to wherever his destination was. By the time Gabriel saw Jacob’s car, it was too late. The impact was so great that both vehicles tumbled end over end.

Gabriel Cabab was crushed by his own SUV as he was partially ejected from the driver’s seat. Fuck that guy.

My brother was ejected from his vehicle and landed on the westbound side of the highway, where he was run over by a few oncoming cars. The EMTs whisked him away. He was still alive, and he suffered greatly until the end.

By the time the authorities found Jacob’s cell phone and used it to call us, two hours had passed since the accident. My parents told me to hurry because my brother was asking for me. Everyone made room for me as I went to his side. He was covered from the neck down, connected to various tubes. His face was a mess. I could barely recognize him. I broke down crying.

“Pete,” he whispered. “Peter. I know, I know.”

His hand came out from under the covers and weakly touched my arm.

“How can you be strong and understanding when you’re the one that’s hurting?” I sobbed.

A second later, he was gone. The beeping monitors fell into a long, monotonous sound, and the doctor had them turned off. I moved aside so Mari and the kids could say goodbye. My parents stepped in and went to the other side of Jacob’s bed to say their farewells. I had to step out and cry in the waiting room.

The services were simple, and Jake was buried at Hawaiian Memorial. There was a wind the whole time that never let up from the start of the services until the casket was lowered into the ground. Weirdly, the wind followed us home in our cars, and it felt like a giant hand nudging our vehicles until we exited the Pali Tunnel. Then, it was gone.

Life went on. My parents got older and didn’t go out as much as they used to. Now they only went out because they had to, to funerals or reunions and such. Mari had a few relationships here and there, but nothing permanent. Her kids, Ty and Lorna, graduated from school and both moved to the Big Island for college.

I was on my own on Kaua‘i for the most part, working the docks at Nawiliwili Harbor. One day I got a call from my Dad.

“Me and Mom are slowing down a bit,” he said. “Maybe you should come home.”

Coming home was the surprise. Mari was still there, but for some reason I thought she, Ty, and Lorna had gone to live on their own. Turns out, they’d been there the whole time after my brother’s death.

“You thought we were going to kick out Mari and the kids?” My mother scolded me. “What kind of people do you think we are, Peter?”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I replied. “I just figured that this is the last place that Mari wants to be, with all the memories, you know?”

Jacob’s pictures were still sitting on the bookshelf, on the TV, and magnetized to the fridge. It’s like this house got stuck in time 14 years ago.

“You can have your old room,” my father said. “Get yourself settled and we’ll talk some more tomorrow.”

What’s strange is that from the time I exited the baggage claim doors, the winds on O‘ahu never really let up. They were strong and howling, and they seemed to constantly batter the house as if a hurricane were brewing. It was everywhere.

At home, I tried to be helpful. I offered to pay rent or utilities, but my parents wouldn’t let me. One morning, I was in the kitchen pouring myself a glass of orange juice. I sat down at the kitchen table and took a bite of my sandwich when my father and mother walked in.

“You don’t have to make breakfast, Mom. You and Dad sit. I’ll make it for you.”

“You and I have to go see Jacob,” my father told me. “Mom will be fine. Mari is taking her to the bank. Let’s go.”

Forty minutes later, my father and I were standing in front of my brother’s headstone, and the wind just died down suddenly. My father stepped forward and placed a lei on the headstone. He stood there in silence for I don’t know how long.

“I don’t know if it’s happened to you yet, but your brother’s spirit haunts the house.” My father said it with such matter-of-factness that I had to ask him again about what he said.

“I’m sorry ?”

“Your brother’s spirit haunts the house.” He looked me dead in the eye like he always did when he meant business.

“I can see that’s wishful thinking, and it’s because you’ve got his pictures plastered everywhere in the house, so of course you’d start to believe you’re seeing his spirit,” I explained. “That kinda thing can’t be healthy for Mari either.”

“It started happening a week before you came home.” My father took a step closer to me. “It never happened before then. It’s like he knew you were coming.”

“That’s silly, Dad. You can’t believe that.” I waved him off. “Come on, let’s head back.”

The wind followed us back home, and I had to help my Dad to the front door. He was still a bull of a man, but he was older now and having a bit of difficulty. I toiled around the house because my shift didn’t start until later that night. I was coming down the stairs, heading to the living room to catch the last of the sumo matches on TV, when Mari walked in with an armful of groceries, which I helped her bring to the kitchen.

“Are you adjusting okay now that you're living here with us?” Mari asked.

I didn’t reply because something caught my attention in the foyer leading into the kitchen. Mari saw this distraction on my face and looked in the same direction as me. It was my brother, standing there in the foyer as plain as day, as if he’d never died fourteen years ago.

My parents just happened to come down the stairs and saw the same thing. My brother stared at me for a bit, then he turned his attention to Mari. It looked like he was about to say something until my mother called out.

“Jacob,” she said. “Is it you, Jake?”

My brother’s spirit turned to look at our mother, and then he blinked out. In his place, a wind slammed through the kitchen and turned everything upside down. We were all speechless, but my mother was in tears.

A couple of days later, my father called a Kahu from his church who also happened to be his classmate from Kalani High School. The blessing of the house went off without a hitch. Everything seemed fine until a few days later, when Mari came into the living room and sat on the opposite end of the couch from where I sat.

“What are we watching?”

Standing up from the couch, I asked her. “I’m getting some popcorn. Do you want some?”

“Sure,” she replied.

I thought she was still in the living room, but when I turned around, she was right behind me. She popped a bag of popcorn in the microwave before I could grab one. While we waited, she got out two bowls and handed one to me.

“You never answered my question: how are you adjusting from a single bachelor to living with your family again?”

The microwave ping went off, and my brother’s spirit manifested right in front of us. It was like before; he appeared and then suddenly blinked out, but this time, the burst of wind shook the whole house.

My father asked his friend, the Kahu, for one more blessing, but this time he told the Kahu about my brother’s spirit and the winds that follow us everywhere. The Kahu performed an exorcism on the house first, and then at my brother’s grave.

Everything settled down, and life went back to normal. That is, until on my day off. I was headed to Ala Moana Beach to swim laps for an hour. With my job, it’s the only regular workout I can fit in during the week.

I was coming down the stairs when I bumped into Mari and nearly knocked her down to the floor. I offered my hand and helped her up. Suddenly, her hands were on my waist, and we were a bit too close for comfort. I let go and picked up my towel from the floor.

“See you later,” I said, rushed past her, and headed toward the door.

My brother’s spirit blocked my way out, and the burst of wind decimated everything in the living room.

Structurally, the house was fine, but we all knew that we couldn’t deal with any more of these paranormal temper tantrums. After a lifetime, my parents put the house up for sale.

On my next day off, I followed my same routine, heading to Ala Moana and swimming laps in the morning. I was mid-way to my swim toward Magic Island when I saw a one-person canoe coming toward me. It was Mari.

“What are you doing here?” I asked her.

“I think Jake knew about us before he died,” Mari said.

“What?”

“He knew about us, Peter.” Mari insisted. “It’s the only reason why his spirit would show up after all these years and start causing all the damage to our house! And those winds? They only happened right when you came back. He knows Peter, and he’s mad.”

Mari telegraphed her next movement, holding the canoe paddle over her head. I caught it just in time and threw her into the water. When she surfaced, I was now sitting in the one-person canoe, and I bashed her over the head clean. The blood came right away. I hit her hard enough the second time that she went unconscious and would eventually drown.

I’m Jacob, by the way, and the man who died in that hospital bed was Peter, my twin.

That day. Damn.

I purposely called Peter from work that day and asked him to drive my car home because I had to park the boss’s car at our house. He’d been having problems with a stalker. That was not a lie. I knew he’d call her to let her know he was on his way. I intended to have Peter drive up in my car and watch my wife run out to hug and kiss him, because I knew they were having an affair. That’s how I intended to bust them.

I forgot my phone in the car when he drove off, but I thought it wouldn’t matter, so I didn’t chase after him right away. I could never have predicted Gabriel Cabab.

I was forced to assume Peter’s identity.

He whispered, “Pete.” He said his name. He was saying his name the whole time. Everyone thought he was calling for me.

His “I know,” more than likely meant he knew I knew.

When I cried and called him Jake, I’m sure he realized what was going on. He died, and the only way he could try to make himself known was by the winds he manifested.

Hopefully, when Mari’s body is found and foul play becomes the undeniable evidence, my parents don’t figure out the scheme on their own.

That would be fatal.

The day before, I promised myself I wouldn’t drink three cans of cola at the store before school, but I did. By the time I got to school, I couldn’t hold it, so I went to the Hawaiian Studies teacher’s garden and unloaded there. She busted me and scolded me to use the regular facilities.

The school bathroom is like every other. Heavily tiled, smelling of whatever it should smell like, whether it was being properly maintained or not. My school was newly renovated and updated. Not like a Tony Stark upgrade, but one that didn’t make the campus look like it was still stuck in the 70s. Yet, they missed the school bathrooms. If you stand in one of them long enough, you’ll catch a whiff of Jövan musk from the late 70s. Passing the girls’ bathroom, you’ll get a scent of the bubble gum lip gloss and Aqua Net hairspray.

I, however, am here to do my business. If you don’t mind, I will proceed.

The moss and yellow stains are gone. What a surprise. I should not have had those three cans of cola before I got to school. I’m paying for it now. Someone else walks in and assumes the urinal next to me. There are six other urinals; why didn’t he choose one farther away? So irritating.

He shot me this look as if I were invading his personal space. Zipping himself up, he bounced as he walked to the sink to wash his hands. Done with that, he went to the paper towel dispenser, quickly dried his hands, and threw the leftovers in the trash bin. I did the same and was a second behind him when he turned around and shoved me. He yanked the fire alarm and pulled the bathroom door shut.

“Hey!!!” I screamed.

Read more

Owning a car became a necessity because riding the city bus was troublesome—too many people in close proximity, especially when the bus is crowded. There’s always a chance someone will brush up against you, and I can’t have that.

In this age of accessibility through social media, cell phones, and intrusive cameras everywhere, personal space is a thing of the past. That’s an exterior problem. My problem is internal, not within myself, but with you.

When I lived on the ‘Ewa Plains before it became the juggernaut second city that it is today, I lived in the right location to catch the #50 bus to and from town, which meant that when the bus arrived at my stop, it wasn’t that crowded. When it dropped me off, most riders had already dispersed at Pearlridge, Pearl City, and the stop across from Waipahu High School. By the time we got to the stop on Fort Weaver Road, fronting Renton, the city bus was a ghost town in a 45-foot container on wheels.

However, sometimes the bus ran late, so by the time it reached my stop, it was standing room only. That’s where the problems began.

Laura Toma got on in Waipahu, just past Leokāne Street. She paid her fare and quickly moved toward the back as no seats were open. The bus lurched forward as Laura got closer to me, and her forehead lurched into my chest. Her face was heavily made up, so some of her foundation got on my dress shirt.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped while brushing her makeup off my chest.

“It’s fine,” I said. “No worries.”

“Oh shit, some of it got on your face!” She reached up to wipe the makeup off my cheek, and it was too late to stop her.

I saw it.

She hates her job, her parents, and her life. She has people she talks to, but they’re not friends. She purposely won’t have romantic attachments because, like her job, her parents, and her life, she doesn’t want to end up hating those people too. I gently grabbed her hand and reassured her that I was fine and that no harm had been done. Laura eventually found a seat in the back once the crowd emptied on Hotel Street. She fell asleep, and the bus driver woke her up at the Ala Moana Shopping Center. Her stop was at Bishop and South King. She ended up being an hour late for work and was fired that same morning.

Rodger Lauente got on at the stop in front of Waipahu High School. His uniform indicated he worked as a mechanic at the Ford dealership just before Pearl Ridge Mall. He, too, moved to the back of the bus, and when a seat opened, he looked around first to see if any senior citizens who were standing needed to sit. When he saw none, he took the seat himself. But instead of just sitting, he swung himself into the seat, and his elbow brushed up against the back of my hand.

I saw it.

He’s from the Visayas in the Philippines. He’s here working three jobs to save up money so he can send for his wife and child. You have to admire a man like this who wants better for his family. Yet, there’s a burning anger inside of him. A couple of local guys at the job pick on him and harass him over the littlest things. It started as fun banter, but now it’s gotten to the point where they physically harass Rodger.

The local mechanics have no clue that Rodger is descended from the Pintados in the Visayas. They were known as the painted ones because of their intricate body tattoos—the ritual headhunters. Tucked into his pant leg was a sharpened machete, which Rodger intended to use on the two men once he got to the dealership.

Quickly, I knelt beside Rodger and whispered, “Mari, and your son, Alon. Think about them, about all the hard work you’re doing to bring them here for a better life.”

His eyes went wide, and Rodger didn’t know what to say. “Hah?”

“Did you know there’s a Ford dealership in Waipahu? You got on by the high school, right? The one in Waipahu is closer. Ask your boss for a transfer. I guarantee he’ll give it to you after you tell him about those two idiots at work who keep making trouble for you. Don’t kill them. You’ll end up in jail, and you’ll never see your wife and son.”

The bus pulled up in front of the Ford dealership, and Rodger got off. I watched him walk toward the open mechanics bay. There were the two idiots inside, oblivious to the fact that their lives were about to end in the most gruesome way possible. As he walked through the knee-high grass on the median, I watched Rodger quickly remove the well-polished machete from inside his pant leg and toss it aside. He passed the mechanics bay and walked straight to the office. I let out a deep sigh of relief.

Thank goodness.

I got a seat after the first stop past Nimitz and Moanalua. A bunch of the older Filipino ladies got off, all wearing their McDonald’s, Taco Bell, Wendy’s, and KFC uniforms. I got a window seat but gave it up to an older Hawaiian man who got on at the Holiday Inn. He was very well dressed from head to toe. He wore a tweed coat over a buttoned-down black shirt. His pants were the same color as the coat, and his shoes were shined to perfection. He had a walking cane and wore a nice fedora slightly tipped to one side. He tipped his hat to me as I stood aside so he could take a seat.

“I’m Kānehailua,” he said, bowing his head this time.

“Malo‘o,” I returned the gesture.

“Not the Malo‘o from ‘Ewa?” He asked.

“The same,” I confirmed. “How did you know?”

“The name used to be Limumalo‘o,” he began. “Everybody knows it means dry limu, but the deeper meaning is the limu that you dry, but when you put it back in the kai, it becomes like regular limu. It’s another name for the limu pahapaha at Polihale on Kaua‘i.”

I was shocked, yet fascinated. My parents never mentioned this. Neither did my grandparents.

“One of your kūpuna thought it only meant dry limu, so he cut the name in half. That’s how come you folks are Malo‘o and not Limumalo‘o.” Kānehailua nodded. “That’s what happened when the missionaries beat us for speaking our own language. We lost the ability to perceive the kaona in our language.”

I was emotionally dumb struck. Without thinking, I meant to put my hand on the old Hawaiian man’s arm to thank him. But he blocked my hand with his walking cane.

“Ua like no a like, kāua,” he cautioned. You and I are just alike.

I pulled back and got a good look at him. “You see it too when people touch you?”

“I can’t drive anymore,” he laughed. “I have to be here, but you do not. If you can still drive, then drive.”

We talked the rest of the way until he got off in Waikiki, in front of the Kaimana Beach Hotel. “Are you staying here?”

“No, no,” he chuckled. “I meet my friends here every other day at the Hau Tree Terrace. We get all gussied up and relive old times because that’s all we have now: our memories.” He paused for a second and looked at me. “Where you going?”

“I intended to go to work, but I happened to meet you, and we had this wonderful talk.”I laughed. “I have to mahalo you for that. Now, I’m going to catch the bus back to the dealership on Nimitz and get a car.”

I got up and let him out of the seat so he could get off the bus and meet his friends.

By the time I got to the Toyota dealership, my guard was down, so I shook hands with the salesman. “Let me talk to the manager, please.”

The salesman insisted he could help me, but I insisted on speaking with the manager. I got a good deal and drove the Toyota off the lot that same day. The salesman wasn’t going to be there long. By the end of the day, the FBI would roll up and take him in for espionage. He was a Russian asset who was also a double agent, hiding out on O‘ahu. I didn’t want that guy selling me a car.

The manager was Ted Loyola, but we didn’t shake hands at all. He was busy, so we brokered the deal for the car I wanted from across his desk. That’s him sitting on one side, and me on the other. When I got the keys and was following Ted to my new vehicle, his wife and kids drove up. They emptied the vehicle and ran over to Ted for hugs and kisses. It was a nice tableau.

“Okay,” Ted finally said. “I have to take this nice man to his car, then we can go to the Pizza restaurant.”

His kids jumped up and down with glee. His wife smiled and hugged her husband. Then, without warning, she walked over and hugged me too.

“I’m Lorna. Sorry for being so forward, but it’s been a long day, and I want to thank you for choosing to buy your car from Ted. He misses being out on the floor because managing is a lot of headaches.”

“I actually asked for the manager to sell me a car, so I guess it worked out!” I laughed too.

I saw it.

There’s a deep sadness and worry there. Lorna knew that Ted was hiding his diabetes. He didn’t want to see the doctor because he didn’t want to know the full truth. He just wanted to live his life because he’d seen too many of his loved ones go to the doctor and never make it home alive. Ted never had to say it to Lorna. She just knew.

I drive to and from wherever I am going now, and I always pay by card so I never have to touch anyone. I know; this is Hawai’i and physical touch is ingrained in our culture. People in Hawai’i practically take it as an affront if you don’t honi, hug, or at the very least, shake hands. It’s the make-or-break deal in how you’re perceived and received. From my standpoint, if I don’t have to touch you, then I don’t have to know. Where I stand, not knowing is half the battle.

Winds came intermittently, but when they did, they were strong enough to bend the creaking bamboo forest to one side. They created a deafening sound that came in succession, like dominoes. My entire being paused on the trail, giving deference to nature while it took its moment to flow and breathe life into the vast greenery.

Just then, the rain came, as it has done for millennia, like an occupant returning to its domicile. I was the guest, and I had no say in how the rain chose to bathe the earth. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The sound brought me back to childhood with what my parents described as “our ancestors in heaven having a bowling match.”

I came at this hour because I knew no person in their right mind would venture out here. Whether I was of sound mind or not, I felt I needed to be here, on this path, leading to its eventual end.

The deep brooding sound came from above, from the place where I’d intended to sit and think until the sun came up from the east. The sound did not break the rhythm of nature; rather, it was a companion to it. Filling its darkened halls and embracing its vast columns, the sound moved of its own free will and accord, greeting all that flew, crawled, and ran when the sun was the king of daytime.

The lilt of each note was like a tide from the ocean, ebbing and flowing. So too did the wind and rain ebb and flow until both became one singular motion. The rain fell increasingly heavier, as the wind pushed harder.

From near and from within the canopy they came, the seen and unseen who live in the vast forest. The ‘e‘epa, the kupu‘eu, the myriads of akua big and small who we sometimes see in broad daylight, ever so plainly that even our mind’s eye misses the obvious.

Rather than view me as an anomaly, the 4, the 14, the 40, the 400, and more of akua great and small went about their business as if I were one of them. As I breathed, so did they. As I coughed slightly, so too did they. Not mocking me or aping my presence, but to truly show me that they and I were one.

I looked back at the trail I had ventured along, the one that led to where I sat. They were making their ascent, the small group of 12 or more. They proceeded with a mournful posture, carrying flowers, lei, and ho‘okupu. A single person chanted the kanikau, the dirge, as the group made its way closer, finally making their way to the place where I was now sitting. All flowers, lei, and ho‘okupu were set at my feet.

The woman untied the ho‘okupu, revealing a small wooden box. She opened the lid and threw its contents in the air. At the same moment, a wind swept in and carried the grey, powdered dust in a swirl that descended, covering everyone in the group. Of course, it was the cremated ashes of a loved one who had passed. Another person came forward, holding a framed portrait. He placed it atop all the flowers and lei. Everyone stepped back, looking at the portrait and crying mournfully.

If one were to spend the afterlife in a locale that brought them peace and solace, it would be this place in the depths of the Nu‘uanu forest. It is where I came to sit and be one with all that dwells within the forest floor and its canopy. It’s where my ohana laid my portrait, hoping that if ancestral spirits were lilting about, they would recognize me and guide me to the next journey. However, it starts here at my own Ho‘olewa.