The Last Hula

Chapter 3: Memories

Fire red, like the lava beneath my feet. Lava tubes are the veins of the islands. Lava reminds us that we are alive. That the islands are awake and thriving beneath the ocean. My emotions are linked with my island; when she thrives, I thrive. When she spews out her lava, I do as well with my words.

My volcano is dormant. When my tutu dies, it will either explode and ignite or become extinct forever. Being extinct sounds terrifying; I hope to leave that fate to the dinosaurs.

The coqui frogs chirp through the night. The breeze from the screen door makes my goosebumps rise to the surface of my pores. The wind is mother nature's erosion, chipping away at my island. When the island is eroded, I lose a little of myself with it. What will I lose this time? My tutu.

My tutu is young in her years. For a grandma, she is a young woman aging in her early seventies. But her body has a different plan in mind. Cancer was never one for the history books, no one in my family suffered from it. My tutu never smoked a day in her life, and yet somehow, she managed to get cancer in her lungs, and her heart is following after.

It's three in the morning. The witching hour is upon us. The ghosts of my ancestors haunt me. My dad is my strong twinkling brightness shining against the black void. The rest of my ancestors are villainous blackholes who have collapsed on themselves. If I shine bright in life, I am sure to see my father once more in death.

The witching hour is when my thoughts sneak into my brain. They break my windows with their poison and scare me in their wake. The scrapbook under my bed calls my name, "Leahi, take a look."

The pages are filled with hula recitals and Luau magic. Luaus are a piece of heaven, brought down to us by the brilliance of the celestial beings. My eyes are dry and crack from the tears I am holding back.

Islands have rainforests. Rainforests shed their tears to the earth beneath their trees. My teardrops fall from my eyes and fall past my inner branches. A hula dancer's arms are like palm branches waving in the breeze to tell their story. Beneath my eyes are my memories in photos and stories. I want to remember the hula and the chants of tradition.

Traditions are carried on from generation to generation. My tutu will die, but I will dance her traditions with my grandkids. I will feel the rhythm of my ancestors dancing from within me as I perform at the Merrie Monarch Festival. Life is a beautiful cycle that takes us far away from shore.

Crying is medicine for the soul. It heals an aching heart and prepares it for what lies ahead. I turn the pages of the scrapbook slowly. My life is within these pages, summarized by these moments. I find my tutu hugging me at my Kindergarten graduation. The picture is ripped on the edges and crinkled with love.

Every other page has a photo of my dad. He was a brilliant man, and my tutu loved him well. There's only one photo of mom. I turn it over like a child being put in time out. I want nothing to do with her in life or death. My mother's sister, Auntie Liliana, contacts me often. Connecting with her brings back my mother's bad memories, the bad memories this scrapbook will never see.

There were never cameras around to capture the true moments. These are only photos of a happy and thriving time. But between the lines, a different story would emerge. One of swearing, hitting, blacking out, and locking me in my room like a caged dog. I was called a 'bitch' from my earliest days. That's the story of a mom going off the rails because dad died.

I toss the scrapbook aside. I have my tutu for a few more precious moments. One day she will be nothing but thoughts and photos. Miss Makana is kind to give me a week to think about stepping down as a lead dancer. Inside, I know I've made my decision. If I am the lead, we will fail at the Merrie Monarch Festival. I can't have them fail because of my personal life. I'll still give myself time to think it over, which seems pointless since I'm quitting hula altogether.

I love to dance, but I love tutu more. I love her enough to skip college and work. I love her enough to put hula aside forever. I close my eyes and let the black void welcome me to dreamland.

The dawn comes with the sounds of mourning doves and turkeys bellowing across the slope. The turkeys travel from neighborhood to neighborhood, searching for a purpose. They are the mascot of our neighborhood, and we dare not eat them.

The kitchen faucet jets out a stream of cold water on my hands. Tutu hands me fruit to wash. Every morning, tutu eats eggs and star fruit. I fry up four eggs and dish them out onto two plates. The sunrise is filled with red, orange, and purple hues-a symphony of color.

"Good morning, Leahi. How was hula practice last night? You didn't say much when you came home."

"I skipped it. I told Miss Makana about your health, and she is giving me a week to decide if I want to step down as lead hula dancer."

Tutu cuts the star fruit in half and hands the rest to me. I take a bite, and the sweetness drips all over my face.

"Why would you do that? You worked so hard to become the lead."

"Well, you need help. I'm thinking of dropping out altogether."

Tutu's eyebrows raise in her obvious disapproval. I can't say I'm surprised by her reaction. The Merrie Monarch Festival isn't something one gives up easily.

"You can't drop out of it. You earned your place. I want you to perform. Dropping out is simply out of the question. As for being the lead, do you want to give that up?"

"How can I be the lead? It means more rehearsing and less time spent with you. I won't drop out of the festival, but the lead position is a big role. I don't know if I can handle both. I am thinking about it."

"Well, don't decide today. Think about the honor you would be giving up. It's your decision in the end, and I will support you either way. Now, if you'd excuse me, my friend Martha is picking me up to take me to the doctor. I'm getting a check-up this morning to see how the rest of me is doing."

"Bye, tutu. I love you." I hug tutu's small frame wondering if this hug is one of the last I will ever receive from her.

"Don't be sad, Leahi. It will all work out in the end. See you this evening."

The doorbell rings. Martha and tutu leave in a flash. Silence fills the house in ways I'm uncomfortable with. Silence is the friend I will have when tutu leaves this world. I fear him more than anyone.

A gentle knock is heard from the door. I'm not sure who would come to visit me in the middle of the day. Everyone I know is at work or having fun on a beautiful spring's day.

"Kai, what are you doing here?"

His brown eyes meet mine, and I now see how handsome he is.

"Sorry to bother you. Listen, I overheard your conversation with Miss Makana last night, and I want to help. I know I'm the weird new guy, but I mean well. Can I come in?"

"Oh, you heard our conversation, did you? What do you think I should do?"

It's not like me to ask a stranger for advice. But I'm desperate for someone else to tell me what to do.

"I think you should be the lead. Make your grandma proud. And I'm sorry about her health. Why don't you and I go somewhere to get your mind off of it."

Does Kai want to go somewhere with me? I'm the least interesting person to be with right now. I'm too focused on perfection and spending time with my tutu.

"Are you asking me out?" I ask for clarification.

"No, unless you want me to."

Kai has one dimple that appears on his left cheek. It's cute, I'll admit. But I don't have time for dating or boys.

"I can't date. I don't have time. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression."

"It doesn't have to be a date. It can be two new friends hanging out at the beach. What do you say?"

I feel my eyes roll into my skull. Kai notices but keeps on begging.

"Fine, we can go as friends to the beach. Let me get ready. I can pack a picnic for us."

As I get ready, I see the scrapbook on the floor. I open it one more time. The pages take me to a photo of dad having fun on the beach.

"Okay, dad, I'll go have fun for you. But remember, this was your brilliant idea."