Breathe me Home | NaNoWriMo 2016

Chapter 6

It turns out that George is on top of things. After lunch, he told me to meet him after school and we'd walk over to his uncle's surf shop. His uncle is a native Hawaiian and would be glad to help us out.
After calling Mom from the office to let her know that I'd be home late, I meet with George in front of the school. "Close enough to walk?" I say.
"Oh yeahh. It's an island. Everything is close enough to walk."
A bit of an exaggeration, but he's right. We set off on foot along with some of the other locals and head into the shopping district. It's not as big and flashy as the shopping district in Honolulu, but more authentic, in my opinion.
"I called ahead and told Uncle we were coming," George says as we walk. "Sometimes he slips away from the shop to catch a few waves. Wanted to make sure we didn't miss him."
"Good thinking." And surprising. George couldn't even remember his locker combination most days. Suddenly he's super organized.
"This is it." George stops in front of a shop with a sign that says Pearl City Surf.
"Wow." I take in the faded sign and dusty yellow surfboard in the window.
"He's not much for cleaning. But he knows surfing." George walks into the propped open front door. Propped open with a box of old magazines, I can't help but notice.
The inside isn't much better than the exterior. A dozen or so surfboards line one wall. None look like they've been touched in several decades. The floor is dirty and the center shelves are nearly empty. Just some wrist band rope things and one wetsuit that looks like a deflated seal. How does this guy stay in business?
"Hmm." George looks around the shop. "Must be out back. I'll go get him. Wait here."
George slips through a short back hallway and out a door. I meander in the shop, though there's not much to look at. I run my hands along some of the boards. I'd never tried to surf, but I could see the attraction. Riding the top of a wave while it tried to pulverize you into the sand would be quite a thrill.
The glass counter and case, like the shelves, is mostly empty. Above it and on a back wall, though, are framed photos of men and women holding their boards, along with their trophies. I know that there are surfing competitions in Hawaii. It's like a religion here. But had never seen one.
Then it hits me—was our traditional custom going to be surfing? Terror rips through me. No way could I learn to surf in four weeks. Certainly not the two days I was hoping for. And how would I demonstrate surfing in a classroom? George may not be as brilliant as I was giving him credit for. And that wasn't much to begin with.
I realized that I'd been waiting for a while. Much longer than it takes for George to retrieve his uncle out back. I clear my throat. "Hello?"
No answer. I try again, louder. "Helloooo!"
The ceiling over my head creaks. A thump. A cough. A lot of coughs. It sounds as if someone is horking up his shoes and socks. More boards creaking. I follow the sound toward the back of the shop, where George disappeared. Then someone thumping down a set of stairs. Another door in the short hall, one I hadn't noticed before, swings open.
An old man peers around the door. He blinks. Then glares at me. "Yeah?"
For a moment, I'm frozen. I feel my mouth open but nothing comes out.
He takes a step out into the hall. His once white shirt hangs unbuttoned, revealing a round belly and sagging chest. In horror I realize that he's not wearing any pants, only dirty old boxer shorts. He coughs again, flem spraying from his mouth.
I gag.
"Well what do you want?" He wipes a hand across his lips.
"Um...I." I clear my throat again. "I'm with George, your nephew. About the class project?" My body leans back, already aiming toward the door.
"I don't know about any class project." He takes a step forward. "And I don't know any George. Now get out and leave me alone to die in peace." He wavered, his eyes glassy.
Drunk. You've got to be kidding me. "Oh...I'm sorry. It's just that we're supposed to interview a native Hawaiian and George thought—"
"I told you I don't know any George!" He staggers toward me. "And what do you know about native Hawaiians? You stole our islands! There you go. Interview over. Now get out!"
I obeyed my body this time and bolted out the front door. As I hurtled past the alley next to the shop, the sound of boys exploding in laughter reached my ears.
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I raced toward home. I was right the first time. I'm always better off alone.