Saturday Short #6
Whoa. I have no idea what happened here. I wanted to tell a story about menehune. Next time, maybe.
Invisible
“You’re never going to experience life from reading books and watching TV, Ikaikalani,” my mother says. She’s looming in my doorway. All five feet of her.
I put my finger along the sentence I’m reading, look at her, and grunt in response. The book is getting really good. I’m at the point where Herman discovers he’s the long-lost king of Southark. All this time I knew he was destined from something big, but I always thought it would be because he’d killed the king in chapter one. The king that turns out to be his father in chapter fifteen. I need to get back to the story and see if he can convince his new family of his innocence and win the hand of the Lady Maude.
“Lani,” her tone changes to something that sounds too much like placating, “you’ve gotten so big. Like all your cousins. Like your father before he left us.”
The familiar stab of pain every time she mentions my dad follows her words. He didn’t leave us, exactly. He died a couple months back from a heart-attack. The family blamed it on his ‘American’ diet instead of the fact that he weighed upwards of 500 pounds. He was a good-sized Hawaiian man. We loved every pound of him. Now he lies six feet under being devoured by worms. I can’t think about this right now. Too many tears have been shed for something I can’t fix. The past is irrevocably broken. Today I only want to focus on Herman’s strife.
“Ma,” I say, holding up the paper book, “I’m almost done with this book. Can we talk about this later?”
She sighs heavily. “It’s always ‘later’ with you. Good thing your friend Paulie is here.”
Ugh, not him.
Wait, that sounds bad. I like Paulie. He’s been my friend since we were still eating glue at the community center. I stood by his side while his parents’ got a divorce. He’s been standing by my side since my dad passed away. It’s just that Paulie always wants to do one of two things: go down to Ala Moana and walk around looking at girls or go to North Shore to surf while trying to pick up girls. Not that there’s much going on up North, it’s summer and the waves are non-existent. He’d be more likely to be attacked by a tiger shark than catch a nice ride.
Anyway. Either option means I have to go out in public and be ridiculed for my weight. Ever since a certain reality television show started airing people have become oddly health-conscious around here. I guess the possibility of being caught with your belly hanging over your trunks doesn’t help matters.
Oh, did I mention that Paulie’s Japanese? Which means he’s slim and fit and has girls following him around most of the time. Usually they’re giggling freshman, but Paulie’s pulled some serious older hotties too. Once he was talking to a freshman in college. She gave him her number, flicked her long hair over her shoulder, and disappeared into the Gap store. Paulie never called her, but I did -- pretending to be him.
For almost a month, Ahia and I talked for hours every night. We shared our dreams and passions. She told me she really wanted to go to the mainland for law school. There were many times I almost slipped and told her who I really was because I figured if we’d clicked like this over the phone, then she’d have to like me as a person off the phone.
She finally forced me into making a date to meet her again. When I told Paulie about it, he was furious. That is, until he remembered what Ahia looked like and then he was all high-fives and smiles. It was a stupid move, but I went with him to the pizza place on Waimea Drive. Can’t tell you what I was thinking, either.
The night ended in disaster. Ahia’s face streaked with tears as she shouted, “I never want to see or hear from either of you ever again. Assholes!”
As you can see, now I tend to keep a really low profile when hanging out with Paulie. It makes me so dull. Duller than normal even. I let him do all the talking. Rewind conversations in my head later and make them flow perfectly. Imagine myself in Paulie’s skin, talking to these girls and making them laugh. Maybe even making them fall in love with me so I can finally put a first kiss behind me.
Paulie’s in the kitchen, drinking a Big Gulp and not gaining an ounce. He’s brought over a couple of hotdogs smothered in mustard, exactly the way I like them. He pushes them towards me.
“I didn’t know if you’d had lunch or not.” I can see a bit of ketchup at the corner of his mouth.
I stuff half the first one in my mouth, nodding in thanks. Paulie wipes the back of his hand across his mouth -- the ketchup remains. My mother walks in, sees the meal and tuts.
Still chewing, I mutter, “I’m hungry. All you’ve been feeding me is soup. Tasteless soup with no substance.”
“It’s good for you, Lani. You’re too fat.” Paulie’s said what my mother tries to be so delicate about. “But we’re going to the mall today” -- groans from me -- “so you can walk it off.” If only it were that easy.
Somehow this appeases my mother. She digs through her purse and manages to find a few crumpled bills. One of them turns out to be a twenty. “Here,” she says, handing the wad that resembles a dirty receipt to me, “don’t spend it on food.”
The rest of the hotdog gets shoved into my mouth. I take the bills with my mustard stained fingers. Before I leave for my room, I pick up the remaining hotdog and eat it. The mustard is tangy enough to cover up the fact that the hotdog’s probably been sitting out on a heater all day. Maybe even a leftover from the night before.
I get up to go to my room, Paulie at my heels. “Change your shirt. It’s stained down the front. Put on something with a label. Wear your good shoes.”
You’d think he was my mother, right? The fact of the matter is that Paulie’s friendship comes at a price. I am somehow a reflection of him. Even though he feeds me better than my mother (in terms of greasy, fried, good-tasting food), he also believes that wearing brand name shirts will somehow hide the fact that my stomach hangs over my belt.
Maybe to spite him, I pick out the most outrageous green colored tee-shirt. It has a logo for Mountain Dew on the front. It says “Dew Me” on the back. Paulie rolls his eyes. I slip on my flip-flops and reach for my wallet and keys.
We leave the house, Paulie in the lead. He’s still not happy about my clothing choices. I’m sure he’s hatching a plan on how to spend the money my mother’s given me. Whatever. It’s not like I’ll fit into any of the clothes they have at the mall stores anyway.
Before we get to his car, a sleek little Audi Quattro convertible, I realize that the puka shell necklace I’m wearing has broken. The tinkle of shells hitting the sidewalk stops us both in our tracks.
“Bad sign, bro,” Paulie says. He crouches down to start picking up the pieces. I reach up to my neck and try to find the snapped thread of fish line before all the shells have fallen off. Holding what remains of my necklace in one hand, I bend down to pick up the shells as well. Some are under his car. Some are in the front lawn. Some have tumbled past the sidewalk cracks and lay in the dirty curb.
It takes us nearly twenty minutes to pick them all up and make sure none of them have fallen under his car’s wheels. It would be really bad luck to smash one of the shells in a careless attempt to get to the mall quicker. We both know the superstition.
Paulie’s otherwise pristine white-collared shirt has smudges of dirt along his shoulder blades where he’s rolled under the car. My big hand slaps his back, not making much of a difference to the ground in dirt.
“Guess I’ll have to buy a shirt too.”
“Yes, because we both know how much you abhor shopping for new clothes.” I roll my eyes for dramatic effect.
“Shut up, fat boy.”
“Skinny bitch.”
We both laugh. He dumps the remainder of the shells into my hand. I hurry back to put them in an Altoids tin on my dresser. I head back out, my mother calls out her list of warnings, “Be home before it gets dark! Don’t let Paulie drive too fast! Don’t get anyone pregnant!”
The first two are out of my control. The second would only happen in my dreams. I’d have to get close enough to a girl to get her pregnant. I mean, like, really really close. She’d have to actually want me that close. None of the girls I’ve hung out with ever want to go farther than talking.
“Yeah, ma,” I shout, and let the screen slam behind me.
The drive to Ala Moana takes less time than it took to find all my shells. That’s the price of living an island life, our proximity to everything. There are bits of culture all over the island, but we’re all far enough and close enough that it seems to work. Paulie’s wearing his Oakleys. The top’s down. The breeze whips through my buzzed hair. I feel like a movie star. When we drive down the boulevard, people are already noticing us. It’s the car, of course. Paulie got it as some sort of consolation prize when his parents told them they loved him very much, but couldn’t stand to be in the same room with each other.
Okay, it could be a combination of the car and Paulie. They’re both pretty damn hot. I’m the only thing that doesn’t belong. The hotdogs I ate almost an hour ago threaten to reappear all over his leather seats. I need a cheese pretzel and a large coke.
We pull up to the shopping center. Paulie leaves the top down when we park. He hops out instead of using the door. It looks way cool. I don’t even attempt to copy him. My ass is not going to sail over the seat. I open the door and struggle to my feet and hope no one’s watching.
We shop. Mostly this involves Paulie trying on eighty-five different shirts and ninety-five different shorts. I try on nothing. None of the store workers ever ask me if they can help either. They’re too busy running back and forth between Paulie’s changing room and the store floor.
My eye is caught by the glass jewelry case at one of the stores. On top is a wicker basket full of puka shell necklaces. One of them is dyed in reds and blues. It reminds me of my dad for some reason. I don’t know why. It’s a crazy idea: shells resembling people. Yeah, I think it’s time to put the proverbial crack pipe down too. If crack pipes were proverbs, and I’d ever done anything like that in my life, the last sentence would be true.
The lady behind the counter steps towards me. “Can I help you?”
“Um, can I look at that watch,” I say, pointing to the fancy timepiece in the case. The woman leans down, unlocks the case, slides the door, and removes the watch. While she’s doing that, my heart’s racing. It’s racing because I’m picking up the necklace and slipping it into my pocket.
“This one?” she asks, holding out a silver wristband. The price tag twists my way and reads $980. Yikes.
I shake my head. “The one next to it, please.”
She leans down again and I fumble another necklace into my pocket. My palms are starting to sweat. It’s probably a good idea to start leaving this store. Glancing around, I don’t see Paulie anywhere. In my head I’m imagining how they’re going to catch me. It’ll be on the evening news. “Kid robs store, taken down by mall security.” There’s a slow motion re-enactment. Only they’ve cast the guy that plays Hurley on LOST as me.
The sales woman gets back up with another watch. This one has an even higher price tag. Feeling too bold, I stick out my arm and she clasps it around my wrist. I turn my arm this way and that, admiring the way it sparkles in the florescent lighting.
“No way, bro. That’s more than your life is worth.” Out of nowhere Paulie appears with an armload of clothes. He’s right, but I didn’t want her to know that. She was treating me like any other client. Probably because she works on commissions, but I don’t care.
I look at the woman. “Sorry if I wasted your time. They're really nice watches.”
She smiles, making me feel instantly guilty about the weight of necklaces in my pocket. “There’s no harm in looking.” She’s beautiful. I want to ask her to marry me right there and then.
Good thing Paulie’s there to stop me. “I, on the other hand, have looked and now want to buy all of it.”
The lady turns from me and starts ringing Paulie up. The total comes close to one of the watches I had been looking at. I take one of the six bags, not to be polite. It’s just easier to walk around the stores when you have a bag in your hand. They treat you nicer thinking they might score a sale from you too.
As we walk out of the store, the alarm goes off. My legs are anticipating all the running I’m about to do. We both look back. I obviously have a guilty sign all over my face. The woman smiles at us. “I probably forgot a tag,” she says. “Have a nice evening, boys.”
Paulie waggles his eyebrows at her. His hands are tied up with heavy bags. His sunglasses slip from his forehead down on his nose. He looks uber cool. Especially as the sun’s setting and there’s really no need for sunglasses at all.
We stroll towards the car. Imagining scenarios in my head, I still want to run at every corner. We make it. No one bothers us as we put the bags in the trunk and get into the car.
I’ve made it. I’m alive. I’m not in jail. Suddenly a whole new world I didn’t even realize existed opens up for me. I sit down in the passenger side and rub my hand against the outside of my leg. I can feel the smooth shells under my fingertips. My father may have left me, but I would never want anything again. Everything I needed could be slipped into my pocket under the unassuming eyes of pretty girls who didn’t see me at all because, even at my size, I've become truly invisible.
Invisible
“You’re never going to experience life from reading books and watching TV, Ikaikalani,” my mother says. She’s looming in my doorway. All five feet of her.
I put my finger along the sentence I’m reading, look at her, and grunt in response. The book is getting really good. I’m at the point where Herman discovers he’s the long-lost king of Southark. All this time I knew he was destined from something big, but I always thought it would be because he’d killed the king in chapter one. The king that turns out to be his father in chapter fifteen. I need to get back to the story and see if he can convince his new family of his innocence and win the hand of the Lady Maude.
“Lani,” her tone changes to something that sounds too much like placating, “you’ve gotten so big. Like all your cousins. Like your father before he left us.”
The familiar stab of pain every time she mentions my dad follows her words. He didn’t leave us, exactly. He died a couple months back from a heart-attack. The family blamed it on his ‘American’ diet instead of the fact that he weighed upwards of 500 pounds. He was a good-sized Hawaiian man. We loved every pound of him. Now he lies six feet under being devoured by worms. I can’t think about this right now. Too many tears have been shed for something I can’t fix. The past is irrevocably broken. Today I only want to focus on Herman’s strife.
“Ma,” I say, holding up the paper book, “I’m almost done with this book. Can we talk about this later?”
She sighs heavily. “It’s always ‘later’ with you. Good thing your friend Paulie is here.”
Ugh, not him.
Wait, that sounds bad. I like Paulie. He’s been my friend since we were still eating glue at the community center. I stood by his side while his parents’ got a divorce. He’s been standing by my side since my dad passed away. It’s just that Paulie always wants to do one of two things: go down to Ala Moana and walk around looking at girls or go to North Shore to surf while trying to pick up girls. Not that there’s much going on up North, it’s summer and the waves are non-existent. He’d be more likely to be attacked by a tiger shark than catch a nice ride.
Anyway. Either option means I have to go out in public and be ridiculed for my weight. Ever since a certain reality television show started airing people have become oddly health-conscious around here. I guess the possibility of being caught with your belly hanging over your trunks doesn’t help matters.
Oh, did I mention that Paulie’s Japanese? Which means he’s slim and fit and has girls following him around most of the time. Usually they’re giggling freshman, but Paulie’s pulled some serious older hotties too. Once he was talking to a freshman in college. She gave him her number, flicked her long hair over her shoulder, and disappeared into the Gap store. Paulie never called her, but I did -- pretending to be him.
For almost a month, Ahia and I talked for hours every night. We shared our dreams and passions. She told me she really wanted to go to the mainland for law school. There were many times I almost slipped and told her who I really was because I figured if we’d clicked like this over the phone, then she’d have to like me as a person off the phone.
She finally forced me into making a date to meet her again. When I told Paulie about it, he was furious. That is, until he remembered what Ahia looked like and then he was all high-fives and smiles. It was a stupid move, but I went with him to the pizza place on Waimea Drive. Can’t tell you what I was thinking, either.
The night ended in disaster. Ahia’s face streaked with tears as she shouted, “I never want to see or hear from either of you ever again. Assholes!”
As you can see, now I tend to keep a really low profile when hanging out with Paulie. It makes me so dull. Duller than normal even. I let him do all the talking. Rewind conversations in my head later and make them flow perfectly. Imagine myself in Paulie’s skin, talking to these girls and making them laugh. Maybe even making them fall in love with me so I can finally put a first kiss behind me.
Paulie’s in the kitchen, drinking a Big Gulp and not gaining an ounce. He’s brought over a couple of hotdogs smothered in mustard, exactly the way I like them. He pushes them towards me.
“I didn’t know if you’d had lunch or not.” I can see a bit of ketchup at the corner of his mouth.
I stuff half the first one in my mouth, nodding in thanks. Paulie wipes the back of his hand across his mouth -- the ketchup remains. My mother walks in, sees the meal and tuts.
Still chewing, I mutter, “I’m hungry. All you’ve been feeding me is soup. Tasteless soup with no substance.”
“It’s good for you, Lani. You’re too fat.” Paulie’s said what my mother tries to be so delicate about. “But we’re going to the mall today” -- groans from me -- “so you can walk it off.” If only it were that easy.
Somehow this appeases my mother. She digs through her purse and manages to find a few crumpled bills. One of them turns out to be a twenty. “Here,” she says, handing the wad that resembles a dirty receipt to me, “don’t spend it on food.”
The rest of the hotdog gets shoved into my mouth. I take the bills with my mustard stained fingers. Before I leave for my room, I pick up the remaining hotdog and eat it. The mustard is tangy enough to cover up the fact that the hotdog’s probably been sitting out on a heater all day. Maybe even a leftover from the night before.
I get up to go to my room, Paulie at my heels. “Change your shirt. It’s stained down the front. Put on something with a label. Wear your good shoes.”
You’d think he was my mother, right? The fact of the matter is that Paulie’s friendship comes at a price. I am somehow a reflection of him. Even though he feeds me better than my mother (in terms of greasy, fried, good-tasting food), he also believes that wearing brand name shirts will somehow hide the fact that my stomach hangs over my belt.
Maybe to spite him, I pick out the most outrageous green colored tee-shirt. It has a logo for Mountain Dew on the front. It says “Dew Me” on the back. Paulie rolls his eyes. I slip on my flip-flops and reach for my wallet and keys.
We leave the house, Paulie in the lead. He’s still not happy about my clothing choices. I’m sure he’s hatching a plan on how to spend the money my mother’s given me. Whatever. It’s not like I’ll fit into any of the clothes they have at the mall stores anyway.
Before we get to his car, a sleek little Audi Quattro convertible, I realize that the puka shell necklace I’m wearing has broken. The tinkle of shells hitting the sidewalk stops us both in our tracks.
“Bad sign, bro,” Paulie says. He crouches down to start picking up the pieces. I reach up to my neck and try to find the snapped thread of fish line before all the shells have fallen off. Holding what remains of my necklace in one hand, I bend down to pick up the shells as well. Some are under his car. Some are in the front lawn. Some have tumbled past the sidewalk cracks and lay in the dirty curb.
It takes us nearly twenty minutes to pick them all up and make sure none of them have fallen under his car’s wheels. It would be really bad luck to smash one of the shells in a careless attempt to get to the mall quicker. We both know the superstition.
Paulie’s otherwise pristine white-collared shirt has smudges of dirt along his shoulder blades where he’s rolled under the car. My big hand slaps his back, not making much of a difference to the ground in dirt.
“Guess I’ll have to buy a shirt too.”
“Yes, because we both know how much you abhor shopping for new clothes.” I roll my eyes for dramatic effect.
“Shut up, fat boy.”
“Skinny bitch.”
We both laugh. He dumps the remainder of the shells into my hand. I hurry back to put them in an Altoids tin on my dresser. I head back out, my mother calls out her list of warnings, “Be home before it gets dark! Don’t let Paulie drive too fast! Don’t get anyone pregnant!”
The first two are out of my control. The second would only happen in my dreams. I’d have to get close enough to a girl to get her pregnant. I mean, like, really really close. She’d have to actually want me that close. None of the girls I’ve hung out with ever want to go farther than talking.
“Yeah, ma,” I shout, and let the screen slam behind me.
The drive to Ala Moana takes less time than it took to find all my shells. That’s the price of living an island life, our proximity to everything. There are bits of culture all over the island, but we’re all far enough and close enough that it seems to work. Paulie’s wearing his Oakleys. The top’s down. The breeze whips through my buzzed hair. I feel like a movie star. When we drive down the boulevard, people are already noticing us. It’s the car, of course. Paulie got it as some sort of consolation prize when his parents told them they loved him very much, but couldn’t stand to be in the same room with each other.
Okay, it could be a combination of the car and Paulie. They’re both pretty damn hot. I’m the only thing that doesn’t belong. The hotdogs I ate almost an hour ago threaten to reappear all over his leather seats. I need a cheese pretzel and a large coke.
We pull up to the shopping center. Paulie leaves the top down when we park. He hops out instead of using the door. It looks way cool. I don’t even attempt to copy him. My ass is not going to sail over the seat. I open the door and struggle to my feet and hope no one’s watching.
We shop. Mostly this involves Paulie trying on eighty-five different shirts and ninety-five different shorts. I try on nothing. None of the store workers ever ask me if they can help either. They’re too busy running back and forth between Paulie’s changing room and the store floor.
My eye is caught by the glass jewelry case at one of the stores. On top is a wicker basket full of puka shell necklaces. One of them is dyed in reds and blues. It reminds me of my dad for some reason. I don’t know why. It’s a crazy idea: shells resembling people. Yeah, I think it’s time to put the proverbial crack pipe down too. If crack pipes were proverbs, and I’d ever done anything like that in my life, the last sentence would be true.
The lady behind the counter steps towards me. “Can I help you?”
“Um, can I look at that watch,” I say, pointing to the fancy timepiece in the case. The woman leans down, unlocks the case, slides the door, and removes the watch. While she’s doing that, my heart’s racing. It’s racing because I’m picking up the necklace and slipping it into my pocket.
“This one?” she asks, holding out a silver wristband. The price tag twists my way and reads $980. Yikes.
I shake my head. “The one next to it, please.”
She leans down again and I fumble another necklace into my pocket. My palms are starting to sweat. It’s probably a good idea to start leaving this store. Glancing around, I don’t see Paulie anywhere. In my head I’m imagining how they’re going to catch me. It’ll be on the evening news. “Kid robs store, taken down by mall security.” There’s a slow motion re-enactment. Only they’ve cast the guy that plays Hurley on LOST as me.
The sales woman gets back up with another watch. This one has an even higher price tag. Feeling too bold, I stick out my arm and she clasps it around my wrist. I turn my arm this way and that, admiring the way it sparkles in the florescent lighting.
“No way, bro. That’s more than your life is worth.” Out of nowhere Paulie appears with an armload of clothes. He’s right, but I didn’t want her to know that. She was treating me like any other client. Probably because she works on commissions, but I don’t care.
I look at the woman. “Sorry if I wasted your time. They're really nice watches.”
She smiles, making me feel instantly guilty about the weight of necklaces in my pocket. “There’s no harm in looking.” She’s beautiful. I want to ask her to marry me right there and then.
Good thing Paulie’s there to stop me. “I, on the other hand, have looked and now want to buy all of it.”
The lady turns from me and starts ringing Paulie up. The total comes close to one of the watches I had been looking at. I take one of the six bags, not to be polite. It’s just easier to walk around the stores when you have a bag in your hand. They treat you nicer thinking they might score a sale from you too.
As we walk out of the store, the alarm goes off. My legs are anticipating all the running I’m about to do. We both look back. I obviously have a guilty sign all over my face. The woman smiles at us. “I probably forgot a tag,” she says. “Have a nice evening, boys.”
Paulie waggles his eyebrows at her. His hands are tied up with heavy bags. His sunglasses slip from his forehead down on his nose. He looks uber cool. Especially as the sun’s setting and there’s really no need for sunglasses at all.
We stroll towards the car. Imagining scenarios in my head, I still want to run at every corner. We make it. No one bothers us as we put the bags in the trunk and get into the car.
I’ve made it. I’m alive. I’m not in jail. Suddenly a whole new world I didn’t even realize existed opens up for me. I sit down in the passenger side and rub my hand against the outside of my leg. I can feel the smooth shells under my fingertips. My father may have left me, but I would never want anything again. Everything I needed could be slipped into my pocket under the unassuming eyes of pretty girls who didn’t see me at all because, even at my size, I've become truly invisible.