Keo bobbed gently in the cove, sprawled atop one of the colorful tubes as the small waves from the skiff lulled him like a carefree spirit. I watched as Dad pulled up near the shoreline, his figure falling into focus as he then steered the skiff back toward the modest boat landing.
With a playful roll, I slipped off the tube and dove into the inviting water, kicking my way towards the cove's deeper end. “Come on out!” I called over the splashing waves, hoping to coax my friend into joining me.
He regarded me with an expression like a deflated balloon, arms dangling at his sides, as if they were old ropes frayed from too many adventures.
“Chicken!” I taunted, playfully flapping my arms and mimicking a clucking hen. “Buk-buk-buk-bu-gock!”
As the water crept up his legs, rising to his knees, waist, and chest, Keo progressed in slow motion, inching his way through the waves. When it reached his chin, he finally took the plunge, splashing wildly as he swam, kicking and thrashing like a young sea creature finding its way. There was a flicker of determination in his eyes as he turned his chin skyward, fighting through the water toward me. He passed by, circled around, and then made a beeline back towards the beach. From my floating spot, I could see Dad watching us from the pier, a calm presence amid our audible splashing.
I cut through the water effortlessly, gliding with ease and creating hardly a ripple. “Let’s dive to the bottom!” I suggested, the excitement bubbling in my voice like a fierce spring.
He didn’t respond, still focused on his trek back to shore.
Eventually, Dad joined me on the warm sand. I lounged at the water's edge, still draped over my tube like a lazy sea creature soaking in the sun.
“You did fantastic out there today, Sonny,” Dad said, nodding toward the harbor with a proud gesture of his chin. After a beat, he added, “I’m really proud of you.”
I caught a glimpse of him rising to his feet and walking toward the Jeep while I paddled ashore, the black tube slipping over my shoulder, trailing droplets like tiny jewels.
As Dad drove up the rocky driveway to our home, dust billowed behind the Jeep, settling on the parched ground and settling into the gnarled trees. Aunty Pearl appeared on the porch, her dark hair twisted into a tight bun. She waved at us as we rolled into the yard, her small hand barely discernible against her sturdy arm. She reminded me of the old photographs of Hawaiian queens—tall and regal, wrapped in vibrant muumuus, with strong, unyielding feet that could carry her through anything. If orchids were a vision of beauty, then Aunty Pearl was a thousand of them, all wrapped into one magnificent presence.