I floated alone in the cove, lounging on one of the tubes as the gentle waves from the skiff rocked me back and forth. I watched as Dad let my friend out near the shore, then turned back toward the small boat landing.
Rolling off my tube, I dove into the water and swam toward the deepest part of the cove. “Come on out!” I called, urging him to join me, my voice echoing over the water.
He stared back, his arms hanging limply at his sides like old ropes worn thin after years of use.
“Chicken!” I taunted, letting my playful side shine as I mimicked a clucking chicken. “Buk-buk-buk-bu-gock!”
As the ocean water crept up his legs, past his waist and then to his chest, he waded in slowly. When it reached his chin, he finally began to swim, kicking and clawing at the water in a frenzy. I could see the determination on his face as he aimed his chin skyward and powered out toward me. He swam past, circled me, and then turned back toward the beach. From my vantage point, I spotted Dad watching from the pier, a firm figure against the backdrop of the cove.
I swam effortlessly, gliding through the water without making much of a splash. “Let’s dive to the bottom!” I suggested, excitement bubbling in my voice.
He didn’t respond, still focused on making his way back to shore.
A little while later, Dad joined me on the sand. I was back on the edge of the water, still hanging over the side of my tube like a sleepy sea creature, feeling the liquid coolness against my sun-warmed skin.
“You did great out there today, Sonny,” Dad said, gesturing toward the harbor with his chin. After a moment, he added, “I’m proud of you.”
I caught a glimpse of him getting up and making his way over to the Jeep while I paddled ashore, the black tube dripping over my shoulder, remnants of our playful splashes.
As Dad drove up the rocky driveway to our house, dust swirled up behind the Jeep, settling into the dry trees like a soft veil. Aunty Pearl stepped onto the porch, her black hair twisted into a tight knot, and waved at us as we rumbled into the yard. Her small hand barely noticeable against her thick arm. She reminded me of old pictures of Hawaiian queens—tall, wide, draped in full-length muumuus, with strong feet that could withstand anything. If orchids were beautiful, Aunty Pearl was a thousand of them combined, embodying the vibrant spirit of our island home.