Rewrite “Keo was alone in the cove, floating on one of the tubes. Small waves from the skiff rocked him as we passed by. Dad let me out near shore and headed back over to the small boat landing.

Question

2 Keo rolled off the tube and swam out into the cove, out to the deepest point. “Come on out,” he yelled.
3 I stared back at him, my arms hanging at my sides like old frayed rope.
4 “Chicken,” he shouted. “Buk-buk-buk-bu-gock!”
5 The ocean rose to my knees, my waist, then my chest, as I slowly waded in. When it reached my chin I started swimming, madly kicking and clawing at the ocean. Water exploded all around me, splashing clumsily over my face and blurring my vision. I aimed my chin to the sky and thrashed out to Keo, swimming past him, circling him, then heading back to the beach. I caught a glimpse of Dad watching from the pier.
6 Keo pawed at the water when he swam, too, but easily, without splashing. “Let’s dive to the bottom,” he said.
7 I didn’t answer. I barely made it back to shore.
8 A half hour later, Dad came down and sat next to me on the sand. Keo was out in the water, hanging over the edge of one of the inner tubes, motionless, as if asleep.
9 “You did a good job out there today, Sonny,” Dad said, pointing out to the harbor with his chin. Then, after a moment of silence, he added, “I’m proud of you.”
10 Keo looked up and saw us, and started kicking into shore.
11 Dad stood, as if shaken out of a daydream. “It’s time for a couple of changes,” he said. “Tell Keo to come, we’re going for a ride.”
12 Dad walked over to his Jeep while Keo came up from the water, holding the dripping black tube over his shoulder.
13 Dad drove up the rocky driveway to our house, dust rising behind the Jeep and spreading into the dry trees. Aunty Pearl strolled out onto the porch with her black hair pulled behind her head and curled into a tight knot. She waved down to us as we bounced into the yard, her small hand almost lost on an arm as thick as my stomach. She looked exactly like the old pictures of Hawaiian queens, wide and tall, draped in full-length muumuus, with huge bare feet as tough as coconut husks. If an orchid was beautiful, then Aunty Pearl was a thousand of them put together.
14 Keo’s scruffy dogs, Bullet and Blossom, set off a racket of barking. Aunty Pearl shushed them by clapping her hands.
15 Off to the right and slightly downhill Uncle Harley’s icehouse stood like a huge, windowless box, almost half the size of the main house. He made ice for boats in there, and kept fish before trucking them over to the market on the other side of the island. A small, fenced-in pigpen with shady, corrugated iron shelters flowed off the uphill side, big enough for three or four good-sized pigs.
16 The dogs leaped at us as we drove up to the house. Keo jumped out of the Jeep. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go see the pigs.”
17 I started running after him.
18 “Sonny, wait,” Dad called. “Come up to the house for a minute.” Keo kept on going without turning back.
19 Aunty Pearl gave us both a hug. It had only been a few hours since I’d seen her, but still she crushed me to her as if I’d been gone a month. She frowned at Dad. “So what are you doing up here in the middle of a perfectly good fishing day?”
20 Dad looked down at me and rubbed his hand over my head, then put his arm on my shoulder. “I think I can handle it now, Pearl.”
21 Aunty Pearl put her hand to her cheek, then hugged us again, and started crying. She couldn’t talk for a few minutes, because she would start crying every time she tried. Finally, she motioned us into the house.
22 Keo started walking back toward us kicking an old can.
23 Dad and I followed Aunty Pearl to the room that Keo and I shared. I thought I knew what Dad was saying, but I didn’t want to think about it in case it wasn’t true. Then he and Aunty Pearl started taking my clothes out of the dresser.
24 Keo burst into the room. “Hey, what’s going on?”
25 Aunty Pearl put her arm around him and pulled him up close. “Sonny’s going home, Keo—to live down by the beach with his father.” Then she turned to me. “But you’ll be back for lots of visits, won’t you, Sonny?”
26 I nodded, but must have looked as if I weren’t sure, because Aunty Pearl pulled Keo in closer, and started crying again.
27 Dad’s old wooden house stood up on stilts, with three or four feet between the floor and the ground. “To keep rats and mongooses out,” he’d told me.
28 Kiawe and coconut trees surrounded the long, rectangular yard and swooped up behind us to the road that ran along the coast from Kailua to Keauhou. Dad parked the Jeep on the grass, his five dogs whining and wagging their tails as we pulled up to the house.
29 “You can have my room,” Dad said as we walked in. It was the only bedroom. Dad nodded toward the big couch in the front room, the place I always slept when I came to stay for a day or two. “I like to sleep out here, anyway,” he said.
30 Except for the few things I’d brought with me, nothing in the place was mine. But there was nothing I owned, or could think of owning, that I wouldn’t have given up to be right there with Dad. Now, and forever, only one thin wall would stand between his bed and mine.
31 “Before we unpack your things,” Dad said, dropping the cardboard box of clothes on the kitchen table, “let’s go down to the ocean, maybe take a quick swim. It’s hotter than a dump fire around here.” I’d had enough swimming that day, but I didn’t mind.
32 I followed him down the porch stairs and out across the grass to the water. You could look out and see the horizon, miles and miles away, with only the clean, blue and turquoise expanse of ocean between the yard and the end of the world. Dad’s dogs followed, then trotted out ahead, sniffing everything in sight as if they’d never been there before.
33 The shoreline was mostly lava, with a few good-sized sandy patches nestled around small tidal pools. Dad and I picked our way out over the rocks to the water, which sparkled under the late afternoon sky. Small waves hissed in and surrounded us as we eased into the ocean, Dad leading the way, and me trailing behind, turning the water white as I churned through it.
34 I suddenly realized that I was swimming—out over my head, in deep water. I tried to keep up with Dad, but got tired and had to go back to shore.
35 The powdery sand patches were hot and comforting. I sat down in one and stared back out at Dad, now making long, quiet dives to the bottom. Sudden sleep tugged at my eyes, and I fell back on one elbow, then lay down completely, the low sun quickly turning the water on my face to fine salt crystals. Warmth curled around my shoulders from the sand stuck to my back and arms.
36 The last thing I remembered before Dad woke me was thinking of the earth as a woman. Someone like Aunty Pearl, surrounding me with strong arms, and rocking me to sleep with soft humming.
37 “Don’t run out of gas yet, Sonny,” Dad said. “We still have a big mahi mahi to eat. I think you can handle half of it—at least from what I can tell by what I’ve seen today.” He was bent over me, water streaming off his deep- tanned shoulders. He pulled me up and brushed some of the sand off my Back.
38 When Dad started back up to the house, the dogs spread out ahead, sweeping over the rocks.
39 Stepping where Dad stepped, I followed him home.” In Keo’s perspective

Answer 1

Keo floated alone in the cove, lounging on one of the tubes as the small waves from the skiff gently rocked him. I watched as Dad let me out near the shore and then turned back toward the small boat landing.

Rolling off the tube, I dove into the water and swam towards the deepest part of the cove. “Come on out!” I called to my friend, urging him to join me.

He stared back at me, arms hanging limply at his sides, like old ropes worn with use.

“Chicken!” I taunted, imitating a clucking chicken. “Buk-buk-buk-bu-gock!”

As the ocean water crept up to his knees, waist, and then chest, he waded in slowly. When it reached his chin, he finally began to swim, frantically kicking and clawing at the water. It splashed around him, and for a moment, I could see the determination on his face as he aimed his chin skyward, powering out toward me. He swam past, circled me, and then headed back towards the beach. From my vantage point, I noticed Dad watching from the pier.

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 reply, as he was still 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.

“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.

As Dad drove up the rocky driveway to our house, dust rose behind the Jeep and settled into the dry trees. Aunty Pearl stepped onto the porch, her black hair twisted up in a tight knot. She waved at us as we rumbled into the yard, her small hand barely noticeable against her thick arm. She reminded me of the 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.

Keo’s scruffy dogs, Bullet and Blossom, erupted into a frenzy of barking. Aunty Pearl clapped her hands to hush them.

To the right, Uncle Harley’s icehouse loomed like a massive, windowless box, nearly half the size of the main house. That was where he made ice for the boats and kept fish before shipping them off to the market across the island. Nearby, a fenced pigpen nestled in the shade, complete with corrugated iron shelters, was big enough to house several decent-sized pigs.

As we pulled into the driveway, the dogs jumped at us, barking excitedly. Keo leaped out of the Jeep. “Come on!” he shouted, eager to see the pigs.

I sprinted after him, but Dad called out to me, “Sonny, wait! Come up to the house for a minute.” Keo dashed ahead without looking back.

Aunty Pearl welcomed us with hugs, squeezing me tightly as if I’d been gone for ages. She looked at Dad with a frown. “What brings you up here in the middle of a perfectly good fishing day?”

Dad glanced down at me, rubbing my head before resting his arm on my shoulder. “I think I can handle things now, Pearl.”

Aunty Pearl pressed her hand to her cheek, then hugged us both again, tears welling in her eyes. She struggled to speak, her emotions overwhelming her. After a moment, she ushered us into the house.

As we walked, I noticed Keo coming back, kicking an old can in his path.

Dad and Aunty Pearl led me to the room I shared with Keo. I sensed that something was about to change, but I didn’t want to dwell on it in case it was something I didn’t want to hear. That’s when they started taking my clothes out of the dresser.

Keo bolted into the room. “Hey, what’s happening?”

Aunty Pearl pulled him close, wrapping her arm around him. “Sonny’s going home, Keo—to live down by the beach with his father.” She turned to me, asking softly, “But you’ll come back for lots of visits, won’t you, Sonny?”

I nodded, though uncertainty crept into my expression, causing Aunty Pearl to pull Keo closer, tears spilling down her cheeks again.

Dad’s old wooden house stood on stilts, elevated a few feet above the ground, just like he said it would keep the rats and mongooses at bay.

Our yard was surrounded by Kiawe and coconut trees, sprawling back towards the road that ran along the coast from Kailua to Keauhou. He parked the Jeep on the grass, the dogs whining eagerly as we approached the house.

“You can have my room,” Dad said as we stepped inside. It was the only bedroom. He motioned towards the large couch in the living room, where I usually slept during my visits. “I like to sleep out here, anyway,” he added.

Nothing in the house felt like mine, aside from the few things I had brought. But I would have traded anything to be there with Dad. It was comforting to know that, from then on, there would only be a thin wall separating us.

“Before we unpack your things,” Dad said, dropping my cardboard box of clothes on the kitchen table, “let’s head down to the ocean and catch a quick swim. It’s boiling out here.” I might have had enough swimming already, but I didn’t mind as I followed him down the porch steps across the grass toward the water. The horizon stretched endlessly before us, blue and turquoise, with nothing but ocean between the yard and the edge of the world. His dogs trailed behind, sniffing everything they encountered, like they’d never been there before.

The shoreline was mainly rocky, with a few sandy patches nestled around small tidal pools. We navigated the rocks carefully to the water, which sparkled in the late afternoon sun. Small waves hissed around us as we entered the ocean—Dad leading the way and me following, creating a frothy white wake behind me.

Suddenly, I found myself swimming over my head in deep water. I tried to keep pace with Dad, but fatigue set in, and I knew I needed to return to shore.

The sandy patches felt hot and comforting as I settled down in one of them, gazing back at Dad as he made long, graceful dives beneath the surface. A wave of sleepiness washed over me, and I fell back onto my elbow, then completely lay down as the sun turned the water on my face into fine salt crystals. The warmth of the sand against my back felt inviting, wrapping me in comfort.

The last thought I had before Dad woke me was imagining the earth as a nurturing woman, someone like Aunty Pearl, wrapping me in her strong embrace and lulling me to sleep with her soft humming.

“Don’t run out of gas yet, Sonny,” Dad said, his voice breaking through the haze. “We still have a big mahi mahi to eat. I think you can handle half of it, at least based on what I’ve seen today.” I looked up to see him leaning over me, water streaming off his sun-kissed shoulders. He helped me up, brushing the sand off my back.

As we walked back to the house, Dad led the way while the dogs raced ahead, exploring the rocks with curious sniffs.

I stepped where Dad stepped, following him home.