My House the Atoll

My name is Kaholo, I’m seventeen, and this is my essay about something what concerns me. Miss Kelly told us for write the truth. She said we should write the way we really feel, not the way we think she’d want us to feel. So for my essay, I’m gonna talk about Volcano National Park, where I work.

I’m usually no good at writing, or even coming up with ideas for what to write. But I wen get the idea for this essay the other day when my brother wen drive me to work. I wen forget my phone at home, so I had to kinda just look at tings if I didn’t wanna fall asleep.

I was looking at the sunrise on the other side of the window of my brother’s truck. The window get choke fingerprint smudges on it, but I still could kinda see. It was early, so the sun was still rising. Sunlight was all across the water like one big spotlight. Then we wen get too far from the water for me to see it, so I looked at the mount instead. I wen count sixteen cows in different pastures as we passed. Was choke tings for notice, but I guess I never pay attention before that morning. The more stuff we wen pass, the more I realized I wanted to talk about the aina for my essay.

My brother wen drive me to work that morning. He always drive me. My mom makes him ‘cause our dad work late and need for sleep in, and I gotta wake up early for my shift.

“Don’t act so slow when you’re at work, fackah.” (Sorry for curse in my assignment, Miss Kelly, but that’s the way my brother talks and you said you want the truth.) That’s what my brother always says on our way to drop me off at the park. I think my family think I stay dumb ‘cause I never say much. I’m not dumb though. Just don’t want for talk if I get notting important for say.

My brother always shove my head too, at least once every time he drives me to the park. He strong, and my head usually end up hitting the window. No wonder there stay choke smudges. If I not getting shoved by my brother’s hand, I flying into the window ‘cause of the sharp turns he take on Mamalahoa. He drive like one idiot.

“Don’t be slow, brah,” my brother says. “Don’t lose your job. They get one Haole in there for take your place before you even know what wen happen. Never forget: they stay waiting, always, for you to mess up so they can get rid’a you.” My brother usually get quiet after that, and I don’t say notting back.

My brother, Aka, and I were raised by our parents and our grandparents. We lucky, I guess. Lotta people no have good parents, so they forced to live with other family or even with people who not blood. But me and Aka, we wen grow up with one good life. We hear the legends, our ancestries, the horrors of the Hawaiian people. We both wen learn for swim before we wen walk. We eat Spam and any other food that finds its way to our table, including everything we get ourselves. Hopi’i, dakine. We never waste. We get cracks when Dad get home if we even think about doing that. Dad different from lot of other local dads though. He wen teach us to keep our heads down, our mouths shut, and our hands busy. He no mess with locals who cause trouble. He friendly, but he no like get involved.

Doesn’t mean he stay on the other side of tings either though. Other than the occasional interaction in the grocery store or something, he avoid Haoles. We all do. We get mix in my family, we no pretend to be pure, but no one in my family has ever married a Haole. No one would ever even think to.

I hope you no mind if I use that word. I no think of you as one Haole, Miss Kelly. You’re one of the different white people. You not stuck-up kine, like you belong in Kona and only in Kona. But other than you, I don’t know many white people because… well, because we just don’t try to know white people. It’s just not something we do. I get one cousin who owns one’a those espresso machines, but that’s as close as our family get to Haole culture.

Anyway, that’s just my family. We not super different from anyone else. Just like the morning I wen decide what for talk about in my essay: nothing different. But my eyes wen stay open that day, I guess, ‘cause my phone wen stay at home in my room.

I know the only reason I get one job at Volcano is ‘cause my auntie get one church friend who know one cashier in the store who related to somebody in management. The managers never put me in charge of a register though. I guess they wen think they no can put me in control of something as complicated as a register. They like my family in that way, I guess— they just assume I stay stupid.

They never even wen give me the math test they supposed to give each applicant. They just wen hand me a trash picker and one of those construction safety vests and wen push me out the door onto the hiking path before any of the tourists could see the mud all over my tennis shoes. I bad for the business side of tings, I guess. But I good at cleaning up after people.

I don’t mind the work. Volcano National Park live inside me, in a way. Like what my parents and grandparents wen talk about with Hawaiians and our connection to the aina. My lungs like the altitude up there at the top of the volcano. The hair on my arms don’t raise up at the cold, mountain breezes when they come. I small and light on my feet, real good for hiking through those places everyday. My name, Kaholo, even means light-footed. Someone, maybe a grandma, wen tell me we become our name meanings, and that’s why what you name your keiki so important, ‘cause that meaning stay attached for the rest of their life. But I don’t know, I sometimes wonder if we only become our names if we know what they mean. I don’t know if that make sense.

Anyway, I don’t mind my job. I enjoy em. I like being at the park. I like the view. I like being outside, even if it stay raining. And I like for make my own money. I give some to my family for help with food and tings, and I like for buy tings for my friends too sometimes, but mostly I get for keep em.

But now is the part where I tell you my concerns, ‘cause that’s what this essay supposed to be about and I already wen spend plenny time talking about other things.

I usually feel concerned at work. Like nervous kine. I think it’s all the tourists. And it’s not just white people. I don’t love white people (no offense), but I no hate em either. I no hate anybody. Not even Aka, not even when he throw my head against the window or puff smoke in my face when I stay sleeping. I no hate anybody, and I no hate tourists either. Especially not as much as some of my family does. Try not for think bad about my family, Miss Kelly. They just never have good experiences of Haoles yet. They probably like you though, if they meet you.

What I do hate, and what concerns me, is the way white people are. If that make sense. I hope it make sense, ‘cause I never know how else for say it. The way white people walk, as one example. It’s not like one normal walk. It’s real possessive kine. Like they think they discovering things that wen get discovered hundreds or thousands of years ago, just ‘cause they seeing it for the first time.

And the clothes. I no understand Haole clothes. Either they dress like they going to one gym or like they going for play golf with the President at one fancy resort. With the clothes and the way they walk, they kinda remind me of the green lizards we get all over the place. Harmless, but in your face enough to still stay annoying.

But what concern me the most, what keep me awake sometimes at night, what make me roll over and over in my bed until Aka grumble and cuss at me ‘cause the springs that stay inside my mattress squeak, are the footprints the Haoles leave behind.

See, footprints come like fingerprints. Like the fingerprints on Aka’s truck window, but those can be wiped off. But I find Haole footprints all over the place in the park, and I never can clean em off. No can get rid of em. Everyday, I walk around for clean and I see thousands of patterns made by the shoes of tourists, all in the volcanic dirt. Some get those hourglass shapes, like the Haole slippahs with the straps, dakine they wear with socks even if it stay hot. Other footprints stay tiny, like a keiki wen make em. The small Haoles get just as much power as their parents for smash the earth down into itself.

I guess now that I think about it, I no have one problem with white people themselves. I have one problem with the footprints.

But I never complain about em to anyone. I no can complain or I lose my job. The customer’s feet are always right, ah?

But it upset me, even though I no say notting. It surprise me, how much it upset me. I look at the imprints in the dirt, on the rocks, between the plants, and I remember sitting in Tutu Maddy’s living room, listening to the legend of how the islands and the earth wen get made by the moon and sun. How the ocean wen come into being and wash into place. How the anger of the gods wen boil under the dirt like soup when I leave it on the stove for too long, and it wen cause the volcanoes to come out the ocean. And I walk around the park, for pick up garbage, and I think of Pele— the goddess of the volcano— and how her anger bubble and slosh down the mount when she stay angry.

But mostly, I think of how my grandfather wen tell Aka and me that the islands will return to the ocean one day. I think of that choke times when I stay at work. I pick up toys the kids wen leave on the trail, and garbage that wen fall or get tossed into the woods by the tourists. When up I stay picking up those tings, I never can help but look at the footprints that wen wear down the hiking trails over time… and I swear: the tip of the volcano look a little closer to the ocean everyday. Just like my grandfather wen say.

One day, when I wen bend down for pick up one cigarette on my trail, my butt wen accidentally block the path, but this Haole family trying for get past me. I wen step outta the way and put my head down like Dad wen teach me. But I no apologize to them, ‘cause I also know for keep my mouth shut.

The whole family pay me no mind, don’t even notice I stay there. Except for the little girl. She one toddler, 'cause her head like one third the size of her body, and that’s what my three-year-old cousin look like. She wen have on one pair of those jelly sandals that light up when she walk, and she wen look at me.

White people eyes creep me out sometimes, real kine. A lotta you have eyes the color of the sea or the open sky. Yours not scary, Miss Kelly, ‘cause they green and brown and a few other tings mix in. But the Haoles who leave cigarettes and kill the coral and take shells home to the mainland, they get blues and greens like the oceans and the sky for put in their eyes, and it no seem fair.

Anyway, the little girl wen look up at me with her stolen-blue eyes and blink. And then, real fast kine, she ignore me like the rest of her family. She hop away, jumping from one rock to the next. Her shoes wen light up. Hop. Light. Hop. Light. Hop. Light.

You see, Miss Kelly, she wen scare me. ‘Cause I can see it, then. The future. I can see my grandfather in his chair, with his face bronzing in the sun as his chair floats across the ocean and away from us to another one of the islands, if another island exist. I can see Aka, yelling every word in the book and trying for find something for float on. I see that girl who live down the street from one, the one who never talk to me but who I like to think might like me back, even though I never say one word to her either— swimming into my arms as we sink down into the wild blackness of the ocean depths.

Imagine the suction of one entire island being swallowed by the sea, Miss Kelly. The creation story in reverse. Pele, who wen give birth to this aina, get weak ‘cause of the footsteps all over her body. She groan in pain as she return to the depths of the sea with every last bit of herself, and she take all of us with her. She leave behind notting but bubbles and socks that wen get ripped off our feet by the undercurrents. De-creation.

Volcano goddess who wen get destroyed by one Haole toddler in light-up jelly sandals. It sound crazy, brah, but what if it come true?

Last night after work, I wen climb into Aka’s truck and stay silent the whole way home. Well, almost the whole way. Aka always ask me one question when he pick me up on Friday nights.

“You get your check?” he ask, like always. I wen nod, so he pull away from the visitor center and ask if I talk to anybody at work.

Usually I shake my head, but… I don’t know. Something about the vision of the island and all of us sinking into the ocean wen loosen my tongue.

“I never talk to anybody,” I wen say back.

Aka wen nod. I think he surprised for hear me talk.

“Good,” he say. “Keep ya mouth shut and everything stay good.”

I wen wanna look at my brother when he say that. I want him for let me look at him. I wanna look in his eyes that stay like Tutu’s, like our ancestors’. I wanna ask him many questions that I think he must know the answers to just ‘cause he stay older than me. Why Haoles try to take our land away and then turn around and treat em like they hate it? Why we give em the trees and the fields and the cliffs and the coral and the whales and the lizards and the sunshine? Where the Haoles will stay when the ocean swallow us whole? We all going sink, or only the natives? Is that how we know we kanaka? That we die with our goddess?

I want for ask Aka all these questions, but I never. I keep my head down like Dad wen teach me for do. I keep my mouth shut like he wen tell me. I keep my hands busy too: I wen pull on the loose threads on my jeans until I make one new hole, and I wen drum on top the door panel thing with my fingers until Aka yell at me for stop.

When Aka wen drive us home last night, I never try for count cows. But I wen wonder about them, about the cows, and about whether they know they gon drown with everyone else on the island. And if they no know that, which one stay worse? Not for know tings pau til they pau forever, or know tings come pau and haffa wait for em for happen? Like I do?

Last night, when we almost home, we wen pass one of those big pastures that get choke cows inside. I wen stare at the fence in Aka’s headlights, and I remember I wen think:

“Cows, even if you stay worried, keep ya mouth shut. And everything stay good.”