I do not know how long it has been since I have spoken a word of Hawaiian. However long since we last found each other lucky enough to be on either end of the telephone line. But I do know that the words fall out of my mouth like white wash. Its foams at the edges and slips through my fingertips- I have forgotten how to hold right. Something I am remembering- but it is painful to be reminded of all that I have forgotten in just a few short months away from the islands. I try to dismiss all of this from my head. I have already spent enough time crying and missing home- now I am home, there is no reason to let such a waste of salt continue.
So instead of crying, I wait. My shoulders start to ache because the baggage I carry is heavy- so heavy that sitting down brought little comfort. I do not have an answer for the questions I know you will ask. Instead I wait for you to arrive. Shuffle my feet against the hot concrete. I try not to focus on the humid air leaving beads of sweat on the back of my neck. Instead I wait for your judgeless embrace to remind me why I choose a 600 dollar trip across the ocean over a drive to Santa Cruz and a handle of vodka. Sometimes any ocean isn’t enough. Sometimes you need to come home and that’s hard to explain. But I know you. I know you know this feeling- of being misunderstood and lonely. I know you will understand.
I see your car from across the terminal. You look happy to see me. Surprised that I am in one piece. But I have only been gone for a few months- what tragedy could have occurred in that time that would leave me in pieces?
If only I understood well enough to tell you.
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