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Pakalaki Memories: 10

Kirby Wright

My father turned down Monsarrat Avenue. He didn't believe in God or life after death. "When you're dead," he said, "you're dead." He never went to Mass with us, even at Easter and Christmas. He drove up an incline skirting the northern side of the volcano. The slopes were fuzzy with bright green brush. We approached the only Dairy Queen in east Honolulu.

"I wanna chocolate dip!" Ben said. His lips were covered with fudge from the brownie.

"A who?" asked Gramma.

"Dairy Queen."

"That's not real ice cream," my father said.

"I still want one."

"Kulikuli," Gramma said, "yah damn pest."

We turned left on 18th Avenue and then left again at the entrance for Diamond Head Memorial Park. My father pulled over beside a white stucco office shaded by a kamani tree. Gramma climbed out. Ben pushed her seat forward and I followed him over a strip of asphalt covered with seed pods. I could smell the pods baking on the asphalt.

"Don't go far," my father told us.

"We'll look for Granny," said Ben.

"No funny business," Gramma said.

My father and Gramma headed over to the office. She looked tiny walking beside him. He opened the door and they disappeared inside.