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Pakalaki Memories: 11

Kirby Wright

The cemetery was on the eastern edge of the crater, the side Waikiki never sees. Clouds drifted like kites across the sky. The park's plumeria trees were loaded with pink blossoms. Dirt was mounded around open graves. The tombstones were massive; Chinese and Japanese symbols were carved on some of the faces. One had a portrait of a cat. A mynah bird landed on a slab of marble and pecked at it. I heard moaning and saw an end loader moving dirt on the east side of the cemetery. The American flag hung limp on a pole next to a bone-white mausoleum. There were daisies and marigolds in plastic pots on some of the graves. A Chinese couple stood beside a headstone. The stone came up to the man's chest and he hugged it like it was a person. Clouds moved over the sun.

Ben tagged me. "You're it."

I chased him through the rows. "Don't step on the graves," I said.

Ben stood behind the trunk of a plumeria tree. Next to him was a grave marked by a green sun dial that had IN SILENCE I SPEAK engraved on the dial.

"What's wrong with stepping on graves?" Ben asked.

"If you do, the ghost will follow you."

"Who says?"

"Gramma."

"She's bugs." He ran out from behind the tree and jumped on a bronze tombstone shaped like an open book. He danced on the bronze pages in his Keds. "I love ghosts."

I saw my father and Gramma heading across the lawn. Instead of walking with her, he walked several feet in front. I could tell she was having trouble in her heels. The strap of her purse was slung over one shoulder and the purse swung back and forth like a canteen.