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Pakalaki Memories: 13

Kirby Wright

Ben and I helped Gramma pull the overgrown grass and kuku weeds covering the granite. I spotted a sunken plastic tube meant for flowers. The tube was dry but Ben found an empty soda can and filled it at a drinking fountain next to a statue of the crucified Jesus. He poured water into the tube and we helped Gramma wedge in the stems of the torch ginger. After the stems were secure, she took off her hat and said a prayer in Hawaiian. I wasn't sure what she was saying but her voice was soft and sad. My father kept his eyes on the crater.

Mist began to fall.

"Let's go, mother."

"Just anothah minute, Normy." She pulled out the pikake lei and spread the blossoms out so that they framed the slab.

My father looked at his watch. "Cheesus," he said, "we've been here all morning."

But it wasn't all morning. It wasn't even half-an-hour. My father had reservations at the Outrigger Canoe Club and he hustled us back to the car. On the way over to Pueo Street to get our mother, Gramma seemed subdued in the front seat. She took off her hat and didn't light up.

"Don't bury me, Normy," she said.

"What?" my father asked.

"I don't wannah grave."

"How can you not have a grave?" Ben asked.

"I wannah be ashes."

"Then we can't visit you," I said.

"I don't want yah too, Peanut."

"How come?"

"I don't wannah be remembahed," she said.

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