Kuan Yin
I ask him, "This is kind of crazy, huh". "No. I'm with you, so this is normal", he responds and goes back to his phone screen. Just like that I find myself sitting across from him in a beach chair on the side of a rural highway in Hawaiʻi. Every car that passes by someone inside waves hello. They yell out his name and he responds with a whoop. Or a holler if we were in the south. I giggle and smile. I use a hand fan and a water spritzer to deal with the humidity and mosquitos. How does he have service out here?
Oh wait, it didn't start there. That's after our long awaited first kiss. Nineteen years in the making and damn near worth it. Rewind. I am wearing a very bright orange dress. Mango, peach, safety cone. Fauvist, darling. (or is it fauvism?) I am at place that I can't stand. Where I hope to buy sunblock at a discount price in a warehouse club setting as parfum de hot dog clog up my olfactory sensory neurons. Maybe I will buy a koa guitar while I am here? No. Ok fine, I'll check out the Chicago Music Exchange website when I get home. I am just about to head to the entrance when a group of ladies sitting at the food court tables catch my eye. "Hello, Ladies. Why are we not at McDonald's? No one is manning the station.", I tease them. Aloha, insert name here they say. (I don't know the protagonist's name. Kirra?) "Are you wearing your bracelet?", asks Mrs. Nakao. "What bracelet?" Oh, this bracelet. The one that she made for me. The one that I love to wear as it catches the sunlight and creates crystals all over my car as I drive.
