Burning

Morning. The sun peeks its head over the horizon. I tiptoe out of bed, not wanting to wake Mama, and enter the kitchen to pour myself a bowl of Cheerios. Dry, of course. I hate milk. 

The beads of cereal ping against the bowl as I tilt the box forward, forward, and—oops. Too far. The bowl fills up too fast, Cheerios skittering across the counter. And it’s at that moment that Lua decides to hop up onto the counter, tail waving straight in the air. 

“No, Lua!” I whisper. She ignores me, of course, sniffing the bowl and then stuffing her nose in. I reach out to grab her, but she bats a paw reproachfully at me and hits the cereal bowl instead. 

I gasp. The bowl floats in midair; time freezes. And then it comes crashing to the ground, shattering into pieces of white ceramic and golden-brown cereal. 

“Lu-a,” I moan. She just flicks her whiskers and bounds gracefully to the floor. 

Mama stumbles into the room, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Nalani, what are you doing up? It’s Sunday morning. And what’s all this mess?”

“It’s seven-thirty, Mama,” I protest. “And it’s Lua’s fault! She jumped up on the counter and knocked the bowl. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“I know you didn’t, aloha,” Mama says, smiling softly. “It’s all right. I suppose I’ll sleep in tomorrow instead.” She waves towards the front door. “Will you go fetch the newspaper, please? I’ll clean up the mess; I don’t want you stepping on any sharp pieces.”

I carefully pick my way around the broken bowl and scamper to the front door. I push it open and hurry out into the warm morning. The mynahs and the doves are calling, and a light breeze rustles the palm leaves against our house. Up ahead, I can hear the waves crashing against the shore. It’s a perfect morning, calm and still.

I pick up the newspaper. The headlines are, of course, about the big war. 

FDR SAYS ‘NO WAR, HIROHITO’! 

BRITAIN DECLARES WAR ON FINLAND, HUNGARY, ROMANIA! 

SOVIETS ADVANCE IN BATTLE OF MOSCOW!

I don’t really understand what all these countries are fighting about. It all seems so complicated. At least we’re safe here in America, since we aren’t in the war. But Mama has seemed tense lately, when she reads the news. Maybe it’s because we are close to Japan? It seems so far away from here, but Mama says we are actually like neighbors. She says many people from Hawaii, including herself, have ancestors from Japan. 

The sky is turning pink and orange. I stare at the clouds. 

“Nalani!”

I turn around. Mama stands in the doorway. She looks anxious. “What’s wrong, Mama?” I ask. 

She rubs her forehead. “I—nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I just have a headache, that’s all. But you should come inside now.”

“Aw, but I wanted to go to the beach!”

“Later. Come eat your breakfast.”

“Fine,” I huff, starting back towards the house. That’s when my ears catch on a slight sound. I stop. “Mama, do you hear that?”

She steps out onto the porch and cups a hand to her ear. I strain to find the sound again. There it is; a faint buzzing, quiet, but growing louder by the second. “There! That buzzing sound. It’s like a bunch of bees.”

Mama’s face goes white. “Get inside. Now.”

I don’t question her. I run. 

Mama follows me and slams the door behind us just as a massive blast rocks the floor. It sounds like the bombs or planes crashing on the newsreels I see at the movies sometimes. I clap my hands over my ears as another blast makes our entire little house shudder. 

Mama and I run towards the front window and stare out, clutching each other’s arms. Another blast echoes, and a massive, fiery cloud explodes into the air. Little black things zoom across the sky in the distance, near where the navy base, Pearl Harbor, is. Even from far away, I can make out that the black dots are planes, and I can see the big red circle on their tails. 

I recognize that from the newsreels, too. Japanese.

Mama turns towards me, her eyes wild. How scared she looks...it sends a shiver of fear through me. “Nalani, go run and pack a bag. Bring only your favorite things. We need to leave.”

“Where are we going?” I ask. 

“I don’t know. Somewhere far from here. We have to go now!” 

I run. 

. . .

Ten minutes later, our little house is locked up, and Mama and I are climbing into the car. I look back longingly at the tiny place I’ve called home for all of my nine years of life. Am I ever going to see it again?

“Come, Nalani,” Mama calls. I get into the car.

As we drive, I see houses, burnt and crushed. Cars are abandoned, but many more are following the same road we are, trying to escape. Soldiers run past, towards the burning docks of Pearl Harbor. 

We drive, but it’s not long before the telltale buzzing of airplanes echoes overhead. Mama cranks the wheel to the side, and we careen off the road. 

“Get out,” Mama commands. We scramble out of the car and take cover in a grove of palms. 

I glance up at the sky. A Japanese plane flies overhead, so low that I can make out the pilot’s head and goggles. The red sun burns in my eyes. 

The blasts never end. Another ship is hit near the docks, going up in a massive explosion that rattles every bone in my body. Mama grabs my hand and tugs me up. “Come, Nalani. We need to keep moving.”

We run for the car. And then, all of a sudden, there is another plane coming over us.

Mama screams and throws herself on top of me. We huddle underneath the car, waiting, waiting, and 

. . .

When I open my eyes, there is smoke. It stings my eyes and burns my throat and chokes in my lungs. I look down at my arms: they’re covered in scratches. 

Mama lies on the ground next to me. She isn’t moving.

“Mama!” I shriek, but my throat is hoarse and every word burns. I cough and crawl over to her. “Mama, please wake up,” I sob, shaking her shoulders. She still doesn’t move. 

Then I hear voices through the smoke. I see shapes, people, walking towards me. “Help!” I scream, ignoring the pain. “I need help!”

Two people emerge through the smoke. Soldiers. Young men.

“Help, please,” I choke. “My mama...she won’t wake up.”

One of the men hurries over to me. He’s tall, with dark brown hair. The other, short with red hair, follows behind, looking reluctant. 

“Let’s get you out of here, kiddo,” says the dark-haired man, putting an arm around my shoulders and easing me up. “We can take you and your mama someplace safe.”

“Hey, hey, Marshall,” snaps the red-haired man. “We ain’t helping ‘em. Look, they’re dirty Japs.”

Marshall glares at him. “Oh, sure, and these two probably planned the whole attack themselves. Get over yourself, McCleary.”

McCleary shakes his head, but he reluctantly leans down and places his fingers against Mama’s throat. After a few moments, he looks up at Marshall. “She’s breathin’, but just barely. Needs medical attention.”

“Let’s get them in the truck,” says Marshall, picking me up. He smiles down at me, but my vision is beginning to go dark. “What’s your name, kiddo?”

“Na—Nalani,” I murmur.

He nods. “That’s a pretty name. Pretty like this island, huh?”

“Y-yeah. But it’s on fire now.”

“It won’t be on fire forever,” he says softly. “We’re gonna put it out. You hear me?”

I nod. “And it’ll be pretty again?”

“It will. And you and your mama can go home. Okay?”

“Okay.”

When the darkness takes me, I dream of calm mornings and warm breezes.