The Calm Before the Bombs

I squinted against the light of the rising sun at the view below me. The plumerias and hibiscus flowers were in full bloom due to the previous rainy days. The slope before me had flourished. It was an array of golds, oranges, whites, purples, and pinks. I wanted to collect them all, hide them away for safekeeping, but I knew the flowers wouldn’t last more than a few days without their precious resources from the soil. Besides, my hectic brother Joshua would find a way to destroy them within the hour.

In the distance, the dazzling, cerulean blue ocean awakened. The crash of the waves against the shore could be heard distinctly between the chirps of the birds and insects. The salty air had a way of making me feel homesick, even though I had never left Oahu in my life. It was paradise after all, who would want to leave? 

Navy ships were dotted across the shoreline and ocean. They looked so miniscule from the hills in comparison to their size up close. On my excursions to Honolulu, I always made an effort to visit the shoreline, oftentimes stumbling upon the great beasts. The ships radiated a kind of confidence and superiority. I personally envied them for it.

I strolled past the garden and up to the wired gate. A sense of pride rushed through me as I was reminded that I was finally taller than the gate. I cautiously opened it and was immediately surrounded by hens. It was an overwhelming feeling, but it reminded me how loved I was.

“Good morning Betty!” I greeted my small black hen as I sprinkled feed around me. “Aloha Dorothy! How do you do, Iolana?” This went on for quite some time as I greeted each of my 14 hens by name. 

These hens were by far my greatest achievement. I got my first, Iolana, as a birthday gift a couple years ago. The name means soaring bird, which is ironic considering she can’t fly more than a foot off the ground. It was pretty clever though, for me being only seven at the time.

Shortly after I was gifted Iolana, I noticed she was unenergetic and lazy. She was a healthy, young hen, but I knew she was lonely in the desolate wired cage. I couldn’t even imagine being held behind chains three times my height in solitary confinement for weeks, even months. To be in the most beautiful place in the world, but never getting to be a part of it would be sheer torture. That’s when I made up my mind that Iolana needed a friend.

I knew pleading with Dad was useless, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. I sold Iolana’s eggs, my own toys, and anything I found in my scavenges that wouldn’t be missed. It took over a month of hard work and many trips to and from the center of Honolulu, but eventually I had the 55 cents I needed to buy my second hen. 

Nowadays, I go down to Honolulu every week to sell most of the eggs. My hens lay more eggs than Dad, Uncle, Joshua, and I combined can eat. Dad’s insisted I save most of my profits in case the economy crashes again, whatever that means. I don’t mind though, the money was always just an extra bonus of my beautiful hens.

I had a dozen eggs in my basket, enough for a classic Sunday morning omelet for everyone in the family. It would be my treat. Hopefully, the gift would persuade Dad into letting the family go down to the beach. He was very strict on the day of rest rule, but if he was in a good mood, he would turn a blind eye to a bit of fun. 

I stumbled over my hens on the way out, closed the gate behind me, and headed for my house. As I strolled by, I bent down and tried to touch each row of fruits and vegetables. This wasn’t very smart. Dad always got onto me and Joshua about being too rough with the plants, but at this point it was a force of habit. I paused for a moment on the spinach. I knew there was some stashed in the cupboard at all times, but fresh vegetables had a way of making me feel anew. I studied the row of spinach leaves and delicately picked the best ones. I placed them in my basket along with the dozen eggs.

“What else would be good with an omelet?” I looked about the garden, as if it were a large puzzle. The pieces I needed were hidden in plain sight, yet hidden so well. I started to go through the list in my head. Carrots are a definite no. Zucchini may be on the table, but it tastes dull unless prepared correctly. My eyes scanned the scene, curious and focused.

“That’s it! Blueberries!” I shouted, a bit too loud for morning hours. I covered my mouth in embarrassment, but the feeling didn’t last long. I skipped over to the bushes, thrilled with my accomplishment. I only picked the ripest, largest, and juiciest berries I could find. The colors of the food inside the basket contrasted each other so perfectly, so meticulously. It was surely a good omen.

I walked inside, set the basket on the kitchen counter, and got to work. I cracked the eggs into a large bowl, and whisked them together. This used to tire my hand out easily, however now it was muscle memory. I think it’s similar to how one becomes comfortable playing the violin. I added a generous amount of spinach and leftover spam into the mixture. Now comes the scary part, the stove. I had never grown fully comfortable using it. I was decent with knives and ovens, but stoves were scary. 

“Aloha kiddo, what are you doing up so early?” I turned back quickly to see Uncle.

“Oh,” I replied, relieved to see it was only him. “I’m making omelets for everyone. The hens have been laying more eggs than usual.” I could see the confusion in Uncle’s face for only a moment, but he seemed to brush it off. He wished me luck and headed outside. If my guess was correct, he was heading to the driveway for today’s newspaper. 

I focused my attention back to the old, white appliance. The burnt food that was permanently bonded with the stove didn’t do anything for my nerves. I did my best to ignore my fears and poured the mixture into a pan. The first omelet was mostly successful, a little raw, but it was ok. This was a huge relief. The second omelet ended up turning out fine, but it splashed up a little and mildly burned my arm. My fear came rushing back. The third and fourth were a bit burnt. 

I looked back at the plate of four omelets, glad to see it over. I wiped the sweat away from my forehead with my arm, like character’s do in films after a hard day’s work. Now came the fun part. I placed each of the omelets on separate plates and brought them to the table. On Joshua’s plate I arranged the blueberries so they looked like two eyes, and the omelet was the smile. I was tempted to do the same to mine, but I needed Dad and Uncle to think I was responsible, not childish. 

I desperately wanted to wake the rest of the family up. I wanted to display my hard work immediately, but I also needed them to be in good spirits. Waking someone up at around 7:00am on a Sunday morning is a sure way to make them be anything but good spirited. 

To pass the time, I went outside to my favorite tree. It was planted long before I was born. Now that I think about it, the tree may be even older than Uncle. Of course I could have counted each individual ring, but I liked it to be a mystery, a guessing game of sorts that never ended. Lilac colored blossoms covered almost half of the tree, one of the few trees still blooming. This tree stood out among the rest, part of why I loved it so much.

I took off my sandals and felt the dewy grass beneath my feet. This was such a whimsical, peaceful action. I think the tradition of feeling grass beneath one’s feet for amusement was created by extraterrestrial beings, and passed down to humanity as a gift. Who else would have such bizarre, wonderful ideas? Maybe chickens, I thought with a smirk on my face.

I acclimated my feet to the rough tree by tiptoeing upon the tree's roots. Once I was ready, I started to climb. The trunk was over twice my size, and incredibly smooth. Unless you were given instructions on how to climb, it was nearly impossible. The correct footsteps weren’t obvious to the naked eye. Luckily, I had been doing this ever since I was old enough to run. I instinctively put my feet where I knew the bark would hold my weight. 

Before I knew it, I was sitting in the nook of the tree. It seemed like a nice place to build a nest, but the animals in the area seemed to understand I had claimed this spot. I didn’t take more than my fair share and never invaded another animal’s home, but this was mine. It was perfectly shaped so I could sit comfortably and lean back on one of the sturdiest branches. It was my favorite reading and relaxing spot. Whenever I was here, I felt like Alice from Alice in Wonderland. If I climbed only slightly higher on one of the branches, I had a perfect view of Honolulu and my home between the foliage.

I leaned back and stared up into the heavens. The clouds were perfectly shaped and had the texture of cotton. They were evenly spaced throughout the sky so as to not become a gloomy overcast, but there were enough to gaze and marvel at. More than anything, I wanted to reach up into the sky and touch one. I wanted to grab a piece of the sky and showcase it in a museum. People would come from all over the world to see a piece of Heaven, up close and personal, and I wanted to be the one to give them that. 

About 30 minutes or so had gone by. I was still in the tree’s crevice, on the verge of sleep. Of course, that’s when Joshua and Dad came outside.

“Found her!” My little brother shouted. That was definitely not a fun way to be pulled back to reality. I groaned as I tried my best to sit up and squinted at my brother. I could see him smiling ear to ear. I reluctantly turned around, started to climb down the tree, and jumped with around six feet between me and the ground. I hit the grass with a loud thud, barely missing my knees with my jaw. 

“You have to be more careful than that,” Dad mentioned. “One wrong move and you could twist your ankle.” I tried to decode what this meant. Was he being serious, funny, or just matter-of-factly? I looked at my dad, who had a grin on his face. Yes! Beach here I come! I tried to control my excitement, knowing that there was more I needed to do before I could ask about the beach.

“Did you see the breakfast I made?” I questioned.

“You made that?” Dad said in a tone too upbeat to be serious. “I thought your uncle was the one who burned half of the omelets and undercooked the rest!” This was obviously a joke and a light-hearted jab. My uncle is an amazing chef. I, on the other hand, have zero expertise in the intimidating world of cooking. I scoffed and looked away from my Dad, trying to hold in my laugh.

“I’m joking,” My dad said as we strolled back towards the house. “It actually wasn’t that bad. Thank you my Pualani.” He picked out a plumeria from a nearby bush and tucked it behind my left ear. 

I loved when my dad called me that. Pualani is Hawaiian for “heavenly flower”. That had been my name ever since we moved here. I was only three years old at the time. Technically, Pualani wasn’t my name but it’s the only one I remember being called. My dad never told me my real name, but we never really talk about anything from before we moved. I guess it reminds him too much of Mom.

From the few things I do know, either from eavesdropping or my Uncle, it makes sense why he never talks about it. Apparently, I used to live in a place called California in the U.S. My mom had died in Joshua’s childbirth. She was the one who picked out the name, so I guess that’s the only reason Dad hasn’t ever given him a nickname. After my mom died, Dad needed help raising us so he turned to his brother who lived all the way in Oahu. I still think about the life I could’ve had sometimes, but I’m pretty happy with the one I have. 

I entered the living room, and sat down. I picked up one of the Bibles off of the coffee table, and flipped to where we had left off the previous Sunday. Dad didn’t like going to Church. He thought it was a waste of time, 90% socialization and only 10% God. It was kind of a relief though, I never had to wear fancy clothes, or deal with the mayhem of social groups. He still made us listen to the service every Sunday, though.

Joshua and Uncle meandered in. Uncle grabbed an omelet from the kitchen table without looking up from his newspaper. I was amused to see I was right about my presumption. He sat on the couch across from me with Dad. Uncle gave the omelet a questioning look, but didn’t give any negative commentary which was a relief. Joshua got the message that the service was about to start and sat down in the chair to my left. I could tell he was trying, but Joshua couldn’t sit still for the life of him. 

“Everybody ready?” Dad questioned. I gave him a thumbs up and a grin, Joshua nodded more than needed, and Uncle groaned in response. We took that as a yes. Dad fiddled with the knob of the radio for a while until he got it just right. A monotonous voice came from the radio through the static. I tried my best to pay attention, but the man’s voice was utterly boring. Besides, I had read the Bible at least four times over, there was never anything new.

This went on for quite some time, until something strange happened. The monotone voice disappeared and was replaced by an extremely annoying sound. It was similar to the sound of a police siren, but it seemed to echo itself. The noise bounced around in my head. I couldn’t get it out, and it was driving me crazy. 

“Can you turn the radio off?” I shouted loud enough to be heard over the alarm. “I can’t stand it.” Dad must have heard me, yet he ignored the question. He wouldn’t take his eyes off of Uncle. Dad’s eyes seemed to be interrogating him. Did Uncle break the radio?

“That’s not a hurricane is it?” Dad shouted, his voice quivering. Whatever upbeat tone he had in his voice earlier was gone. Nothing scared Dad. Whatever this was, it was bad. Uncle and Dad stormed out of the house alarmingly fast. Joshua and I, curious as could be, followed suit. 

The entire city of Honolulu was in disarray, the commotion could be heard for miles. Any possibility of a beach trip was thrown out the window. What scared me even more than Dad’s voice was the fact that people were outside. Everyone was supposed to be in church, what was happening? The panic really started setting in. 

After searching for a couple minutes, we finally saw it. Up above from the divine clouds came something straight from Hell. I had only heard about them in stories of the Great War. It was a bomb, and it was here to destroy us all.

“Pualani, Joshua, close your eyes.” I complied, shaking in fright. I grabbed Joshua’s hand and squeezed it tightly. I wasn’t going to let anything happen to him. 

Aloha paradise.