The Girl at the Center of the World

by Austin Aslan

  “I can’t believe I ran into you,” he says.

  His smile sends a thrill through me. Oh, my God, he’s better looking than I remembered. So cham.

  I’m useless. He turns to Dad. “Hi. I, uh, don’t know if you’d remember me. I gave those bolt cutters to your daughter. O`ahu?”

  Dad nods. “Oh! Wow. Yeah! Thank you!”

  “I knew you got away. The fence was cut open; you two weren’t found. But I never knew what happened to you after that. I thought about…you…you guys—both—a lot.”

  “Yeah,” Dad says. “We made it home. Wasn’t easy, but we finally got here.”

  “Can I help you unload?” Aukina asks.

  Dad waves him off. “No, that’s fine. We—”

  “Yes! Thanks,” I say. “Dad—we’re in a hurry. The hospital.”

  “Sure.” Aukina squeezes behind the table and fills his arms with kalo and ears of corn from the truck.

  Aukina smiles at me. It’s the same smile that I loved at the camp. He was the only good thing about that place. Still, horrible memories flood back with that smile. Sleeping in the black mud. Endless mosquito welts. Sunburns. The constant smell of urine. The shape of bodies under dirty sheets. How the military stole our food. Told us they were keeping it safe. But they intended to hoard it for themselves.

  “What are you doing here?” I finally ask.

  “We arrived a month ago. We’re clearing some land up off of Stainback Road, near the zoo.”

  “Who?”

  “Me, my brother, my parents.”

  “Did the military come back?”

  Dad halts midstep.

  “No. You’re talking about Code Exodus. I didn’t go with them. I…it wasn’t easy to leave them. I took an oath. But most of us who stayed have ties. I couldn’t believe what they were doing. Followed your lead. Snuck off base the night before launch.”

  “Where were they headed?” Dad asks.

  That question has been eating away at Dad since we first saw the American fleet heading out on the ocean.

  Aukina says, “They never told me. Classified.”

  Dad dumps an armful of corn on the table. He unloads as we talk.

  Aukina turns back to me. I must look like a bag lady. Thank God it’s so dim. Why is this happening now? Stop! Focus on Tami.

  “…great.”

  “Huh?”

  “I said you look great. I like your short hair.”

  “Oh. Yeah?” My hair? God. In a panic, I turn my back to him. What are you doing? Get ahold of yourself. Think! I pretend I’ve turned to pick something up. I kneel. Now what? My mind racing for some snappy response.

  “Are you going to be here tomorrow?” he asks.

  Tami. It all depends on her. “I’m not sure. I mean, I’d love to be. Well, not love love. It’s…I’m glad to see you!” I take a deep breath. “But my friend’s at the hospital. She’s hurt. I need to be with her. I need to get there.”

  “Oh. Sorry. Anything I can do to help?”

  I stare at him. That sense of butterflies has worn off. I only feel exhausted. “Aukina, I’m really happy to see you. This is…I just…I’m having the worst forty-eight hours. Everything’s a mess. Tami. She needs antibiotics. Seeing you…my memories…the camp…I can’t…”

  He nods. “I didn’t mean to throw you. Let me help you unload, then I’ll get out of your hair.” He grabs an armful.

  “No. It’s not that. I didn’t mean to say—”

  “Lei, it’s all good. I get it. Nothing to do with me. Just bad timing.”

  “No! It’s good timing. It’s great that we ran into each other, yeah?”

  Aukina smiles, sending a jolt through me. It’s like my lungs were flat, and now I can finally breathe. “Someone from your family will be here tomorrow?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll try back here throughout the day. If I don’t see you, I’ll leave someone a note with a map to our place. We don’t have an address yet. Making it up as we go.”

  “Perfect.”

  “My family will be excited to meet the girl who inspired me to…discharge from duty a bit ahead of schedule.”

  I smile as we empty the truck. Aukina places one last load on the table and turns to leave.

  “Aukina,” I say, “I’m really happy you’re here. Can’t wait to catch up.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out for you.” He shakes Dad’s hand and strides away.

  Why did I send him off? I’m flooded with questions. How did he get here? How hard was it to get settled? Do they need help? Can we do anything for them? Return a favor?

  I draw in a breath.

  “You okay?” Dad asks.

  “Aukina!” I’m way too loud. I don’t care. He turns. “Do you know Morse code?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  I whip open the passenger door, fish through the glove box, find a folded emissions test receipt and a bent ballpoint pen, and race over to the hood. “Can you write down each letter?” I ask him.

  “Okay.” As he’s scribbling out the patterns he keeps looking between me and Dad. “You know, if you want to learn Morse code, there’s a couple tricks to it. It’s more than the sum of the parts. I’d be happy—”

  “Will you teach me?” I ask. “Like, really teach me?”

  “All right.” He smiles, intrigued.

  “Great!” Dad pats him on the back. “This is brilliant. We’ll start tomorrow. You’ll be around all day, you said?”

  He laughs politely. “But I’m busy, too. Building a house. Planting.”

  Dad says, “We’ll reciprocate, make it worth your while.” Amused, Aukina says, “Let’s give it a shot. Lei, memorize as much as you can tonight.” Then he walks away. I watch him in a bit of a stupor.

  “Good thinking.” Dad tosses me the keys. “Go easy. Ten miles an hour up Wainuenue in second gear. Best for gas mileage. And I’ll watch the table and look around here for meds.”

  * * *

  It’s nearly full dark as I park at the hospital. It looks abandoned; no lights shine out of its several floors of windows. A volunteer nurse rushes me back to the room. His behavior sends a shock through me. Why are we racing down the hall? I fear the worst.

  I stare at the door to Tami’s room with sick dread. My feet will not stop, though, and as I draw near, I hold my breath and close my eyes.

  Cheerful voices. I peek.

  Tami’s awake. Sitting up. She looks loopy, but she’s in good spirits. An IV line runs into her arm. My knees almost buckle. I shuffle in. My trembling hand rises to inspect the IV bag. “Antibiotics?”

  She smiles at me. “Hey, sweetie pee-pee.”

  The nurse nods. “She has everything she needs. She’s very fortunate. I haven’t seen these meds in weeks. You must have powerful friends.”

  I turn to Grandpa with questioning eyes.

  He nods. “Keali`i brought them.”

  “Kaopectate!” Tami chimes. “Special K!”

  My heart soars. I clap my hands together.

  Grandpa says, “He just dropped them off. Was glad I was around to make sure Tami got them. Dr. Madsen was concerned, but he wasn’t about to confiscate the gift.”

  I turn back to Tami. She sinks back into her pillow, but she smiles at me. “My turn to space out.”

  “She ain’t outta no woods,” Grandpa says.

  The nurse tells me that I’m welcome to sleep in the waiting area. Grandpa rises. “I’ll take the truck back down to Mike, spend the night with him.”

  I pass Grandpa the keys, and he pulls me close. “If Keali`i shows up, send him away. Folks around here are pretty upset. Dozens of patients have died lately because the antibiotics were stolen. They’re thrilled for Tami’s sake, but they have a lot of questions.”

  “Keali`i shouldn’t get into trouble for—”

  “I got lots of questions, too,” Grandpa says sternly. “We have no idea what kind of deal that boy made. You hear?”

  “I get it.”

 
Grandpa rummages through his backpack and leaves me his dinner. A Spam musabi and an apple banana. I refuse, but he wins. “You need to eat.”

  I follow Grandpa to the truck, then sit alone in the dark hospital lobby. Armed guards pace the entryway. Other people camp out in the waiting room, but I find a quiet row of chairs and try to get comfortable.

  The sleepless minutes drag on and on. Tami’s nurse strolls past, slows, and eyes me hard. I shrink into my seat. It’s as if he’s accusing me of something. I didn’t steal any meds! I want to spit. But I try to ignore his strange expression.

  I lie across the chairs and force myself to memorize the Morse code patterns for A through J, and all the vowels, before sleep overcomes me.

  CHAPTER 11

  I awake several times throughout the night. Bad dreams, pinched muscles, numb legs and arms. Dots and dashes, surging and fading. Morning comes with a garage band of birdcalls. I sneak into Tami’s room. She’s snoring. I decide to go for a walk to nearby Rainbow Falls, quizzing myself on A through J as I go. I do well: the vowels stuck with me through the night, and I move on to K through N.

  The falls are gorgeous in the morning sun, flowing strong thanks to the recent rains. A patch of low clouds drifts aside, and the sun lights the mist in a brilliant rainbow. I feel my head clearing.

  Aukina’s smile enters my mind. Don’t act like an idiot around him. I clamber up the hidden, overgrown stairs that lead above Rainbow Falls. The route takes me through lush jungle toward a secret trail to the swimming holes behind the falls. I make certain I’m alone, strip down, and dive in.

  The chill of the Wailuku River is a fabulous cure for the stifling humidity inside the hospital. My stomach calms. I realize that I’ve been feeling nauseated since arriving at the hospital yesterday. I climb out and sit on the rocks, allowing the sun to dry me. I put on my clothes, sit down to

  —

  The surface of a contact lens, cast in a thin, hazy film of blue. The world is all ocean against a blinding sun. I’m deeper. My grand mal seizure opens my mind wide. I tremble, in bliss, high above the world.

  Mauna Loa’s mottled skin has a fresh blemish. A round patch of black fading out from a central crater. I have scarred my sacred peak. I want to reach out, brush it smooth, then cup the globe in my hands.

  There is purpose here. Comfort.

  I’m enveloped by the folds, the lightning in my brain one with the surging of the Orchid’s veins. Pono. Lōkahi. If I could hold on forever, I might never let go.

  Go away. You’re not wanted. Go away and leave us alone.

  What was that?

  No. Who was that?

  I recoil with sudden understanding. Someone else is here. Trying to order the Orchid away.

  Hello?

  The voice is gone. I float high over the surface of the waters in a beautiful loneliness that can only be found between worlds.

  —

  Water. Flowing. Babbling. Sunlight dances on the scallops. The river is rippling with sequins. I’m here. Japanese white-eyes chatter in the trees above me, guiding me back. I focus. I’m still on the rocks beside the Wailuku. The waterfall’s edge is around the next set of boulders. Good thing I didn’t slip into the water during the spell.

  The disappointment of returning to my own terrestrial senses is worse than it used to be. I pine to be back up there. When I’m with her, the world is so serene.

  I steady myself and stand up. Tired. Weak. But I head for the path that leads into the trees.

  It comes back: Someone else was up there.

  I shudder. Whoever they are—they’re not speaking with the Orchid the right way. The voice is only a whisper. I may have heard it only because my seizure was deep. The night of my birthday was the last serious seizure, but instigated by violent pain that blocked anything faint. How long has this voice been here? If they ever figured out how to connect the way I have—Go away and leave us alone—could they succeed in pushing the Orchid away?

  I feel a stab of panic and jealousy. Stay, I think. We are Leilani. We want to stay. We want to be together. Never apart. Never with another. It is a good thing.

  There is purpose here. Comfort.

  Yes. There is, I tell her. Stay.

  I return to the hospital, almost running.

  * * *

  I settle into the chair next to Tami’s bed and sleep, then awake to voices. I mountaineer up through my exhaustion. I don’t think it’s obvious that I’m post-seizure, which is a relief.

  The male nurse is with us—Herbert—so Tami and I don’t get too chatty, but I can’t help asking her in a whisper, “Still think Keali`i doesn’t know you exist?”

  “No. I can’t believe he did this.”

  I tell her that people seem to be mad at him for it, that he might get into trouble if he shows up at the hospital again. Tami rolls her eyes. “No good deed goes unpunished.”

  When Herbert leaves, I tell her all about Soldier Boy.

  She lets out a pent-up sigh. “Can’t wait for my knight in shining armor.”

  I stare at her.

  “What?”

  “Keali`i, you dork,” I say. “He showed up out of the blue and saved your life. Now he’s a fugitive on the run. All for you.”

  Tami shoots me a wry look. “All of this”—she shakes her IV pole—“was for you.”

  “No! Listen to me. It’s not like that! He likes you.”

  She smiles.

  “I’m done. New topic.”

  I force her to quiz me nonstop on Morse code. I’m incredibly sorry for her, lying there with needles coming out of her, the red, puffy gash on her leg wide open, but I’m not going to give an inch.

  Underneath, I hear that new voice. Just a murmur— Go away. My imagination? It must have been. But what if it was real? I can’t let it grow stronger. How do I stop it? Who was it?

  Midafternoon, Dr. Madsen has good news. “Your fever’s gone, vitals look great, redness is way down. I think you’re on the mend. A few more days of observation and you can go home, finish recovering there.”

  “I’m not going to lose my leg?”

  The doctor offers the usual caveats about uncertainty, but Tami and I are already in each other’s arms, squealing.

  “How do we pay you?” I ask Dr. Madsen.

  “However you can. I have to eat and maintain a home, same as anybody. And the hospital will always be in need. I’ve already spoken with your grandpa. We’ll work something out. Propane. Volunteer hours. Not your concern.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Go on.” Tami motions me out the door. “Go talk in code with Soldier Boy.”

  I run-walk to the bathroom. I have to prop the door open with my backpack to let in light. I stand in front of the mirror, combing my hands through my hair. It’s getting long enough for me to bite at the ends of it—a terrible habit, a thing I do without realizing it. Why can’t I ever encounter Aukina without looking and feeling like a zombie?

  At least the cold water works. Hilo’s water is mostly gravity-based; no electricity needed. But even the pipes will fail in time without people dedicated to repairing inevitable clogs and breaks. Grateful, I wash my face, wet my hair. I smile at myself. Not too bad. Don’t sweat it. He wasn’t exactly ready for prom, either.

  I unlock my bike and coast downhill from the hospital. The market is busier than I’ve ever seen it—even before the Arrival. We’re not the only family eager to peddle our first batch of successful crops. And so many people are desperate to get their hands on anything.

  I lock up my bike and join Dad behind our table. The corn is about half gone, but most of our apple bananas and kalo are still here. Everything we have to offer is easily grown by anybody. But we are doing business and will work our way up to more specialized crops as quickly as we can. Dad haggles with a customer as I approach. The customer is offering ten dollars cash to fill his cloth bag with corn.

  Dad shakes his head. “I won’t take cash alone. You need to throw in something I can sink my
teeth into. Then we’ll talk.”

  “Are you kidding? This is a lot of money.”

  “It’s a lot of paper.” Dad has explained his philosophy to me before. Money is only worth something if people have faith in it, he says. Paper money and coins have retained their usefulness on this island because everyone seems to intuitively understand that it’s relatively rare and that no one is making more. But there’s no agreement on how much a dollar is worth. One ear of corn? Ten? A whole crateful? The exchange value swings wildly, depending on what the buyer and seller believe is a fair deal at that moment and in that spot. Dad is fine with collecting paper money, but only if it’s accompanied by some sort of trade. That way, if people suddenly reject paper money, he isn’t giving away his goods for free. Meanwhile, he never spends cash. He’s waiting for the day that its value stabilizes; then he’ll know exactly what his stash can buy.

  Gasoline and propane. Bullets.

  “Fine,” the customer grunts. “Ten bucks, plus a can of baked beans. And you let me fill my bag as full as I can get it.” He pulls a tin of KTA-brand beans from his backpack and places it on top of the ten-dollar bill.

  “You’ve got a deal.” Dad snatches up the can and the ten spot. “Lei! How’s Tami doing?”

  “She’s going to recover. Keali`i came through.”

  Dad leans back, looks up, releases a deep sigh. “Thank God. That’s fantastic.”

  “Where’s Grandpa?”

  “Shopping. Seeing if we can get a pint of gas for a tool we were offered.”

  The customer balances one last ear on top of his pile—an obvious cheat, if you ask me. “See you next week. Thanks!”

  We’re alone. I hesitate. “I had a seizure this morning.”

  “You okay?”

  I nod. “They’re never that bad anymore.” No reason to tell him I was near water. Get right to the point. I whisper, “I think—there was another voice—telling the Orchid to leave.”

  Dad leans forward. “What? Really? Who?”

  “I have no idea.”