Honey Girl

by Lisa Freeman

  “What’s wrong, Nani?” Claire asked.

  “Oh, the Red Baron struck last night,” I joked. What was my problem? I tried to perk up. I had everything under control. There was nothing wrong, I told myself. Letting Dad go was the real natural progression.

  Shawn dropped in on Nigel as they both took off on the same wave. Nigel’s board flipped out from under his heel, and he fell back. This was my chance. I grabbed the Band-Aid box, tucked it under my armpit, flipped my hair to that side, and ran to the water. As I waded in, churning foam spread around my hips. There was a bit of a riptide, but I was able to stop Nigel’s board before it jetted into the ditch and crashed on shore. To the lineup and all the guys in the takeoff zone, it looked like I was being the ultimate girlfriend, but really I was being the ultimate daughter. I opened the box and watched my father dissolve into the sea.

  “Aloha mau loa, Daddy.” That meant “I love you forever.”

  No hello. No goodbye.

  It’s a good thing Nigel was a powerful swimmer. The waves were starting to peak, and the rip was really strong. I could feel it tugging at my legs so hard. I pulled back and let my knees bend slightly to manage the tide, holding Nigel’s board steady beside me and keeping my hair from blowing in my face. My beach craft went unnoticed. Rox and Jerry had sauntered to the lineup as Nigel edged closer and closer.

  Nigel was my pretty-pretty. What did I want Rox for? What was I thinking? Let Jerry have her. I was lucky to get out of her grip alive. She’d either screw Jerry to death or marry him someday. She’d work full time at the Chart House as a hostess, and Jerry would sell used Fords on Santa Monica Boulevard between surf competitions. They deserved each other. I was going to be like Barbarella and have adventures.

  And then again, a rather remarkable idea struck me. Fire with fire. Let Rox get a taste of her own medicine. Nigel caught a tiny wave and body surfed right into me.

  “Hey,” Nigel said, wrapping his wet body around mine. He nuzzled my neck and bit my earlobe. All the guys in the takeoff zone started hooting and yodeling their approval. I knew better than to look at them, but Rox was a different story.

  Our eyes met as I turned and said, “Hey,” to Nigel. Nigel wasn’t even out of breath. I floated his board to him. Now, any other surfer would have gotten his board and split, but Nigel McBride wasn’t just anybody. He took my hand and said, “Thank you.”

  Who was this guy? I was planning on making Rox jealous, but something else started to happen. The way his eyes sparkled and the corner of his lips slightly curved made me think Nigel McBride was my Honey more than I was his. If it wasn’t for him, Rox would have never paid attention to me, and I wouldn’t be in the lineup. He was the only person that was 100 percent true blue. I kissed him for real, without an agenda or rule. Not to get something or be someone. I just really liked him. Maybe that was better than love.

  It felt like I had my priorities straight even if deep down I wasn’t. I think truly the only thing straight about me was my hair. That’s when I got it. Rox was a Scorpio, ruled by Pluto and darkness. I was a Virgo, a virgin, ruled by sunlight and ocean. Without someone or something in the middle of us, water and fire could not mix. Jerry and Nigel were the balance between us. The zodiac and our signs completed my understanding of how it was possible to be Rox and Nani, Fiji lovers.

  In fact, I finally got it. I wasn’t a haole. I was Swedish and Irish—and duh, 100 percent American. Jean was a Republican. I wasn’t sure what I would be. That was cool. Why couldn’t liking girls and boys be like voting? I’d figure out later which side I’d be on.

  The trick was finding my middle ground. A personal DMZ. A bridge between rich and poor. Gay and straight. In and out. Jean and Mom. Dead and alive. Hawaiian rules and how to live on the mainland.

  Jerry ran into the water. His long hair had highlights in it like mine. His white teeth sparkled and cute little grin teased as he strut into the ocean.

  “Better hurry, McBride. Bob’s going to call it any second.” Rox walked to the lineup. I had that familiar feeling of someone knocking the wind out of me when I saw her. She had her blouse tied low on her hips and her towel draped around her neck like a lei. Her hair swept behind her, making her look airborne and immortal.

  Rox adoringly monitored every move Jerry made, especially when he splashed me and powered into the waves. I watched obediently until Nigel caught a wave with total supremacy. He let the curl chase him before he flipped out and somersaulted off his board, showing off. Lisa Y. yelled, “He’s so crushed out on you.” That was my signal to return to the lineup.

  The moment of truth. Where I was placed would determine if Rox was still going to let me rule someday. KC’s empty towel was on the far end. Lisa H. came next then Lisa Y. There was an open space for me next to Rox with Claire on her other side and Jenni beside her. From a distance, I could see I was directly in the middle of the lineup. Bull’s-eye.

  Settling in was not a problem. Not a grain of sand flicked as I laid down my towel, tucked the Band-Aid box into my tote, and stretched out between them.

  This was the center of the universe. I had no doubt. The morning smelled of the ocean and the Topangas’ assortment of incense. The smell of spicy cinnamon jawbreakers overpowered the suntan oil and cigarette smoke.

  I didn’t need to smell my father’s vodka anymore. But I did have to look at Rox. I couldn’t lie next to her and not acknowledge the empress she was. Cautiously, I touched my fingertips to hers.

  As the lineup got busy, Rox leaned into my ear and whispered, “This is yours.” She fastened my elephant necklace around my neck and clasped it tight. We looked at each other, talking only with our eyes. I wasn’t going to take this necklace off ever again, even in the water. It felt good next to Nigel’s Saint Christopher.

  Rox dropped her voice low into my shoulder. “Jerry and Nigel are for every day,” she said. “Fiji is a vacation paradise just for us. Don’t forget that.” And then, just like that, she sunk low into her towel, checking me out head to toe.

  No doubt my sexed out bikini would make her need a psychiatrist by the end of the day. She kept looking at me and then back to the jammed takeoff zone, watching Jerry drop in on big waves. I scooped some sand into my hand, making little mounds and flattening them down.

  I closed my eyes and went into my dream chamber. It was beautiful again. I imagined myself wearing a fern head lei that looked like a crown of green, watching canoes disappear into the horizon, that place where the ocean and sky merge into a single line. I could almost see my father smiling and hear his warm laughter. That was then and this is now, I told myself, opening my eyes.

  Marooned on the mainland or back in Hawaii, all that mattered was this: people would come and go, but a beach would never leave me. The ocean, waves, sun, the offshore breeze, Pele, and the sky connected me to everything good about life and my dad. He was here on my beach at State with me now. I’d always know where to find him, and hopefully he would always know where to find me.