Summer Bird Blue

by Akemi Dawn Bowman

  “Get in the car!”

  “Don’t fucking touch me!”

  “Get in the fucking car!”

  “Stop!”

  “Stop!”

  “Stop!”

  And then Kai walks up to the blue Mustang and smashes his fist through the glass.

  “Oh my God.” It’s my voice, sharp and quick and sucked back inside me like I’m taking in a gasp of air. There’s glass everywhere, and Kai’s knuckles are bleeding, and his mom is reaching for his hand. And crying. And shaking. Even Mr. Yamada is leaning forward with concern.

  And then, “Get in the car. You need stitches.”

  The three of them climb inside Mrs. Yamada’s car, leaving the windowless Mustang in the driveway. When they’re gone, I stare at the shattered bits of bloodied glass and feel my heart pound and pound.

  A memory

  I can hear sirens. My heartbeat. Someone’s heartbeat? Oh God, whose heartbeat is that? Why is it going so fast?

  I can’t feel my legs. I can’t feel my arms either, and oh God, am I paralyzed? I can’t move.

  A sound escapes me, but it sounds like something shriveled and weak. There’s broken glass against my face. It must be pressed into my skin, but I can’t feel it—I just see it reflecting off the road like crushed ice.

  Lea? Mom?

  I’m trying to call their names, but my voice isn’t working. I’m not sure if anything is working.

  There’s footsteps. Ringing. Voices.

  A woman’s face appears in front of me.

  “Can you hear me? You’re going to be okay. I’m going to get you out of there. You’re going to be okay.”

  I’m going to be okay. What about everyone else?

  Mom?

  Lea?

  Can you hear me?

  Why can’t I say the words?

  Why can’t I hear them?

  Why am I all alone?

  The panic attack hits me hard. I feel a burst of something heavy rise up my stomach and fill my chest and throat. My heart is beating like a snare drum—over and over and over again like I’m bracing for the end of something. I clutch my shirt, pulling the material away from me like I’m pulling my skin off, and before I know it I’m sitting on the floor with my head between my knees, my sharp breaths making the back of my throat feel like it’s full of coarse sand.

  I try to focus on something—a thought or a memory that isn’t broken glass and lost voices. A melody that isn’t screeching tires and my sister calling my name for the very last time. A song that feels more like home than a volcano.

  I think of Mom.

  Mom who should be here, Mom who should be telling me what to do, Mom who should be making me feel like everything is going to be okay.

  “I don’t know how to do this on my own,” I whisper before it’s even a real thought.

  It’s a strange feeling, to be okay and not okay all at the same time. I’m okay in the sense that I haven’t cried. That I haven’t completely lost it. And I’m not okay in the sense that I haven’t cried. That I haven’t completely lost it.

  I’ve bottled up my emotions and hidden them somewhere that was supposed to be safe. I thought it was to protect myself, but maybe it’s because I haven’t been ready. Maybe I didn’t want to feel everything all on my own.

  I lift my head and see Mr. Watanabe’s ukulele across the room from me—the one he told me I could borrow to help finish my song. My heart is still racing and my breathing is rapid, but I crawl across the floor and pick it up anyway.

  I close my eyes and Lea is already there. I let out a slow breath, and suddenly Mom is there too.

  There are fuzzy stars behind my eyelids, and my head is spinning with the horrible memory of the crash.

  But I focus on my family instead. I focus on home.

  I make my way to the edge of the bed and strum the chords to my mother’s favorite song. I sing the words to “Dream a Little Dream of Me.” I feel the warmth of my mother and sister next to me—the two ghosts I need to feel whole.

  I don’t write any new lyrics. I’m too busy remembering the ones that used to make me happy. The ones that used to make me feel something.

  I don’t notice the panic attack subsiding. I only notice the tingle in my nose and the moment when I almost cry, but don’t.

  I miss Lea, but I miss Mom, too.

  * * *

  I don’t leave the bed until I see Mrs. Yamada’s car roll back up the driveway. I rush outside and down the steps, and I reach the gate as Kai’s closing the car door.

  His hand is bandaged in gauze and tape, like he’s wearing some kind of pretend boxing glove. Mr. Yamada doesn’t get out of the car because he’s not here at all. I wonder if he went to work straight after the hospital.

  Mrs. Yamada sees me first. She gives me a tired smile and nods at Kai. “I’ll see you inside.” She tilts her head to me, in case he hasn’t noticed I’m there.

  And he hadn’t, because when his eyes click to mine, he pulls his face back in surprise. “Hey,” he says, like he forgot I live next door.

  I push the gate open and walk toward him. “Dude, back off—breaking windows is my thing.”

  He looks worn out and in desperate need of a nap, but he still manages to grin. “Well, the good news is my dad has probably forgotten about the money you owe him. He’s too busy planning my life sentence.”

  “That’s too bad. I kind of like working at your mom’s place,” I say.

  He shrugs. “I might have to work there too, if I don’t get shipped off fo’ basic training first. Unless you still don’t want to be around me.” He pauses. “In which case, I’ll ask my mom to fire you so I can take your place.”

  A laugh escapes me, and my eyes quickly drift away from him. I pause, hoping my words will come out the way I intend. “I’ve been thinking a lot, about what happened.”

  Kai opens his mouth, but I lift both my hands like I’m trying to stop him.

  “No. This is important.” I clear my throat. Sandwich method. “I really like hanging out with you. More important, I like you—but not the same way you like me. And I’m sorry if this sounds selfish and unfair, but I want us to keep hanging out, as friends. Because I’m really fucking lonely, and you are the literal sunshine in my life right now, and I look forward to seeing you—even if I don’t want to date you—and I need you to not hate me. Because it’s not you. I just don’t want to date anyone. Maybe not ever, but definitely not right now. And I need you to act the same with me and be my friend—because you’re a really good friend—and I don’t want to lose you, because if you’re not in my life I think the world is going to go dark again and I’m not sure I have the strength for another war. So please don’t quit me. I kind of need you.”

  Okay, so less of a sandwich and more of a really messy, falling-to-pieces, twelve-inch sub.

  To my surprise, he laughs. It sounds like a thousand cherry blossoms floating through the air in spring. Bringing his unwrapped hand to his forehead, he pushes his hair back. “I don’t hate you, hapa. I like you. In fact, I like you enough that it doesn’t matter if you don’t like me. And even though I’m really tired and in all honesty probably didn’t catch everything you said in your breakup speech”—I make a face at him, which only makes him laugh harder—“friends is fine.” He shrugs. Smiles. “I can do friends.”

  “Okay.” I look at the broken glass still scattered around the pavement. “How many stitches did you get?”

  “A few.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “A little. The doctor said it’s a miracle I didn’t break my hand. I’m more angry that I can’t surf like this.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “It’s not my fault you changed your mind about the military?”

  Kai cradles his hand against his chest. “You heard that, huh?”

  I motion toward my bedroom window. “Sorry for eavesdropping, but there’s something about a good old-fashioned public mel
tdown I just can’t say no to.”

  He laughs. “Well, don’t feel bad. It wasn’t only because of what you said to me. I haven’t been sure about joining the military for a while. I guess I’m trying to figure out what to do.”

  I roll my weight to the back of my heels. “I think it’s good that you told him how you feel.”

  Kai tilts his head back and takes a huge breath. It releases from him slowly. “I think the problem is I’m not sure how I feel. Maybe I’ll still join, and maybe I won’t. Just . . . be my friend too, okay? Support me no matter what I decide. No more judging my life choices and waving your dead sister card around to make me feel guilty.”

  I bite my lip. “I do that?”

  “A little.” His eyes soften.

  “Okay,” I say finally. He looks grateful, but tired, too, as if the electricity is fizzling out behind his dark stare. I decide to give the sandwich method a chance to redeem itself. “I’m proud of you. You look like a dementor is draining the life out of you before my eyes. I kind of missed you.”

  First he looks surprised. Then happy. And then hesitant, like he’s remembered something that’s stopping his grin from turning into a full smile.

  “I missed you too, hapa,” he says at last. He turns back for his front door, and when he gets to the top step, he looks over his shoulder and waves before disappearing inside.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Jae-Jae finishes styling a woman’s hair, flipping the ends like she’s getting her ready for a magazine photo shoot. With a glorious smile, she pulls the apron from the woman and asks, “What do you think?”

  “Perfect.” She turns left and right, eyeing herself in the mirror. “Thanks, Jae-Jae.”

  The woman makes her way to the cash register, where I’m sitting with a pen still wedged between my fingers. After I pass her a receipt, she waves to Jae-Jae and slips through the door to make her new debut on the sidewalk.

  I pull my notebook out from under the counter and try to finish my lyrics.

  I’ll remember you in summer, when the bluest sky turns black, and the stars form words across the sky, saying you aren’t coming back.

  I feel Jae-Jae’s fingers run through my hair. “I could make this beautiful.”

  I let my head drop back so I’m staring up at her. “Can you make this beautiful too?” I tap my pen against the page of unfinished lyrics.

  Jae-Jae scoots around me and leans against the counter so she can read my messy handwriting. “You’re missing the sparkle.”

  “The sparkle?” I repeat.

  She nods. “The magic. What’s your inspiration?”

  I shrink. “Three words my sister and I chose right before she died. Does that count?”

  Jae-Jae makes a face like she’s smelling bad food. “That could be your problem. You’re writing a eulogy, when you’re supposed to be writing a song.”

  I lean back in the chair and swivel from side to side. “I’ve lost it. I can’t write anything anymore. I used to be good at this.”

  “Don’t you have any other emotions to pull from?”

  “You mean other than my dead sister?”

  She fidgets. “Well, you can use that. But you aren’t using that.” She flips through my notebook. “It kind of reads like you’re trying to write the song your sister would have wanted instead of writing the song you want.” She waves at her own hair and outfit. “It’s like if I tried to style myself like someone famous. It’s mimicry. It isn’t a Jae-Jae original.” She looks serious. “You don’t want someone’s hand-me-downs. You want a custom Marchesa gown that’s made just for you.”

  “Custom Marchesa gown. Got it.” I pause. “What is that exactly?”

  Jae-Jae laughs. “I’m just saying maybe you need a reboot. I could always start with your hair.” She bites her lip and widens her magenta-lined eyes hopefully.

  “I see what you did there,” I say, laughing. “But I’m not ready for hair. When I am, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

  The phone rings, and Jae-Jae winks at me before picking it up. “Hyung-Lee’s Salon at the Palekaiko Bay Resort, how can I help you?”

  * * *

  I write the lyrics over and over again, in so many different ways. I practice melodies on Mr. Watanabe’s piano. I hear guitar chords in my head. I sing until my throat hurts.

  But I can’t put the words together. It’s like there’s a giant roadblock in my brain, and trying to dig to the other side is like trying to claw my way through a mountain.

  I’m torn between writing the song that sounds like fire and writing the one that sounds like home.

  I feel like I’m stuck in between something, only I don’t know exactly what the something is.

  When I came to Hawaii I was someplace dark and cold. I felt trapped, but instead of coming up for a breath of air, I flung myself into the galaxy because I wasn’t ready to face what the world became without Lea and Mom. Now my time in space is up, and I’m falling back to earth with no idea what’s waiting for me.

  My lyrics don’t feel right because I don’t feel right.

  Kai invites me to another barbecue at the beach—as friends—and Izzy shows up with her guitar and her girlfriend, Camille, who happens to also be the drummer in their band.

  “Izzy says you can really sing,” Camille tells me when everyone is sitting in a circle eating fish burgers and beef skewers.

  “I tried to get her fo’ go to open-mic night, but she no like come,” Gareth offers through a mouthful of burger.

  “I’ve never really played in front of strangers before. Not on my own, I mean.” I realize I’m already alluding to Lea, and the thought makes my heart jump. Not because of how much I miss Lea, but because I’m already picturing Kai rolling his eyes at me.

  But he’s not listening. He twists his can of guava juice into the sand to make sure it doesn’t tip over. His hand is still wrapped in bandages, and he hasn’t said much since we all sat down together. He still seems tired—maybe yelling at his dad really took it out of him.

  Camille flashes a smile. “You should come this Thursday. It’s good fun.”

  Hannah nods in agreement beside me. She’s sitting with her knees up and an arm draped over her legs. “Yeah, we’re all going. These two will be playing.” She raises her chin toward Izzy and Camille.

  “My song isn’t really ready,” I admit, looking at Kai for any sign of interest.

  He gives me a weak smile, but that’s all.

  I wonder if things are really bad with his dad, and then I feel like a terrible friend for not asking before we got here.

  “Let’s hear whatchu got,” Izzy offers, shoving the last piece of her burger into her mouth and clapping the crumbs from her hands. She reaches for the guitar neck and passes it to me with a strong arm.

  “Seriously?” I ask, and she nods. I pull the guitar close to me and flatten my palm over the strings. “Okay, well . . . maybe the melody. I’m not ready to share the lyrics.”

  I brush my thumb over the strings a few times. It’s strange going back to a guitar after using Mr. Watanabe’s ukulele for weeks. The fret board feels enormous, and the strings feel so thick in comparison. But still, it’s familiar.

  I run through the chords for my work in progress a little more carefully than normal because I hate making mistakes in front of people. Lea was different—she’d mess up and laugh and laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world. I, on the other hand, internalize humiliation very well.

  After I move through each chord and find a rhythm, I repeat the song a little faster. My heartbeat picks up, and I feel the rush of Lea’s ghost blur through my thoughts.

  I’m starting to need her. Knowing I can reach her with music leaves me with a hunger. An ache. I wonder if it’s possible to keep a ghost with you forever.

  Maybe I don’t have to say good-bye.

  Maybe I don’t have to be alone.

  Izzy bobs her head up and down, while Camille rests sweetly against her shoulder. Hannah
is whispering to Kai—something that makes him tuck his chin lower and grin—but I start to lose myself in the music and my eyes drift away.

  A memory

  Alice leans into Caleb’s neck, whispering something that makes both of them laugh.

  I hate that I feel jealous of them. Not because of what they have together, but because of what I’m not a part of anymore. It was either me and Caleb or me and Alice—not Alice and Caleb. It was never supposed to be the two of them and me on the outside.

  I lost both my friends as soon as they started dating.

  I take my eyes away from them and lean back against the brick wall right outside the bus stop. Lea is standing beside me, her guitar wrapped around her shoulder, watching the last school bus pull away.

  She tilts her head toward me and raises a brow. “Why do you still wait for her?”

  “We always walk to first period together,” I reply irritably.

  Lea crunches a mint between her teeth because impatience is one of the few things we share besides our love of music and the world’s busiest mother. “She can walk with Caleb—I’ll walk with you.”

  I raise my fingers to my temples. “Oh my God, what is happening? You’re supposed to be the freshman who doesn’t have any friends, and I should be the cool big sister who walks you to class so you don’t feel embarrassed.”

  “Honestly, Rumi, you were never that cool,” she replies.

  I choke out a laugh and place a hand on my heart like she’s hurt me. “Brutal honesty. We really have traded places.”

  She laughs easily. “I’m kidding.” And then she’s looking at me with her big, round eyes that remind me of Mom. “I like walking with you. I’m kind of glad you’re not as close to Alice and Caleb. It made room for me.”

  I open my mouth to say something snarky and dismissive but realize I don’t want to. Because it’s the truth. Losing my two best friends made more room for Lea. And maybe it’s better that way. Maybe I like it better that way.

  Lea lifts her guitar strap over her neck and passes the instrument to me. “Come on, let’s practice our new song.”

  “Uh, there are people everywhere. No way,” I hiss.

  She thrusts the guitar into my stomach. “Trust me. We’re doing this.”