Summer Bird Blue

by Akemi Dawn Bowman

  She rests her cheek against my temple, and her curls spill from her shoulder. I want to reach out and touch them. I love the familiarity—the buttery smoothness of her skin, the grapefruit scent of her soap, the shimmery pink of her cheeks, and the way she is always, always warm. To me, Mom is home. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you got your hair cut.”

  She’s been apologizing for days. She’s sorry she had to disappear for a while. She’s sorry she wasn’t there for me. She’s sorry I had to mourn Lea all on my own. She’s sorry she wasn’t around more when we were kids. She’s sorry she didn’t force Dad to stay. And she’s mostly sorry she’s done so many things worth apologizing for.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her, and it surprises me a little that I mean it. It’s been bad, not having her around, but it hasn’t been all bad. I took some steps on my own, even if they were wobbly and in the wrong direction.

  But I have learned that I can survive this. That I have survived this. Even if there is still such a long way to go.

  * * *

  “Those two care about you a lot,” Aunty Ani tells me when she’s cooking saimin on the stove. I know who she’s talking about—Kai and Mr. Watanabe. “Every time I see them outside they ask about you.”

  I lean against the wall, playing with the string of my pajama bottoms and staring at my bare feet. Mom’s taking a shower, and it’s strange how normal it feels to have her close by again. “Do you think he’s mad at me?” I ask after a few seconds.

  Aunty Ani looks puzzled.

  “Mr. Watanabe. For not visiting him in the hospital.”

  She rests the wooden spoon on the counter and faces me. “Nobody would blame you fo’ not wanting to be in a hospital after what you went through.” She means the accident and losing Lea. I’m not in a hurry to step through the doors of a hospital again, even if I’m walking on my own two feet and not being pushed on a stretcher.

  “Yeah, but”—I pause, chewing my lip—“I’m the only one who visits him. I’m the one who should’ve been there to keep him company.”

  “He has family in Hawaii.”

  “But not close family. If they cared about him, I’d have seen them at his house. I’d have seen photos of them in his house.”

  Aunty Ani shrugs. “Sometimes families are complicated. It doesn’t mean they don’t care.”

  I push my tongue to the side of my mouth and shake my head. “Mr. Watanabe is a good person. He doesn’t deserve to be lonely all the time.”

  “You don’t think maybe he likes being lonely?” she asks carefully.

  “Some people like being alone, but nobody likes being lonely, even if they pretend they do,” I say. “Besides, he likes having me around. Doesn’t he?” I suddenly feel as if I’m searching for confirmation.

  “I’m sure he does.” She pauses. “I think sometimes grief finds grief. Maybe he felt comfortable around you in a way he didn’t with his family.”

  I clench my teeth, considering her words.

  She turns to me suddenly, like she needs me to listen carefully to what she’s about to say. “I hope you know how much I care about you, Rumi. I know we lived far away from each other, but I love you. And even though I’m sorry about the way you came to Hawaii, I’m not sorry you were here. Ohana, right?”

  Family. I nod. “I know. And thanks—for everything.”

  She smiles. I think she’s trying to hold back her tears. She starts to stir the saimin again, but remembers something. “Oh, I almost forgot. He left something fo’ you. Watch the stove?”

  She disappears into the hallway, and when she comes back she’s holding one of Mr. Watanabe’s records. The one with the guitar. The one that drew me to his front door that first night.

  She hands it to me. “When his niece came to pick up Poi after he went to the hospital, she dropped this off. Said he wanted you to have it. I held on to it because I worried it would make you more upset, and then with your mom back . . .” She shakes her head apologetically. “I guess it slipped my mind.”

  “Why would he give me this?” I ask with a frown.

  She offers me a small smile. “I’m not sure he was convinced he was going to make it. His niece told me he kept saying that you were his friend and that you’d be waiting fo’ him. And . . . well, maybe he wanted you to have this, in case he didn’t come home.” She motions toward the single record. “He said you’d need it.”

  I don’t say anything. I’m trying too hard not to cry.

  “You no need worry whether he’s mad at you or not. I think he’s grateful fo’ you. I think you brought him a lot of peace—more than he’s had in years.”

  We eat dinner together, and afterward Mom and Aunty Ani make fresh tea, taking their cups out to the lanai to give me space. I sit on the couch for a long time, staring at the gift and wondering what I did to make Mr. Watanabe think I was worthy of such a present.

  And as if some otherworldly presence were urging me to do so, I split the case open and slide the vinyl disk out of the packaging. A piece of paper falls out and floats to the ground.

  I pick it up carefully, studying the handwriting I don’t recognize but know is Mr. Watanabe’s.

  In neat, swooping letters written with black pen are the words: If you get lost in the darkness, remember to follow the music. Thanks for reminding me to do the same.

  Even though I’m crying, I’m smiling, too.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Mom books us plane tickets to go back to Washington in a week. She says we’ve been hiding from our real lives for long enough, and it’s time we face our empty home together.

  It’s going to be hard walking through our house and doing all the normal things we used to do, without Lea, but Mom says we have each other. She says we’ll get through it together and that Lea would want us to live. She says we owe her that much—to be happy—because it’s how she would have lived her life.

  The next afternoon, I find myself wandering into my neighbor’s yard. I can’t leave Hawaii without saying good-bye. I wouldn’t want to.

  Poi starts barking before I reach the top step. Mr. Watanabe pushes the screen open and grunts like it hasn’t been days at all.

  “So, I don’t know if you heard, but I’m going back to Washington soon,” I say.

  “I heard,” he replies, as if it’s simple—as if we don’t have to make this harder than it needs to be.

  I hold up the ukulele. “Thanks for letting me borrow this. It might have saved my life.”

  “You bettah keep it, if it’s done all dat.”

  I hold the instrument close to my chest and smile.

  He nods toward the living room. “You like mahi-mahi?”

  We sit together at the table, eating lunch and listening to music, when I remember something. Something I forgot. Something I didn’t fully understand.

  A memory

  The impact of the other vehicle against ours makes my head whip to the side. I don’t have time to brace for it—it collides against us like metal punching metal, and then the world starts to spin.

  I hear the noises—the glass and the crunching. The awful, awful noises.

  And then the last sound I hear before the worst music of my life comes to a finish.

  “Rumi.”

  My name. Someone calling my name. But it’s not a shout, and it’s not a whisper. It’s the weak, desperate word of someone closing their eyes.

  And it isn’t Lea’s voice at all.

  I swallow the bite of white fish that’s stuffed in my mouth and blink. And breathe. And feel the rush of cold through my nostrils.

  “It was Mom,” I say out loud.

  Mr. Watanabe looks at me with a patience I’ve never seen him wear before.

  “I thought Lea said my name right before I blacked out. But it wasn’t her—it was my mom.” My heart is stunned for a moment, the beating nonexistent.

  “Your muddah loves you. I’m sure she was very worried about you.” He speaks with more care than he usually does.

&n
bsp; But why would she say my name? Why wouldn’t she call out for Lea?

  Maybe it means nothing. Maybe it means everything.

  Maybe it simply means something to me.

  A moment of clarity, if nothing else, where I will always know that my Mom loved me completely.

  After dinner, I find Mom sitting on the steps near the front door, almost like she’s waiting for me. Almost like she knows.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I sit beside her, the moon hovering above us like a soft lantern. “Why did you let me think Lea said my name?”

  Mom gives me a weak smile. “I wondered if you’d ever remember—or if I should ever tell you the truth.”

  I wrap my arms around my knees and wait for her to explain.

  She wipes a quiet tear away. “In some ways, I still feel responsible for the accident—like what happened was my fault. If only we’d left the house five minutes earlier, or five minutes later. If only we’d never left at all. If maybe I’d somehow paid more attention to the road, or taken an extra second before I hit the gas pedal.”

  “It’s not your fault, though,” I say.

  “Thank you, Rumi. I know that, deep down.” She shakes her head. “I loved you both the same. I love you equally. But I always worried about you in a way I didn’t with Lea. And I guess that came out instinctively when the accident happened. I was worried about you, and when it turned out my other baby died, I felt horrible. I felt like—I don’t know—like I’d made a choice and the universe answered.”

  My stomach turns, and my heart breaks all over again, but this time for my mother. “Oh, Mom . . .”

  She lifts her head and tears spill down her brown cheeks.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “At first because I was so ashamed. I didn’t think you’d even heard me—I thought it would be a secret I’d carry for the rest of my life. And then you told me you thought it was Lea—how you thought she’d saved you in some way. And I guess I didn’t want to take that away from you—that confirmation of how much your sister loved you. And she did, Rumi. She really, really did.”

  I chew my lip. “It would’ve been nice to know you loved me too. I felt like you abandoned me because your favorite daughter was gone.”

  “I know that now. And I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have let my grief swallow me up the way it did. I should’ve been there for you.” She sniffs. “I guess I always felt like it was the two of you, you know? Rumi and Lea, my sweet, beautiful girls. You two loved each other so much—I guess the grief of knowing you lost each other was what killed me the most. I’m so sorry. I should’ve done better.”

  I rest my head on her shoulder and she kisses me, her sigh spilling into my hair.

  “Please don’t hate me,” she whispers.

  “I promise I don’t. I never did—not really,” I say. And then I tilt my head back to look at her. “Besides, Aunty Ani is actually pretty cool. It’s been nice here.”

  Mom laughs. “I’m glad to hear it.” After a while, she speaks again. “How would you feel about seeing a therapist when we get back home?”

  I look up at Mom. “You think I still need to talk to someone? Even though you’re back?”

  “I do. I think it’s important. And we could even go together, if you’d like that. I want us to both be healthy. I want you to have the best chance at healing you possibly can, and I think therapy is necessary,” Mom says.

  I nod because I believe her, and because I want things to be okay. “All right. I’ll talk to someone.”

  “Together?” she asks.

  “Together,” I say.

  Mom kisses my forehead again. I think she’s making up for lost time.

  I think it’s going to be a long time before it feels normal without my sister. Maybe it never will. But I’ll get through it. She’d want me to get through it. And I owe her that much—to be happy—because she wouldn’t have wanted Mom and me to be sad. She’d want us to remember her, and keep going.

  I can’t let my grief swallow me up anymore. I have to be here, in the right now. Alive.

  I strum the chords to “Summer Bird Blue” into the dark hours when the birds go to sleep and the stars light up the blackness. I sing until the sun starts to rise and I’m drowning in delirium. And I don’t stop practicing, even when Mom and Aunty Ani laugh from the living room, where they’re remembering to be sisters again.

  I live for the music.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  When Kai opens the door, he looks relieved. “I was wondering if you were ever going to stop by. I tried to visit you, but Aunty Ani said you needed some time.”

  I nod. “I did. But I’m all back to normal now.”

  He crinkles his nose. “Wait. Old you was normal?”

  I snort. “Still as sensitive as ever. How have you been? I noticed your dad fixed the car window.”

  “I’ve been okay.” He holds up his hand. There are a few scars where the stitches had been, but the bandages are gone. “Won’t be long until I can surf again. Not that it matters much, since I’m leaving soon.”

  I bite the edge of my lip. “My aunt said you were leaving for boot camp in a few days.”

  “No judging, friend,” he warns.

  I laugh. “No judging.”

  His eyes flash with wild electricity. “I’m joining the air force.”

  I raise my eyebrows, and a grin spreads across my face. “Your dad must be livid. Good for you.”

  His laugh settles into a sigh. “I heard you’re flying back to Washington tomorrow.”

  “I am,” I say.

  He looks down at the ground. “So I guess this is good-bye?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

  He motions toward the guitar in my hand. Lea’s guitar. “What’s that fo’? You goin’ serenade me?”

  I look down and nod. “Well, it is good-bye, after all.”

  He leans against the doorframe. “I have to admit, I pictured this a lot differently in my head.”

  I lift my gaze. “You pictured us saying good-bye?”

  “No,” he says. “I pictured the serenading. I thought there’d be moonlight. You’d be sitting in front of your window. I’d be leaning out of mine. And maybe there’d have been kissing at some point.”

  “I can tell my music meant a lot to you,” I note dryly.

  He straightens suddenly and twists his mouth. “Wait. You finished it, didn’t you? ‘Summer Bird Blue’?”

  “I did.” I pull the guitar in front of me. “You have a couple of minutes to spare? Kissing and moonlight not included.”

  “Of course I do.” He pulls the door closed behind him and we both sit on his front step.

  I clear my throat. “Okay. Well, you already know what this one is called.”

  I strum my fingers, the familiar sound of Lea’s guitar filling the street like the scent of gardenias when I first landed in Hawaii. Mellow. Sweet. But with all the heart of an island.

  I close my eyes and sing.

  I woke up alone

  abandoned in this space you left.

  I tried to find you

  and fill the hole inside my chest.

  I wanted you to stay;

  I tried to find a way,

  and I did.

  I trapped you here

  with all my pain.

  We became a monster

  I couldn’t explain.

  I needed you to stay;

  I had to make you stay,

  so I did.

  But the sun came up

  like you promised it would,

  and we were living in a cage

  cut off from the rest of the world.

  And I knew I had to set you free;

  I knew you couldn’t stay with me.

  It’s time.

  I know it’s time.

  So I’m singing,

  Good-bye, little bird,

  I’ll watch you fly into the blue.

  And when the summer ends,

  I’
ll fly with you.

  When I look up, Kai is smiling, the electricity turned up full force in his eyes. And I know in my heart that I’ll probably never see him again.

  Some people are meant to be forever, like Lea and me. And other people come into your life for a reason—you help each other figure shit out and come to terms with complicated feelings that you can’t process on your own.

  And I’m okay with that. Kai has been a good friend. I’ll always remember him and our time in Hawaii. And I’ll always remember Mr. Watanabe and his obnoxious little dog, no matter what the future holds. But this has been a summer of good-byes—it was never about anything but good-byes.

  Maybe there’s something special in that. Something bittersweet and beautiful, all of these moments coming to an end.

  “I love it. Your sistah would love it,” he says.

  I pull the guitar strap from my neck like I’m pulling off a piece of me. When I do, I feel lighter. “Thanks. I’m just glad it’s finished. It needed to be finished, you know?”

  “Yeah. I know.” He curls the ends of his mouth into his signature smile. The corners of his eyes wrinkle. His freckle disappears. “I’m going to miss you, hapa.”

  “Yeah. I know,” I say, setting the guitar down beside me. And then I lean in to him and wrap my arms around his neck, hugging him close like we’re old friends saying good-bye forever. “Thanks for being so annoying all the time.”

  He hugs me back, his laughter tickling my neck.

  When I pull away, I don’t look at him again. I pick up Lea’s guitar and go back inside to finish packing my suitcase and to spend more time with Aunty Ani before Mom and I go home.

  Good-byes are hard. I’ve had to say way too many good-byes lately, and I think I’m finally ready for something else.

  I think I’m ready to live.

  A memory

  The grass tickles the back of my legs, and I flick a dandelion so the white puff blows into the afternoon breeze.

  Lea strums another chord on my old guitar.

  “No, like this,” I say, moving her fingers on the fret board.

  She strums again and smiles when the notes don’t clash. “I’ll remember them eventually.”

  “I hope so. How cool would that be if you could play guitar? We could start a band. I’ll play the keyboard,” I say.