Over the Rainbow - Book One - 'The Gathering Place'

by Robert Vaughan

  Chris watched as the limo slowly moved off, finally disappearing around a distant corner, and then he waved and shouted, “Thanks dude! Aloha!” And then he turned and jauntily strode toward the rental office, flinging his jacket casually over his shoulder as he whistled a carefree tune.

  A few moments later, Chris settled into the driver’s seat of the glorious red beast, wriggling like a puppy as the rental agent plucked the sign from the window. Tugging the Red Sox cap over his golden-blond curls, Chris inquired brightly, “So, where's the best surfing around here?”

  The agent responded with the raise of an eyebrow and the hint of a smile as he pointed into the distance, “Around here? Just down the road at Waimea.”

  Chris flew down the road in the howling red car, gleefully tearing up the asphalt with his new toy, fumbling with the radio as he drove, finally settling for a scratchy, squealing AM station that was playing hits from the eighties. A DJ came on between songs, his sing-song native voice a pleasant accompaniment to the heat of the midday sun, “...and it looks like another warm one in Paradise, folks- Temperatures are going to be in the upper eighties, more the same through the weekend. But on the other hand, here's a reason to beat the heat- the surf at Pipeline, Banzai and Sunset is at record highs for this time of year. Currently at Waimea they are reporting totals up to 18 feet...” Chris’ face broke into a wide grin, and he pulled out his cell-phone and dialed…

  Walter glowered over his menu as Abigail returned from the poolside bar, his forehead creased in consternation in anticipation of the news of his wayward son. “Well...?”

  “Apparently, he's going surfing.”

  Walter growled angrily, slapping his menu onto the table as he exploded, “WHAT?! God dammit, Abigail, that's the last straw! I swear to God, the moment we get back home, there will be an end to this silliness! He has got to grow up!”

  “Walter, aren't you being a bit harsh?”

  “Harsh? Abigail, dammit, he nearly killed himself with that stupid glider stunt, and now he wants to drown? What does he have? Some sort of death wish?”

  Abigail tut-tutted Walter, focusing her attentions on her own menu as she continued without looking up, “It was just a fluke, an accident... How could he possibly have known that he was going to be struck by lightning- twice?” She lowered her menu and said with careful deliberation, “You can't blame him for that, Walter- he's just a boy... He's just getting it out of his system.” And then she continued, coyly changing the subject, “Do you want dessert?”

  “No. I need something to take my mind off my daredevil son.” Walter looked off into the distance, a thought crossing his mind and smoothing his forehead. “Let's go golfing.”

  Abigail gaped, open-mouthed and off balance by Walter’s sudden change of direction. “But- I don't have my clubs, or clothes, or - anything!”

  Walter smiled warmly and flashed a golden credit card, “Easily remedied, my dear. Let's go shopping.”

  Abigail's eyes lit up at the sound of her favorite sport, and she beamed at her husband and rose without a word, taking Walter’s arm in hers as they sauntered into the hotel lobby.

  The Mustang crossed a narrow, rusting bridge, the fading strains of The Eagle’s ‘Hotel California’ drowned out by the growl of the car as it downshifted and slowed. As the car and Chris rattled over the rusting, overgrown framework of the bridge, the breeze from its’ passing stirred a leafy vine. The vine moved ever-so-slightly and revealed a rusty, distressed sign that simply read- 'ONE WAY'. And just as suddenly as it had appeared, the enigmatic sign vanished behind the curtain of green, almost as if it had never existed at all. The car and its oblivious occupant moved off into the distance and stopped in front of the weathered exterior of the plain, two-story building just ahead.

  Clearly the focal point of the quaint Hawaiian village, the drab and peeling brown façade was painted colorfully with racks and bins of various and sundry items- fresh fruit, vegetables, flowers, leis, clothing, shell-work, jewelry and more. Wrapping around the corner of the structure and continuing along the side of the building that led toward the beach, a row of brightly hued surfboards stood at attention, each patiently awaiting their chance to glide upon the waves. Above the low-slanting roof that spanned the wide front porch was a wildly colorful, elaborately carved and hand-painted sign that read- ‘Home Grown – Genuine 100% Hawaiian!’ And in stark contrast below that, two simple printed lines declared in faded white paint- ‘Family owned since 1924’ and ‘K. Nakamura – Proprietor’.

  Chris pulled up in a cloud of red dust and shut off the engine, the howl of the car echoing into the low, green hills in the distance. He stood, stretched and basked in the sunshine as he took in the scene on the beach, where a multi-colored myriad of sun worshippers crowded the tiny shore in a riot of summer fun. Pasting on his lopsided grin, Chris strode up to the sagging screen-door and pulled it open with a screech of rusty hinges, and then gently pushed open the door behind it and stepped into the cool, dark interior.

  A small tinkling brass chime announced his arrival as Chris stopped to let his eyes adjust to the darkened inside of the quaint country store, slowly closing the door behind him. The store seemed oddly deserted, and Chris wandered aimlessly through the racks of merchandise, noting with curiosity the unusual fans made of woven palm that spun on a long, metal rod attached to one wall, and the library-type ladder that apparently rolled along floor-to-ceiling shelves that were stocked with foodstuffs from anywhere and everywhere.

  Chris finally found a shelf bulging with beachwear, and after sorting through a myriad of designs he selected a pair of Hibiscus-printed board shorts and a matching beach towel. Cradling his purchases in one arm, he sauntered over to the counter at the front of the store where he discovered to his surprise that the place was not completely deserted after all, seeing for the first time the slim tan shoulders and glossy dark hair of a girl who was leaning over its edge and peering down at an unseen individual.

  The girl was chattering rapidly in what sounded to be Japanese with what turned out to be a tiny Asian woman, one who suddenly reached up on tip-toes and chastely kissed the girl on the cheek. The woman turned and the two exchanged waves as the diminutive woman exited through the tinkling front door, and the girl abruptly disappeared below the counter to fuss with something below.

  Chris leaned over to address the girl, who he suddenly realized with a tingle of recognition seemed oddly- familiar, “Hey- uh, excuse me. I was wondering who I could talk to about renting a board.”

  The girl rose and turned in one fluid motion, the move of a dancer, and then froze, her eyes widening in recognition- it was Alani.

  Chris flashed his patented grin and smiled. “Uh- wow. Hi! Small world. What are you doing here?”

  Alani’s sparkling jade orbs narrowed into contemptuous slits. “I work here,” she said flatly and then suddenly turned and hollered to the back of the store in an exotic, melodious language. The words were softly musical, almost poetic in their sound, and when translated came to approximately something like- “Hey Sonny! It’s the stupid Haole tourist who almost killed me today! Wants to rent a board and try to kill someone else!” And then she turned her back on Chris, calling over her shoulder with an air of dismissal, “Sonny will help you.” She crouched back down below the counter, muttering under her breath as she did, this time in English, “Maybe we get lucky today and he kill himself…”

  A few seconds later, a gangly fifteen- or sixteen year old boy emerged from the back of the store, wearing a greasy white apron and a smirk of knowing on his smug teenage face. He untied the apron, hung it from a peg and sauntered casually out the front door, barely acknowledging Chris as he passed. He stopped on the wide porch and leaned lazily against a post, addressing Chris with a slight frown of disdainful calculation as he emerged, “So, you gonna surf today, bro?”

  Chris replied jovially, “Yeah, I thought I'd give it a try.”

  Sonny stole a quick, covetous glance at Chris’ car and t
hen said with hint of incredulity, “Give it a 'try'? Yo, dude, you ever surf before now?”

  Chris shrugged, “Uh, no, not actually. Bunch of snowboarding back East, but I figured it can't be much different.”

  Sonny slapped his palm to his face and then looked briefly through the windows of the store. “Bruddah, ‘Lani was right, you one crazy Haole!” He pointed out to the raging surf beyond, “You nevah surf before now, and you want to go out on them waves? You maybe get yo'self killed!”

  Chris responded with a snort of derision, “Oh, please! I've slid down 2,000 vertical feet on one of the hairiest mountains on the planet! I've outrun an avalanche- twice. A measly little ten foot wave can't possibly be that big a deal…” Chris hooked his thumbs in his pockets as he puffed out his chest and added confidently, “In fact, I'll tell you what- I got twenty bucks says I can outlast you, best two waves out of three.”

  The dick-waving contest now in full fledge, Sonny sniffed as he retorted and puffed out his own chest, “Make it fifty, and you got yourself a bet, haole-boy.”

  Chris’ face flickered with a nanosecond grin and his head gave the tiniest of nods, a dimple creasing one cheek, “Done.”

  “Fine. Let's get you a board.”

  Sonny strode around the side of the store, gesturing grandly to the group of somewhat rundown, used and abused surfboards. “There ya go, bro! Take your pick.” Chris suddenly about-faced and walked back to the front of the store, and Sonny yelled in confusion, “Hey! Where ya goin?”

  Chris turned slowly to confront Sonny. “For fifty bucks, I'm not using some ratty-assed Tourist-issue board…” He pulled out a beautifully airbrushed shortie from the rack and declared, “I want this one. In fact, I'll tell you what- same bet, but I get to use this board. Call it a demo. And if you still win, I'll pay you double what this board is worth. But if I win, its mine- same deal, two out of three.”

  Sonny sputtered, “Dude, that's a six-hundred dollar Riptide A-6!”

  Chris shrugged and replied with an air of indifference, “Fine. You in?”

  “Double or nothin’?” Sonny looked at the board and then back to Chris with a calculating glance, the wheels turning in his brain as he gauged his profit. The total rang in his mind and he smiled, “You're on.”

  Walter and Abigail sat side-by-side in the golf cart, silently watching the group ahead of them on the first tee. They were dressed, as would be expected, accordingly similar to their 'station' in life. She was wearing a perfectly-coordinated ensemble; a bright white shirt and pleated golf skirt with pink and light gray piping and details, accessorized only by her visor, which of course was white to match, but which sported a large pink Hibiscus flower in the center. Her feet were shod in white and grey saddle shoes, a white kid-leather glove on her hand adorned with a tiny matching version of the pink Hibiscus. Walter, of course, was dressed in his typical corporate gray- dark trousers, dark shirt with the Matthews company logo across the left breast, his own visor embellished with a similar corporate logo embroidered in burgundy and metallic gold.

  Finally, Walter broke the silence as he harrumphed, “Maybe we'll get lucky, and he will kill himself surfing. Then my troubles will be over.”

  “Walter! You don't mean that!”

  “No, I don't, but dammit, I'm serious, he has got to grow up, and soon.”

  As the group ahead disappeared over a low rise, Walter watched for a moment, determined that the group was sufficiently distant so as not to clonk them with an errant shot, and then climbed out of the cart and quickly teed up his ball. Taking a few casual practice swings, he stepped in, wagged the head of the club in a habitual manner, and then set up, slowly taking the club back and pausing on the back swing. The club ‘whooshed’ and struck the ball with a sharp metallic ‘click!’ Twirling his driver with a satisfied air, Walter watched the ball rocket down the narrow fairway, only to gape in astonishment as it suddenly veered sharply to the left and bounced off a tall banyan tree, dropping straight down into the knee-high rough below. “Dammit!” he muttered, “What the hell was that?”

  Shaking her head in confusion at the odd event, Abigail strode to the ladies tee, quickly set up for her shot and hit; a long, low drive that traveled straight as a string, bounding gently to a stop over two hundred and fifty yards away, clearly visible- dead-center in the fairway.

  Walter gaped at the unexpected virtuosity of his wife, still incredulous at the errant flight of his own effort, and could only voice two terse words, “Nice shot.”

  Chris and Sonny dashed into the water and flung themselves aboard their boards with relish, their powerful arms churning the surf as they raced through the frothy waves. Back on the beach, a local surfer dude leaned up on one elbow and nudged his snoozing buddy as he pointed out to the water.

  “Dude, check it out. Nakamura's got another sucker on the waves. Schools in session...” The two surfers rose in unison and walked to the water’s edge, shielding their eyes against the glare as they stared into the distance. After a moment, several other by-standers joined them; one of them carrying a huge boom-box on his shoulder in what seemed almost to be a common ritual. He punched a button and the sounds of ‘Time to Start’ from Blue Man Group’s album ‘The Complex’ rang out across the beach.

  Game on.

  Chris watched Sonny as they took their place in the lineup, the other participants showing an odd and inexplicable deference to the young Hawaiian. They moved off as if they knew by some unspoken fashion what was going down, giving Chris and Sonny first take of the huge swells.

  Sonny looked behind him and suddenly his arms began to flash into the water, the powerful rising wave grabbing him and catapulting him forward. Chris reacted quickly and stroked his muscular arms into the wave with a frenzied churning of water, struggling to catch up with Sonny, who was already starting to rise to his feet as the monster swell took shape. Rising quickly to his feet as well, Chris tried to stay low and focused as he followed Sonny down the steep glassy surface of the wave.

  He immediately realized that his confidence of the similarity of surfing to snowboarding was a mistake. The water was almost slippery, the tail fins of the surfboard forcing the changes in direction in a distinctly liquid fashion as opposed to the sharp-edged grab of the snow. He adjusted his balance to compensate, the watery slope unsteady beneath his feet, and crouched low with arms outstretched as he slashed down the roaring face of the wave. As the watery giant swelled and surged the top of the wave began to break, a feature known to veteran surfers as a ‘chandelier’ raining down in foamy chunks that splashed off the surface of his board. The crashing curl forced Sonny to suddenly cut back across the face, and Chris skidded clumsily as he attempted to follow, the roaring foam of the wave-top now licking hungrily at him from behind.

  Without so much as a warning, Sonny abruptly cut sharply back across the face of the wave and dove into the curl, hunched down and riding low, and Chris slewed around and tried to follow. But it was too late- the opening of the curl had collapsed as suddenly as it appeared, and Chris crashed headlong into the churning foam, gobbled up by the boiling surf and then blasting straight up through the top of the turquoise monster, trailing his now un-tethered board nearly ten feet skyward before flailing to a splash on the water below.

  “OOOOOOOH!!!” the crowd on the beach exclaimed in unison.

  The surfer dude turned away, shrugging his shoulders. “That's it, game over, class dismissed.” And with that the crowd dispersed, grinning and shaking their collective heads as another one bit the proverbial dust.

  From her vantage within the store, a pair of binoculars to her eyes, Alani winced as she watched the epic wipeout, echoing the cry of the onlookers from the beach, “Oooooo-!”

  Noelani appeared over her shoulder and said with a small shrug and a tiny frown, “He certainly is accident-prone, isn't he?”

  Alani jumped, startled, and then laughed and swatted playfully at her mother. “OH! Mamma, stop that!” She lowered the binoculars and po
ndered aloud, “He must need a whole team of guardian angels to watch out for him.”

  Noelani replied softly as her gaze focused somewhere beyond the water, a tiny smile gracing her lips, “Something like that…”

  Walter found his ball at the edge of the fairway, nestled tightly in a thick clump of grass. With a vicious swing, he slashed at the ball. Dirt and grass sprayed everywhere, the ball blasting out of the rough and flying straight and true towards its destination, only to inexplicably fade to the right, landing with a splash of sand in a fairway bunker. Walter dropped his club in astonishment and said with contempt, “Oh- My- GOD! Are you fucking serious?” And then he kicked his club in anger, a barely stifled, “Shit.” escaping his lips.

  Abigail’s back stiffened as she reacted to Walter’s unexpected burst of profanity and looked back at her husband without speaking, unsure of how to react. She then turned and hunched down over her own ball, and with a smooth, unhurried stroke the ball leaped off the carpet of green and rose majestically into the air, dead on target. The ball glided lazily downrange and then finally descended gently onto the viridian-hued fairway, landing just on the edge of the green- where it rolled, and rolled and rolled- eventually disappearing over a low rise which obscured the base of the flag-stick.

  Abigail watched with mouth agape, amazed at the miraculous event. “Wow...! Walter? Honey did you see that? Walter?” Abigail turned to look for her husband, only to find him already sitting in the cart, staring straight ahead, his lips pursed into a tight white line, fuming and silent.

  Sonny paddled over to Chris’ board as Chris splashed back to the surface spouting water. Laughing softly, he inquired, “Dude! You okay?”