It was raining in Yama when I left the top of the valley. The road snaked around as the little Nissan’s engine whirred. As I came to the frontage road, I turned right onto School Street and noticed someone on the side of the road. I was surprised because it was still dark . . the bright Hawaiian sun had not yet come up.
But, there she was, walking along the side of the road. She was dark skinned and the glare of the headlights reflected off the shiny patina of her legs. She was wearing a short skirt that was a little longer than the mini-skirts of old. She had dark, curly hair and her faced was shielded by a swath of hair that she held in place. And, she was crying.
She was here, in Hawaii . . in Paradise, and she was crying.
Her face was obscured but you could see the sadness and disappointment. Or, was it lonliness and despair. Does it really matter?
Then, there was this Polynesian girl. I looked her square in the face as she emerged from a stall in the flea market. She actually burst out of the crowd in the stall. She had a young face that was looking for what life had in store for her. It reminded me of someone who had burst from the depths of the ocean knowing that something good was about to happen . . and she was going to find it.
She had a young face, full of joy, and she was going to take the world by the tail and shake it until it said Aloha.
Well, maybe not Aloha, but something like that.
Same town and the same day, but two very different lives emerged from the Yellow Wood.