North Star

44 | high school dropout

2012

"Are you sure you want to do this? It's a big decision."

I sighed. "Yes. I'm sure."

The office lady stared at me for another moment, far longer than she needed to or that made me comfortable. She didn't bother to hide the apprehensive judgment in her eyes. It was all too clear she thought I was making a mistake, even if she knew nothing of what brought me to this decision.

"Could we please finish whatever it is she needs to do?" Mom asked the woman. "We have somewhere we need to be."

The part of the whole ordeal that really pissed me off was how she looked at my mother. It was one thing for her to think I was making a mistake, but it was another to feel justified in affixing that unwanted opinion onto my mother, especially when that opinion was grounded in an archaic idea of what a person needed to accomplish in order to become a functioning member of society.

What should have taken barely any time—and probably would have had the counselor, who had been helping me out the past few weeks, not called in sick—had quickly become a headache of the nth degree. I couldn't wait to get out of there, and knowing it would officially be my last time was one of the only reasons I didn't lash out. That, and I wasn't one for loud or violent outbursts, contrary to what went on in my brain. Then again, a lot of things had changed. I shouldn't have been surprised that it crossed my mind as I shut off my brain, waiting for my mother to finish signing all of the necessary paperwork.

After another fifteen minutes of shielding looks from the entire front-facing office staff, Hokulani Kahananui was officially a high school dropout.

I felt a sense of relief knowing that.

The two of us were silent as we walked back to the car, and it wasn't until we had driven past Koko Marina did that change.

"You're awfully quiet," my mother noted.

"I'm always quiet."

She nodded as if to say touche. "I don't want you to overthink all of them back there. They have no idea what you've been through, what it's been like for you all these years. They don't get to judge you based on what they think is best."

It was just like my mom to be able to see right through me and know exactly what to say. Not that it was as easy as her saying it out loud. But where a lot of people would have veered in the other direction or pretended as if they never saw anything in the first place, my mother was always there to tell me the truth in a way that never felt like I was being scrutinized under a microscope. She was the epitome of what it meant to feel safe, loved, and supported.

"Thanks," I said.

"I mean it."

"I know you do." I swung my head toward the window and watched as the world flashed by. "But I don't know if I have it in me to just turn it all off."

My mother's grip tightened around the wheel. It wasn't clear if it was out of frustration or a sign that she, despite how easily her advice seemed to come, sometimes struggled to find the right words to say. "I'm not asking you to turn it all off. I know it's not that easy. I just want you to remember that, even when it'll be really hard."

I nodded silently before rolling down the window so I could feel the cool breeze as we drove higher up along the road that went past Hanauma Bay. Salt air was one of the world's greatest natural medicine, and I wasn't one to pass up a golden opportunity to take advantage of it. With a perfect, picturesque view of the ocean,  it was one of my favorite drives and one I would miss, even if I didn't take it often going to and from school.