Ova Da Rainbow: HAWAII'S STORY (3)

The War At Home

"Why, the poor girl looks so confused," one of the young men muttered, "She likely never held a gun in her life."

Hawaiʻi rolled her eyes at the comment. "I am quite good at what I can do, I thank you very much," she said, not bothering to hide the irritation in her voice. "I am 175, and as such, I have no need for your comments."

Jesse looked taken aback. "I... I didn't mean any disrespect."

"You wouldn't speak to me this way if I were a man," Hawaiʻi said cheerfully, "But it's alright. I can certainly hold my own."

Jesse's stare was one of wonderment. "I didn't think of it that way."

"It's fine," Hawaiʻi replied, trying to appear calm. "Now, I suggest you focus on the task at your hands and leave me to my own devices."

"Of course," Jesse said, looking slightly embarrassed.. "I am here to learn from you."

Hawaiʻi gave him a small smile. "Good. Guns still feel foreign to me. They only make sense when I need to hunt a boar. And even then, it's almost... robotic."

Jesse looked at her in confusion. "I don't understand."

"It's the difference between seeing the face of your enemy and not," Hawaiʻi explained. "When you can't see the person you're firing at, it becomes almost like playing a game, rather than taking an actual life."

Jesse nodded, seeming to understand.

"You have a lot to learn, boy." Hawaiʻi said, before hitting the target.

*━━━━━*

The long road home was the worst part of this. Every sound, every thought led back to what was before. Sure, Hawaiʻi was fine. She had seen war many times, many cases of blood, many horrid scenes that the average person's mental state would be scarred beyond repair. But still, a few things kept bugging her about the whole time she was there.

Young men, too excited to get to battle and start to kill, only to lose their own lives and their closest friends. Filled with a sense of duty and patriotism, believing that they were fighting for a just cause, they threw themselves into war without an idea of what it even looked like besides a few movies. They were eager to prove themselves and to make a name for themselves.

Richard Nixon, who Hawaiʻi had met in person at one point, speaking of a war he never saw, never felt, never experienced for himself.

Children with haunted, deep set eyes that would ask for cigarettes and anything the American soilders would give them.

A Vietnamese man's eyes staring at Hawaiʻi dead in the face, bloodthirstiness causing a chill, seemingly with no regret for the American boy he had killed. And why should he have regrets? This was a kill or be killed situation.

That same man's body later, no longer looking like an enemy, but like another victim, no older than the American enemy on the other line that he had killed. It was not that glorious or righteous experience promised, but rather a bloody and horrific loss, and for what?

A letter to a mother that Hawaiʻi had to add a slip of paper in the front that informed her that her son wasn't coming home, another casualty among hundreds.

What a horrible, terrible world we live in, that is so ironically beautiful.

Part of Hawaiʻi expected a warm welcome, but everywhere she turned, she looked less and less like she belonged in the place she represented for so long.

"Kanaka" was used to mean dirty, and no pride was shown in being of the land. Hawaiian, sure, but first Americans. Otherwise, you weren't American at all.