Breathe me Home | NaNoWriMo 2016

Chapter 9

Jonas' chest is inches from my face, the two red footprints on his Hang Ten t-shirt threatening to step on my nose. Has he always been so tall? I take a step back.
His eyes soften as he looks from the old man to me. "Are you okay?"
I'm crying, I suddenly realize. That wasn't supposed to happen. I swipe the back of my hand across my eyes and nod. "Yeah...just..."
"I know." Jonas steps past me and approaches the counter. "You can be nicer, Uncle."
Uncle? George called him uncle as well. Was this guy everybody's uncle?
The old man waves a hand at Jonas. "You want nice? Go somewhere else. We talk about surfing and boards here."
"You haven't sold a board in months." Jonas sweeps the shop with his eyes. "And when't the last time you cleaned?"
"Show some respect, boy!" The old man plopped back onto his stool, breathing hard. "If you're mother were here, she'd tan your hide."
Even from behind him, I could see Jonas stiffen. "If my mother were here, she wouldn't put up with this, either."
The old man didn't reply, he only returned to reading his mail as if we weren't in the shop.
Jonas turned to me and motioned for me to join him. I did, slowly. When we were side by side at the counter, Jonas addressed his uncle. "I didn't mean to show disrespect, Uncle. I'm sorry."
His uncle grunted a reply.
"My friend here needs help." Jonas nods at me. "Didn't you always tell me to give help whenever I can?"
Another grunt. "I'm old. I'm tired. Find her another islander."
"No one knows our history like you, Uncle. You're practically a legend around here."
A legend? At what? Drinking?
Uncle shakes his head, the letter still in his hand. My eyes wander to the envelope it came from. It's wrinkled and worn. The stamp is dated 1966. Wow. He's really behind in his mail.
"What do you care?" Uncle says. "You're just like them." He nods at me.
Just like what?
"I do care." Jonas leans crosses his arms. "You taught me to surf, didn't you? And all about our history."
"You think that makes you Hawaiian?" Uncle tries to laugh, but it ends in a coughing fit. He looks from the letter to Jonas. Shakes his head. "I've failed. I've failed your mother and I've failed you. Go. Find someone useful. Not some dying relic."
I'd never pictured Jonas as the stubborn type, but he doesn't let go. "C'mon, Uncle. Tell her about Hawaii. About you. She needs to learn a traditional custom, too. You can show her."
Uncle doesn't respond. His shoulders sag and his eyes remain on the letter in his hand.
Jonas turns to me. "Do you have a real partner, or did that idiot George blow that for you?"
This catches Uncle's attention. "Partner?" He looks back at the letter, then at Jonas. "You're doing this silly project, too?"
"Yes, Uncle. We're in the same class."
Uncle ponders this for a moment, re-reads a portion of the letter, and then settles his gaze on Jonas. "I'll make you a deal. You partner up with this young lady, and I'll teach both of you."
"But I was gonna interview Mike Sands."
Uncle laughs. "That fool? What's he gonna teach you? How to post bail?"
"He only got arrested once, Uncle. He's okay now."
"Forget it." Uncle folds his letter, stuffs it back into the envelope, and stands. "I teach her. I teach you. That's the deal."
I scan the framed photos of surfers and giant waves. Giant, girl crushing waves.
Jonas sighs. "Okay. There goes my easy A."
"Got that right." Uncle sets his gaze on me. "You think you can handle a crotchety old man and his nephew?"
I pictured my broken body twisted into the rocks on the North Shore. "I...guess so. We're...we're not going surfing, are we?"
The old man chuckles, his eyes gleaming now. "Oh, much better than that."
Jonas turns to me. "I guess we're partners. And...I'm sorry."