When I first left Hawai'i for San Francisco, I flew out of the old Honolulu Airport, the backdrop to the most dramatic farewells. One could look across the vast open-air terminal, which was one massive building, and see everyone who was arriving and departing the island of O'ahu. Everyone was engulfed in a scented sea of orchid, pikake, tuberose, and plumeria blossoms. No one left without friends and family descending upon them with armloads of flower leis and loud kisses. Loved ones walked across the tarmac loaded with leis up to their noses. At the top of the stairs, they turned, threw kisses, then waved through the little windows at their seats until the plane taxied out onto the runway. No one left the gate until the airplane lifted off and disappeared over the Pacific. Upon arrival, the pageantry of flowers and hugs and kisses was loudly repeated.
Now I returned to a new Honolulu International Airport which featured sleek jetways and air-conditioned gates far from the main terminal. The tourists jumped on the wiki-wiki bus at the gates but the locals walked all the way to baggage claim to savor the warm humid air.
I joyfully inhaled the scent of home: flower-sweet, ocean-salty, fresh with the perfume of lush tropical forests. The long-sleeved silk blouse and slacks that barely kept me warm in San Francisco fluttered softly against my skin in the breeze. I felt the humidity slow me down to Hawai'i’s pace until I, too, ambled like the locals. Above me, the coconut trees swayed against the shockingly blue sky. How I had missed the seductive rustle of fronds in the tradewinds.
At last, my white Samsonite, a high school graduation gift from my parents, tumbled out on the baggage carousel followed by a case of roast ducks from San Francisco Chinatown, for one never visits family without bearing gifts.
A yellow Chevy convertible rumbled to the curb the minute I left the air-conditioned terminal. My cousin Reginald, in a tropical-weight suit, leapt out of his car with three plumeria leis swinging in his right hand. He gave them to me one by one, with a kiss. “Howzit, Miki! I had to go to Ewa this morning, so I told your father I’d pick you up on my way into town. You’ve been gone too long. I haven’t seen you since your mother’s funeral eight years ago. Mazie and the girls made these leis for you last night. You look the same, except so pale. No sun in San Francisco?” He teased with laughter in his thick-lashed, large brown eyes and the whitest welcoming smile.
The sweet yellow petals against my cheeks softened the memories of my last visit home, traumatic and depressing. I tossed my suitcase in the back seat and got in. “I don’t get to go surfing every day,” I retorted saucily, “to keep up my beach-boy tan and physique like you.”
He slid back in the car with muscular ease. “Those days are gone,” he laughed heartily. “I’m a working man now. Yes, still in juvenile probation with the courts.” He nodded, noting my appraising glance. “Yes, turning white, too!” His short thick hair had sun-bleached to brown with distinguished white streaks. He pulled out and headed towards Honolulu.
Reginald nodded at my taped cardboard carton he had shoved into the back seat. “Looks like you brought a case of roast ducks for me.” He smacked his lips.
“Filch them,” I warned, “and I’ll send the Ai’Lee ladies after you.”
“Fiery tempered as always. Here’s another reason I came to get you.” He handed me the local papers. “Read them before you get home.” Each of Honolulu’s two major newspapers covered local news with their own political slant.
“LOCAL POLITICS?” screamed the bold headlines of the first. In the photo below, the lean bodies of two athletic men in team jerseys and white knickers were twisted together in combat. Blood spurted from the nose of one onto the shirt of a handsome dark-haired combatant who strongly resembled my brother. I quickly read the caption.
