Austin Aslan - The Islands at the End of the World

I turn back to Mom. “Dad’s Command Center seems to be fully operational now.”

“Mike, turn it off!” Mom yells into the computer. She looks at me. “Don’t pay attention to all that stuff, Lei.”

“It’s fine.”

Mom smiles. “We really should be going. Kai’s—”

The television set flashes to a close-up of the president. Dad and I gasp. The president looks haggard and uneasy. Behind him is a plain blue drape. Not even an American flag. I’ve never seen him so … I don’t even know what the word is.

“Malia, honey, wait!” Dad shouts toward the laptop. “Stick around. He’s on. You should see this. Lei, turn the computer, would you?”

I do, making sure Mom has a good view of the television. The president’s voice is strong. “My fellow Americans, and my fellow citizens around the globe: I apologize for the deceptions of the past twenty-four hours. Well-intentioned advisors have counseled me to keep secret what we’ve recently learned. My conscience and my heart will no longer allow that. I have made the determination that you have a right to know about the extraordinary—”

The flatscreen turns blue. A small text box bounces about the monitor:

Weak or no signal.

“What!” Dad shouts, leaping to his feet.

I stare wide-eyed at the television.

“I can’t believe this!” Dad pounds the remote keys. Nothing. All blank.

I turn to the laptop and notice that Mom and Kai are frozen on the screen. I click the connect button. “Hello? Mom? You still there? Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

I can close the program, though, and open others. The computer’s fine. I try clicking on my browser’s home page and get the white error screen. “Internet’s down, too.”

The microwave dings. Dad and I stare at it. The bag inside is still flat. “Cable with no cable, and now a microwave with no microwaves. Just great,” Dad says.

The broadcast returns. I whip around to the television. The president is still talking in front of that blue curtain.

“—uncertain of the exact effects. But we do know there’s no reason to be alarmed. We all have a responsibility to each other to remain calm, and to continue to go about our lives in an orderly fashion. There is much we don’t yet know, but I am making a commitment to you, from this moment forward, to keep you informed of developments on an hourly basis. We …”

An unseen, muffled voice distracts the president. He turns for just a moment, nods, and returns to the camera. “I understand we’re already experiencing some glitches. Some satellites are cutting in and out. So, let me repeat, it’s important that you—”

The image goes blank again.

Dad and I wait, motionless. A minute or two crawl by like hours. The TV screen remains blue. Dad seizes the telephone. He dials zero and waits.

“Wow,” I say. “What’s going on?”

“It’s busy,” Dad says. He tries again. This time he gets through. “Hello?” he says. “Hey, our cable and Internet are out. It just dropped right in the middle of the president’s … Well, okay, but … Fine.” He hangs up.

“They’re working on it,” he tells me. He fetches the remote and sits down, running through the channels. Still all blank.

“Hey, we can watch it online as soon as things are back up,” I suggest.

“Good idea. You should grab a shower. I’ll give Mom a call while you’re in there.”

“Yeah, sure.” I turn to close the computer. But it’s already off. And it won’t even turn on. Battery ? I plug it in. “Night, Mom. Night, Kai,” I say.

I hope Mom’s not flipping out.

These islands and their sacred tides call me forth .

The wave rises. I paddle, catch it. I spring up on my board, rush over the waters. Everyone on shore watches, agape. I’ve done it! I’m riding the surf! They all laughed, thought I was crazy, but here I am, the inventor of surfing, drifting on the sea, the gods whispering in my ears through the salty breeze. I’ll be lost to history, but for me, this moment will last forever.

Come, drift upon me, and spread. Bring me the means of life . “Honey? Come on back, sweetie. Wake up.” Dad’s voice cuts in and out, like a lighthouse beacon twirling through heavy fog. “Hey. There we are. You okay?”

“What? Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You just blanked, kiddo.”

“Huh?”

“Petit mal, maybe. Little too much excitement.”

My elbow hurts. Did I bang it on the nightstand? Did I fall? “Oh, no.”

“It’s okay, honey. We were expecting this, right? Why don’t you take a quick shower? Freshen up and get to bed.”

“Okay.” I feel like crying, but I gulp it down. I get ready for a shower in a sort of stupor. I can’t believe this is actually happening. I can mentally prepare for it all I want, but when it finally comes … I feel robbed of my hopes.

I don’t want to take a shower. I run a shallow bath instead. Before I get in, I poke my head out the door. “Dad?”

“Sweetheart? Need something?”

“Just … thank you.” I pause. “Hey, what do you think he was about to say?”

“Lei.” He takes a deep breath. When he answers, his voice is kind and patient. “There’s no point in speculating. There’s nothing to worry about; I know that much.”

I close the door. He looked as though he almost believed that. I text Tami:

Strange things are afoot at the Circle K

I smile, knowing that she’ll get my Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure reference. It’s one of Dad’s favorite old-timer movies; he forced us to watch it during a sleepover. The text doesn’t go through. I stare at the error symbol on my phone and then plug it in to charge.

I try not to think about anything when I’m in the bath. I read from my Hawaiiana book. I’ve memorized lots of the mo`olelo . There are many versions of Hawaiian stories, because they’re based on oral histories told on isolated islands. I love them all. I run a warm washcloth over my skin and study the tan along my arms. I drain the bath, rinse off under the shower, run my long black hair through two treatments of conditioner. My room at the clinic the rest of the week won’t have such luxuries.

I paint my toenails with my favorite polish: spearmint pearl. But it takes me ages. Why can’t I hold my hands steady ?

I get ready for bed, suddenly hearing the voice from my seizure dream: Come, drift upon me.… Never heard that before. Seizures are just … blackouts. I never dream or hear things during them. Add it to the list of weirdness today. Also, while I’m at it: I scarfed half a Costco pizza tonight. How come my stomach feels empty?

When I come out, Dad’s on the lanai with the door wide open. He looks out on the bay, the blue screen still glowing across the room. I join him. The nightscape is as beautiful as ever. Waikīkī is ablaze with the checkered light from skyscraper hotels, tiki-torch-lit pathways, and busy streets. Another shooting star highlights the faintly jade horizon. The singing and drumming of a touristy luau party waft up from below. Everything looks normal.

“You ready to call it a night?” he asks me.

“Yeah. I wanted to call Tami back first.”

“Phones aren’t working.”

“Still?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“I’m only worried about Mom worrying about us.”

“She knows better than to do that, hon. Put it out of your mind.”

“Okay.”

“Do you feel all right?”

“Dad. Yes. I’m fine.”

We turn out the lights. I climb into bed. Dad says, “Love you, Lei. So proud. We’ll have it all behind us in no time.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

He goes out on the lanai. As I lie in the dark, I realize what’s been nagging at me.