It's as if the name of my town alone whacks them across the face, unleashing its invisible impact as soon as it puffs out and collides with the dead air. I know. I've seen it happen. I just say the word, and people flinch like they're trying to jerk away from it before it hits them.
Obviously they've read some of the recent headlines regarding my town, most of them that can be worded as "Handsome Innocent Man Attacked By Ugly Mean
Thugs in _________, Hawaii." And considering how beautiful and pristine they probably believe themselves to be, it's enough to strip them with the naked fear that even they could become potential victims to such bad-guy treachery. So best keep the kids, and the silver Lexus, safe at home.
Seven years ago, my family would have done the same thing. (Excluding the silver Lexus.) But seven years ago, we moved to this supposedly dim area for personal reasons, and we've been out here ever since.
Now that I'm currently living about 30-40 miles away from home, I occasionally try to remember the beloved details about it. Friendly faces. Vibrant sunsets. Marijuana.
Being that it's been only two weeks since my Christmas vacation, I'm able to recall the moment I knew the holidays had come-- when I saw that distorted-looking house that marked my street, with that tin roof with the tires on top of it to keep it from blowing off, followed by the brilliantly colored, blinking lights... of police cars. Jesus' birthday was well on its way.
In my room stand proudly my gold-plated plastic made-in-China trophies and valedictorian medal, all engraved with the name of my old high school, once ranking one of the lowest in academics and athletics. Open the window and gaze at the brilliantly painted sky, and be greeted by an herbal, organic wave of weed.
The morning consists of a vehicular stroll through the garbage garden, with overflowing dumpster fountains. The flies joyfully pirouette around the scenery. It's glorious.
This, and many other things, is what I left behind. And I have until Spring Break to look forward to it again.
Three years ago it was the place that I loved. Now after three years of living the city life, it's become a different planet to me. But it's still that undeniably true part of me that requires me to say, "I'm from __________."
Then comes that quick blink. Head jerk. Nervous laugh. Then finally that gust of words-- "WHOA! REEEEAAALLY?"
My response: A short chuckle. Dramatic shrug. Then a confident nod.
"Yeah, I'm serious!"
(Pause)
"But it's not THAT bad!"
ok, i have a confession to make. i am a...a...katonk. there, i said it. my head is hallow because i was born on the mainland. now the benefit of having a hallow head is there's room to put more stuff into it. now if i were a kaplonk (that's what i call folk born on an island), my head would be full of brackish water which would be good only for bottom feeders like crawfish and talapia. and with all that water inside the skull there really wouldn't be much space for much anything else, well, at least for anything that can't be exposed too long to the sort of liquid you find at the bottom of the alawai canal.
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