FIRST WEB FICTION
After my father's ashes were spread at Bodega Bay they swam southwest.
Along the current they bore his soul home, here, to the islands of his birth.
I knew this as soon as I stepped off the plane, a tourist washed ashore
to find I am home. I have found him again.
With that peculiar energy generated by this place and these people, my pores
have become so open to experience that I am moved by simple things, by great
things that have not yet happened, by the Gods of the island. By the spirit
of my father.
Again I taste the flavor of his spirit; the ripe fruit of passion and his
brand of poi-humor I ate like dark chocolate, nourishment that fed my thirsty
soul. He is here, in the smiles of the locals; in the moist warm winds
he breathed each day of his young life. In the magnet of the waves that
caress me, he lives on.
I still marvel at the gusto with which he lived, his delight in eating life
like a ripe papaya, the juices running down his chin, turning seed-spitting
into half the fun of the feast. Where lesser men faltered, he not only
endured, he thrived.
I had not realized how much I misssed his Hawaiian music; how much I missed
the slant of light and life that lives on the islands. I thought I knew
how much I missed him; that I would never experience him again. I thought
I was only meant to attend for this conference, which in and of itself has
completely swamped my senses, circuits on overload.
I was wrong.
I know my father best, here.
Aloha.
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I will return.
