“I have. My father’s commitment to the Navy is for life and has been since he turned eighteen.”
“And your mother?”
It’s been a while since I’ve had to respond to this question. Mostly anyone I cross paths with knows all there is to know about Mom so when the topic arises, my body stiffens, I lift my chin, and swallow the knot forming in my throat. “She passed away five years ago from polio.”
This is the part where people bow their head and change the sound of their voice to emit sympathy while offering condolences. “I lost my mother, as well. It’s been seven years. She suffered from melancholia until it took her life one night while my father and I were out to dinner.” My eyes grow wide while taking in his statement. I don’t know of anyone who has done something so awful. The thought of a mother making a choice to end her life is unfathomable. I can’t imagine how much this must have affected him. The blame he must carry around, that he wasn’t there to stop her, is terrible.
There was a time when I blamed Mom for the way she died, even though the disease wasn’t in anyone’s control. Though, in some ways, I often thought she was asking to contract the disease when volunteering to help with polio outbreaks. As the years passed, I let go of those thoughts, finding them tied to grief.
Everett doesn’t seem to have found a way of coping with his mother’s death, so he just speaks about it matter-of-factly.
The lump in my throat is hard to swallow as I try to think of proper words to respond, but what is a person to say in this situation?
The quiet between us is painstaking as we digest each other’s woes. I wouldn’t wish this shared anguish on anyone.
“Okay, what do you do for fun, Lizzie?” Everett changes the subject as if a clapperboard has motioned an action.
“For fun?” I repeat his question, stalling with an answer.
“Yes, you know ... what makes you smile?”
It isn’t purposeful or preventable when a grin curls along my lips.
Everett’s face brightens to a light shade of red and he places his finger above his top lip as if embarrassed to be a reason I smile. “I enjoy writing and exploring.”
“You don’t say?” His jaw falls open, masking the blush along his cheeks. “Where do you like to explore?”
“Everywhere and anywhere. Sometimes, I go where the wind takes me. I never know what I’ll stumble across. It can be quite exciting.”
“Maybe I could join you on one of your wandering adventures. There must be a lot of hidden stunning landscapes to uncover here on the island.”
I glance out the window toward the small view of the ocean we have between the storefronts on the other side of the street. “I’m not sure I’ll make a wonderful teacher, but I could try.” Of course, I must figure out alternative ways to sneak out of my house and stay out of the public eye.
I lift my menu after spotting a look from one server who I suspect is waiting to take our order. Everett follows my lead but chooses the first item his eyes stop at.
“Mahi Mahi?” I question.
“How did you know?”
“You’re not a local just yet,” I jest.
“I better work on that. What about you? What are you going to have?”
I press my lips together and grin. “I’ll have the same, so you aren’t eating Mahi Mahi alone.”
“So I don’t look like the new guy on base, you mean?”
“I didn’t say any such thing.”
The server notices as we place our menus down and tends to the table. “We’ll both have the Mahi Mahi,” Everett says, making it known that the Hawaiian language is as foreign to him as the fish.
“Mahalo,” I offer my gratitude to the server as she collects our menus.
“Mahalo. Right. I keep forgetting. That means, hello, goodbye, and thank you, right?”
“Kind of, but not always. Mahalo is a way to show appreciation, but also, some people feel grateful to be around others and will use the word as a greeting too.”
“Well, mahalo, little sis.”
