The Road to Haleakala
The dream highway ran the narrow strip between the surf and the forest, and we drove alongside a ditch with its invasion of elephantine, doe-eyed marine creatures. I forget the species’ name, but I saw the flicker of their forked trunks under the low-hanging willows and pointed them out to Andy, who whipped his head around to watch them as we passed. The car roof had partially faded away, and we drove with the breeze twisting our hair in the sun. The road to Mt. Kamea was still half-formed, a product of an ancient tribe slaughtered or plagued out of existence. Occasionally the broken tree trunks would slice ghost-like through the car and I’d shiver. The baby in the backseat squealed in glee, drops of laughter flying into the air and disappearing behind us in a smear of glitter. I chuckled. Babies always find disruption novel.
“What’s under the mountain, Mama?” asked Andy, shaking the baby’s liquid off in distaste.
“The ocean under the earth,” I replied, rounding a curve of glass bricks, the snowy mountain peaks gleaming. I imagined sinking knee deep into the soft, mild snow, and touching the permafrost covering Kamea forest’s green leaves.
“Can we swim in it?” he asked.
“We can. But we’d probably dissolve after a few minutes.”
Andy was silent for a while, toying with the baby’s rattle. In the rearview mirror, I watched his face transform from infant to old man. His tiger-stripes were starting to show, darkened by the constant sun exposure. He finally wormed his way between the bucket seats and turned to face me. “That’s what we want, isn’t it?”
I nodded, listening to his words weave into the mountain peak’s hum. “It’s what we always want, son.”
***
Musical Inspiration: The Verve’s “Beautiful Mind.” Seriously one of the most beautiful, chill songs I know that still has vocals.
