Cracked Bowls

A sense of urgency heats me from the inside, like a fever or maybe it is a fever. It doesn't matter which, the more important issue is the sense of confidence that the many stories lying on pieces of clouds ought to be safely pinned here. Now.

This one is a novel, written with characters and a story line I love with all my heart. Incomplete, it parks on a blogger's space ... and if I don't finish it? The Universe will love it as a baby story, just as I do.

To fasten it here where, maybe, you will pull it up and find something to hold you together for awhile, a time perfectly ripe for a moment.

I love this story. I love this story because it speaks of the Hawaii I know, the Hawaii I imagine, the Hawaii that is spacious and crosses all cracks.

Cracked Bowls

I began writing this story on July 16, 2011

Wailuku, Maui
July, 2011

"I suppose this is exactly where I aimed to be, all along." The heavy wool coat couldn't have been more wrong, but he was unfretted.  The looks of the passing throng of bikini-clad copper skinned nymphs only turned his smile broader.  Nearly toothless, the man was nonetheless beaming.  One of the curvy dark-haired girls turned, not just curious, she was genuinely concerned.

"Don't recognize you from here, sir.  My name is Lokahi, I live here."  She was beautiful and was in more ways than she might understand, the full measure of her name. 
Justin Maxwell tipped the bowler from his streaked head, "No, I am, obviously, not from here." My name is Justin Maxwell, but friends call me "Max."" 
At ease with herself, and perhaps unaware or still too young to be afraid of her beauty, Lokahi said, "Are you looking for someone?"  Her eyes searched for something as if there was a familiarity about the stranger. 
"I'm not sure this is the right place, but yes, I am looking for someone," Justin Maxwell considered the girl across from him with tenderness.

By now Lokahi's friends had stopped to look back.  "She's found another stray," Andy was exaggerating of course.  Lokahi hadn't met a stray in months, though this guy could use a good pair of shorts and a tee-shirt.  The long brown tweed coat and round hat were strange enough, but the large heavy-looking chest on wheels was something out of fairy tales. 

"I've seen a chest like that before," Celeste spoke with the assurance of a geek-girl that she was.  Slung across her body on a thin cord was her ipod. She was never without it.  Tap, tap and click she searched the pages of the contraption and before they reached their friend there it was.

Andy-- Andrea Essentia-- was never surprised by the antics of either side-kick, but often she wished, "Normal girlfriends!  I jus wanna have some ... like normal, girl, friends."  Her hands in the air for dramatic effect Andy looked at the tiny screen, pulled her shades from her eyes.  Big, deep pool brown-black pupils fringed with thick lashes.  High round cheek bones and a dimple the size of plums were such a contrast to the thin face and almond sleek eyes of her geeky friend.  "Yeah, looks just like the old guy's hauling a "Port-o-gesurian" chest.  So, the guy's a portagee."  

READ THE REST OF 'CRACKED BOWLS' HERE 
The story, and the blog format will be tricky to navigate. You will need to be tenacious and adventurous ... browse the sidebar ... to see the 'archives' and pick up the threads of story. I think you'll enjoy it. Incomplete at this point, as I safety pin it here. It is a bitter sweet game to place between us. Helping to hold life together as many of us read in 'self isolation' during an amazing time.