Over the Rainbow - Book One - 'The Gathering Place' (6 page)

Walter awoke with a start and looked around, clearly
disoriented, still caught in the throes of what had been a most
unusual dream. He blearily rubbed the remnants of the bizarre
memory from his eyes and shook his head to clear it as the car
jerked to a halt and bellhops moved in almost choreographed fashion
to welcome their newest arrivals. As he stumblingly emerged from
the limo, he gazed with cool appraisal at their destination.

In the open-air lobby, a colorful ménagerie of hotel
guests crossed and converged through the spacious room, surfboards
and beach towels clutched in sunburned arms. Chris stretched and
yawned as he emerged, tilting his head into the warm island breeze
and savoring its exotic aroma as Abigail nearly bounded from the
vehicle and strode into the lobby with the air of a child in
paradise, smiling and nodding to those who passed, most of whom
nodded and waved in return.

They had arrived.

The creak and squeal of straining wheels accompanied
the overloaded baggage cart as the two diminutive bellmen struggled
to move the load. Walter wavered unsteadily behind, still blinking
to clear the fog from his brain. He handed Chris a golden key-card
and muttered, “Here you go, son- 314.” And then he looked with a
frown to the restaurant across the way, where a crowd of loud and
boisterous diners filled the noisy room, and turned to Abigail with
a sigh, “Abby, honey, I'm beat- Can we just order in this
evening?”

Abigail responded distractedly, her voice a bit
distant as she tore her gaze from the gift shop across the spacious
lobby, its interior dark and a ‘closed’ sign tilted in the silent
windows, “What? Oh, certainly, dear- I want to get out of these
clothes anyway...” She turned to Chris and rose up on tip-toes as
she kissed his cheek lightly, a silent ‘thank-you’ for being the
harbinger of granting her long-time dream. “Well, good-night,
sweetie! Don’t stay up too late. Shall we call you for
breakfast?”

Chris replied absently, somewhat
distracted as well,
his
attentions focused on the panoply of gorgeous and
sun-tanned women all around, “What? Oh- uh, sure Mom. Goodnight.”
And with that he paused and took in a slow, deep breath as he
puffed out his chest and slowly, tentatively extended his hand to
his father. “Dad…” he waited, not fully expecting his father to
return the gesture, only slightly relaxing when he did, and said a
single word, “Thanks.”

For a moment the men stood with hands clasped, both
unspeaking, staring with calculated measure into the others’ eyes,
neither acknowledging defeat nor granting victory, and then, as if
on cue, they turned and went their separate ways.

Chris leaned onto the cool rail of his balcony and
stared out to sea, the warm trade winds gently ruffling his golden
hair. He gazed thoughtfully off to the distant horizon,
contemplating the almost bizarre series of events that had led to
this- his unexpected arrival in a strange new land. His gaze
drifted to the spectacle of the sight of the huge glowing Moon as
it sat poised above its reflection in the water, its mottled
surface oddly pinkish, its’ bloated shape nearing full.

And as he stared at the wonder of
the beautiful sphere, a sudden gust of island breeze rippled his
shirt and carried with it a most unexpected sound. It was the clear
and distinct tinkling of a wind chime, an odd musical coda that
drifted away nearly as quickly as it had arrived. But just as the
curious sound was fading away another enigmatic noise followed
immediately in its wake. It was the dull throb of music, a driving
Polynesian beat; a rhythmic, powerful dance that seemed to almost
reach into his soul, tugging at something deep within him. The
oddly compelling sound seemed to come and go on the breeze, and
Chris turned his head from side to side trying to locate the origin
of the peculiar noises, inexorably drawn to the strange, exotic
music. Music that suddenly, and quite unexpectedly-
stopped
.

Chris leaned lazily against the sleek side of the
Schleicher ASW 27, its glossy white wings and shiny fuselage
reflecting streaks of blue and gold from the early morning sky. In
the distance behind him, the lush green sides of the Ko’olau
mountains were crowned with a sparkling rainbow that shimmered
against the slate dark clouds of a passing rain. He held his
cellphone back to his ear, where the muted squawking of his
mother’s voice had finally faded to silence.

“
Of course it's safe, Mother. I
have more hours in these than I have driving a car.”

Abigail leaned back with a sigh of resignation into
the lushly-cushioned chaise that was perched next to the azure hues
of the pool- her large, floppy white hat and over-size sunglasses
giving her a look reminiscent of a Hollywood starlet as she replied
with a hint of confusion and concern, “But- it doesn't even have an
engine!”

Chris rolled his eyes and smiled.
“That's why it's called a
glider,
mother
.
I’ll take some cool pics for you, okay? See ya
for lunch.”

Abigail replied, her voice still tinged with a
mother’s worry, “Okay- have fun! Don't be late…” And then she
quietly closed her phone and looked with a bemused smirk to the
form of her oblivious husband sitting beside her, his focus solely
intent on his laptop and phone, his lily-white thighs already
beginning to redden in the early morning sun. As she reclined back
onto the chaise to bask in the warmth, she nearly giggled in
amusement as she imagined her husband’s consternation later when to
his dismay and annoyance he would discover the curious rectangular
patch of white that would remind him of his previous rant against
being an idle layabout, almost a form of instant Karma for not
heeding her advice to just let go.

Chris smiled and ended the call and then pulled a
frayed and stained Boston Red Sox cap from his hip pocket and
tugged it firmly onto his head. From a breast pocket in his
well-worn flight jacket, he carefully extracted and unfolded a
futuristic-looking pair of Oakley sunglasses and put them on,
tapping the tiny earbuds firmly into his ears. Sliding the phone
into the now vacant pocket, he zipped it closed and jauntily
climbed into the cockpit of the sleek, white craft. With a whirling
roundhouse gesture of his hand to the waiting tow-plane pilot, he
closed the canopy with a sharp ‘click’ and buckled in. A quick
burst of power from the tow-plane, a short dull rumbling and one
final bump and then they were airborne, quickly gaining altitude
into a cloud-puffed sky.

As the tethered planes crossed through five-thousand
feet above the patchwork of plantations and small towns overlapping
in the lush green landscape, Chris’ radio crackled to life. “'kay,
bro, the best thermals be over the pineapple fields, they them
light green ones wit da red dirt. You jus' stay clear of da
mountains, okay? An' remember to stay away from the pali by da
coast, bro- the wind shear coming off dem cliffs is big trouble!”
The cautionary tone of the pilot then changed to one of warm
encouragement and he said with dismissal, “You just have fun, okay?
Aloha!”

Chris replaced the radio headset into its holder,
re-inserted the earbuds and touched a nearly-invisible spot on the
side of the Oakleys. His ears slowly filled with the delicate
techno tinkling of a synthesizer and the rhythmic thumping
percussion of the song he had deliberately chosen for this very
occasion- it was ‘Above’ by the Blue Man Group. As the music
swelled and suffused his head with sound, Chris smiled widely and
grabbed the cherry-red knob of the release handle. He pulled it
firmly and the tow-rope fluttered away on the breeze.

And finally, he was free.

Nestled serenely in the overlapping hues of viridian
and green of the Hawaiian country-side, the gray-tiled roofs of the
Japanese/Polynesian fusion of architecture shimmered in the sun,
glistening with sparkling golden droplets from the early morning
rain. The sound of sleepy birds came and went on the breeze, their
songs punctuated by the occasional crow of a rooster who had
overstayed his welcome. A gentle breeze stirred the zen-like
profusion of native shrubs and trees that filled the inner
courtyard of the horseshoe-shaped structure and a soft ringing of a
myriad of wind-chimes lent a light sense of magic to this pastoral
tropical setting.

But not for long.

The peace and tranquility of this sleepy Hawaiian
morning was suddenly shattered as the front door of the house
crashed open and Alani Nakamura dashed through, racing across the
graveled yard towards a battered yellow Jeep. Struggling mightily
to keep from losing all of her belongings in an inadvertent yard
sale, Alani skidded into the side of the Jeep and tossed her purse
into the passenger seat, at the same time flinging a stuffed to
overflowing yellow backpack into the rear. Diving into the driver’s
seat, Alani reached behind her and began to repeatedly tug a balky
seat-belt around her while blindly fishing through her purse for
her keys.

A harried moment later, completely unsuccessful with
either endeavor, she growled in annoyance and abruptly dumped the
entire contents of her purse onto the seat, frantically rummaging
through the pile of her purse’s contents with both hands, her
actions now accompanied by a blistering streak of barely muffled
profanity. Scattering the random debris across the seat in mounting
irritation, she finally dug out a New York Yankees key fob and
raised it in self-congratulatory triumph. With a sigh of relief she
snatched a frayed and battered cowboy hat from the rear-view
mirror, crammed the hat onto her head and jammed the key into the
ignition. In what was apparently an ancient and time-honored
ritual, she stroked the steering wheel twice from the top outward
with both hands, patted the dash three times in a distinct and
specific pattern, muttered a fevered prayer to the heavens, closed
her eyes and turned the key.

Nothing happened.

“
God dammit-
not
now
!” she
cried in anguish and pounded the steering wheel in frustration.
Again Alani employed her ritual, this time with a voice now more
cajoling than threatening as she said in encouragement, “C’mon
baby, c’mon, you can do it! Be a good boy,
c’mon…”

Alani cranked the key, and this time the engine
turned over, and over, and over again, but still refused to start.
After several impotent revolutions it began to fade and fail with a
whine, and Alani growled through gritted teeth and then whined in
desperation and despair. With a final ‘whirr’ and a deathly rattle
the tired vehicle teetered on the brink of giving up the ghost- and
then suddenly and unexpectedly roared to life. “Yes!” Alani crowed,
hugging the steering wheel in gratitude and stroking the dash in
appreciation, quickly grinding the car into gear and spinning the
tires as she whirled around in a gravel-spitting 180.

As she raced past the dusty front door of the house
it suddenly burst open again, this time emitting her mother,
Noelani, who flew after her waving her hands frantically over her
head and hollering, “LANI! Alani, WAIT!”

With a stifled curse, Alani slammed on the brakes
and slid the roaring Jeep to a stop, spraying a hail of gravel onto
the previously immaculate front porch of the house. As she watched
the approach of Noelani in the driver’s side mirror, she gritted
her teeth in frustration and ground the Jeep into reverse, and then
punched the gas in irritation and rapidly backed up, sliding to a
stop mere inches from her mother.

Noelani slapped wildly at the rear fender of the
Jeep and jumped aside to avoid being crushed by the errant vehicle
as she raised her hands in renewed exasperation at Alani’s
consistent lack of caution, “Hey, CAREFUL! One of these days you
gonna kill me the way you drive.”