Page 26 of Hula Girl

Ridiculously, I’m disappointed in his disavowal of a relationship. Of course, I have no claim on him of that nature. We both know this connection of ours is purely a heat of the moment one that has an expiration date set to match my plane ticket home. Still, his quick reply stings a little.

Then the little boy grins and shakes his head with unwarranted confidence. “That means I have a chance, then.”

I laugh, shocked and amused.

“Eli,” Ford says with the sternness of a taskmaster, “go get on stage.”

The little Casanova holds up his hands with mock innocence. “I’m just saying, if you can’t close the deal, maybe I can.”

“Down, tiger. You should know that Ava here is actually my princess.”

“Princess?”

“Yes, she’s ahulaprincess. And she’s mine.”

I fight back a laugh, tickled by Ford’s sudden show of possessiveness.

“What’s that make you? A prince?”

Ford makes an elaborate show of doffing his imaginary hat before bowing slightly. “You may call me Surfer Prince.”

Eli laughs. “Yeah, right. In your dreams, Ford.”

“Go make us proud on stage there,” Ford said.

Looking over at the parking spot that had been designated as the “stage,” Eli puffs out his cheeks dubiously. Then he looks back at Ford and all his earlier bravado is lost as he suddenly looks like the young boy he is.

“Forty-five degrees?” Eli asks, holding his clarinet out in front of his chest.

Ford adjusts his hands slightly before nodding. “Forty-five degrees, bud. You got this.”

The kid seems to absorb the vote of confidence before nodding. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Break a leg,” I tell him.

“Thanks, princess.”

Ford and I share what I imagine to be a “proud parent” type look before he gets pulled away by another performer.

“I saved you a great seat,” he says as he moves away. “Front row.”

I smile. “VIP. Thank you.”

“Well, you are royalty, after all,” he says with a wink.

The show doesn’t begin right away, but I dutifully sit in the plastic folding chair up front. Looking around, I realize that everyone here knows each other. They must be parents and friends, but also others that are from the area. The support they’re offering is sweet.

The community vibe spurs memories of the neighborhood I grew up in. It’s where my mother still lives. It’s very working class, but also the type of place where everyone knows everyone—for better or worse. My favorite time growing up was when three blocks were shut down for a summer street party. Everyone put out folding tables and canopies, offering their favorite dishes. It was basically a giant potluck, with kids running freely in the street, someone’s nephew doing a DJ stint at one end, and the old timers listening to Vicente Fernández on an ancient boom box at the other end. By the end of the night, the kids were still going strong well past their bedtimes while the adults were tipsy and dancing like no one was watching. But the overwhelming feeling was that everyone was just happy to be there, to be in the moment sharing a silent understanding of connectedness.

That’s what this feels like, at least a little bit. I relax into my chair and savor this unexpected experience. Once more, I’m finding that Ford isn’t who I supposed he would be. There’s more depth to him than I presumed at first glance.

I see him speaking with an older woman who wears a long graying braid over one shoulder. She’s just as involved in the preparations for the performance as he is and I have to assume that she is his mother, though they don’t look very much alike.

When the performance starts, I give Eli an encouraging thumbs up. When he blows me a kiss in return I laugh loudly and have to cover my mouth while I watch Ford admonishing him. I can’t say the kids have a prodigy-level of talent, but there are glimmers that suggest that with more work, they’ll find their rhythm, especially as by the end of the piece they’ve managed to come together to all play the same notes.

The crowd rewards them with a standing ovation afterward and the kids beam.

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