Page 97 of And Still Her Voice
“Are you sure?”
That night I heard screaming and bolted out of bed to run to his side. I nudged him to wake up. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Tommy.” I turned on the table lamp. He stared at me with a look of confusion. “It’s just a nightmare.” His forehead felt clammy and cool. I brought him some water and a damp towel for his brow. No words exchanged, I wondered what might have happened to him in Vietnam, but I’d never know. I wouldn’t press him. I cradled him like a baby until he fell back to sleep.
The nighttime trade winds blew all our troubles away. The next morning the same wind that had fanned the palm trees whispered good morning. Tommy didn’t seem to remember having a nightmare; at least, he mentioned nothing. We spent the next couple days exploring the island and each other, nothing physical, though. First, we visited the Arizona Memorial and then the Polynesian Cultural Center.
We hiked up to Manoa Falls. As the falls washed over me, I wondered if he’d kiss me, but he didn’t. Later, on the beach, I imagined that kiss inFrom Here to Eternity.Nope. Nada.
The next day, he did take my hand as we climbed to the top of Diamond Head. He inhaled. “Aloha.” He turned to me. “‘Alo’in the presence ofand ‘ha’breath of life.” I did the same. “Aloha,” I yelled, outstretching my arms.
That evening we went into the hotel bar and ordered a couple of Mai Tais, with umbrellas and enough garnish to make a fruit salad. The place got too loud. “You know we have the best view from our own balcony,” Tommy said.Now we’re talking.Up in the room, we walked out to the balcony and sat like a couple of old people on their silver wedding anniversary, talking about our families (I kept it short: parents, siblings, boring stuff. I didn’t tell him how I’d been shortchanged in the childhood department or how my father had offed himself. His was the perfect family, a mother, a father, a younger brother and sister, a dog and a cat, and undoubtedly that proverbial white picket fence.) As I chewedon the cherry, he asked if I’d ever been in love. I spit the stem out over the rail. I thought I’d been in love. He said he had been until he received a Dear John letter. He stripped the pineapple from its rind and tossed the skin. He didn’t go into detail except to say he was crushed. “Probably just puppy love,” he added. We talked about the world, his views and mine, which so far seemed to be aligned. He asked more about my time on the road. I slurped through my straw before telling him about the band and then how I’d ended up in India.
“So, while I was over there dodging gunfire, you were singing Kumbaya around the campfire.” I smiled at him, eyebrow raised, and he immediately apologized. I wondered about his time in Vietnam and whether he’d had to use a gun?
“I was mostly there for search and rescue.”
I already knew he was a lifesaver at heart. I couldn’t imagine him leaving behind his humanity, even in combat.
“But we also patrolled up and down the Mekong River delta and the coastline where we intercepted sampans, little flat boats that were transporting guns and ammunition. We actually lost quite a few of our people,” he said, looking away. “So, unfortunately, I did have to fire my gun.”
“Is that why you have the nightmares?”
I’d thrown him off guard. “Thank you for taking care of me last night,” he said. So, he did remember. The memories would be something he would keep to himself; something he would want to protect me from. For now, I had my secrets, too.
“So now we’re even,” I said.
Was this the Mai Tai talking or was I falling for Tommy? Tall, fair-haired, and blue-eyed, he looked nothing like Elvis, Tony Curtis, or Paul McCartney. Besides truly caring for him, he made me feel safe; no need to weigh my thoughts or measure my words. I found more and more in common, or, rather, he had what I thought I wanted in life: a partner in love. But wasthis all happening too fast or maybe not fast enough? He hadn’t even kissed me. Had I come here only to discover another River? Grandma had told me not to confuse lust for love. Trust me, there was no lust here. Maybe she should have warned me not to confuse someone caring for me for love–at least not that kind of love. It took my traveling to the other side of the world to learn that in the English language, there is only one word for ‘love.’ I learned that in Sanskrit there were ninety-six. The way Ruben cared for me or the way Vihaan took time to explain things was a different sort of love. In that moment, I realized theirs was a love like a father should love his daughter. Ilovedhow I’d just come to understand that.
I loved watching the Adam’s apple in Tommy’s throat bob up and down as he gulped his drink. I loved watching him talk, using his hands, about nature and how there’s a connection to the universe and how we share a consciousness with it. I smiled as he spoke, exposing his teeth, so straight now, after his parents had loved him enough to put braces on him to correct the huge gap as a child. My parents had done nothing to correct the gap between us.
“We need to coexist and honor nature,” Tommy said. “Leave it a little better than how we found it.”
“You don’t sound like someone who’d up and join the military.”
He shook his head. “I had no choice. My draft number was seven. My mother was Quaker so I could have been a conscientious objector, but instead I joined the Coast Guard never imagining I’d be sent to battle. Believe me, I’m not a fighter. I’m a lover.”
I laughed, the drink coming out my nose. So far, I hadn’t seen this side of him. He was gentle and kind, but Romeo he was not. He handed me a napkin.
“What? We do need to love one another.” He grew serious. “The world is full of so much diversity. We can’t just eliminate a whole group of people because we don’t agree on everything.”
Twirling my little cocktail umbrella, I liked him even more. I thought about what he said and what Swami had said about learning to live in harmony with my dual consciousness. Speaking of whom, I hadn’t heard a peep out of Grandma during these past few days and honestly, I hadn’t missed her. And then, I remembered how she said that when I found the right person, she’d keep out. Was Tommy the right person or just another man who cared? He’d been the perfect gentleman so far, like that Jimmy Stewart character in the movies. He’d taken the couch like he said, leaving me the bed.
I wouldn’t ruin our friendship by making the first move. “I’d like to order another.” I stuck the little umbrella behind my ear, feeling mellow around my new buddy.
“Sure, and how about some dinner?”
The next morning, we walked across the beach of Waikiki, me trying to keep up with his footprints in the sand. He wanted to teach me to surf. “It’s a real thrill to experience a wave and then when you do, you’ll want another. It’s like an addiction.”
The cloudless azure sky morning couldn’t be more perfect as we lined up, the definition of line-up being, according to Tommy who liked teaching me things: taking into consideration the wind current, swell size and direction and other surfers vying for position, the position where you sit and wait. The water lay flat as an ironing board and so we sat waiting.
“Surfing teaches you to be patient. This is when I meditate.” He closed his eyes. Serene-looking, a gentle giant, he had a nice profile and a strong chin. I didn’t know if I could be as patient as him. Again, was he just another River? Sitting on my board, I closed my eyes, too. I thought about my conversations with mycousin Teddie about the “surfers” vs. the Mexicans. My surfer was nothing like the “surfers” she talked about.
“Paddle!” he yelled all of a sudden.
I paddled like a crazy windmill. A swell picked me and my board up as we slid down the face of a wave.
“Stand up!” he shouted.
I popped up into a stance and turned slightly to ride the wave in.
