02-01-2014, 08:21 PM
The day was warm and the sea was bright, burning blue. So clear you could see could the fish swimming in it's depths, far from the shore line. Fine white sand itched beneath her bathing suit and when she licked her lips she could taste salt and the remnants of the rainbow sno-cone that had stained her mouth kool-aid red. They'd come in the morning and stayed all day. Kuia didn't like to swim very much, but her mother did, and they spent most of their time in the water, returning to shore only for brief stretches to rest and take a drink. Whina couldn't recall in her short life having ever seen her mother so happy , or ever spending so much time with her. She knew that her mother loved her, but to be the center of her attention made her feel warm inside, special.
After lunch, Whina and her grandmother went to collect shells on the beach while her mother took a nap. The girl carried her beach pail and a stick, using it to poke at clumps of kelp and debris washed up on the shore, checking for anything that might have been caught up like fish in a net. One time she found underwear, which she thought was a pretty silly thing to lose. This time she found only a jellyfish, which she gave wide berth. Her beach pail was half full by the time they returned to the spot on the shore where her mother still lay sleeping. The back of her top was untied, her skin silken, burnished bronze. Most children think their mothers are beautiful, but Whina knew that most people thought her mother was very pretty, too. She didn't look like most other mothers. She looked like one of those girls from her cousin's Girls of Polynesia calender that he kept in the garage, even had the big, tousled hair.
The girl set her bucket down and picked up the plastic Big Gulp cup she'd been using to hold water, but found that it was empty, a shaking of the ice not enough to quench her thirst. There was a fountain up the beach, but her mother's cup was right there, so she took a drink from that instead. It tasted funny, thick and sweet and kind of like cough syrup. She swallowed it down quickly, the soda burning, warming it's way to the pit of her stomach. She grimaced at the bitter taste. "What's wrong there, love?" Her grandmother asked as she fussed about with her folding chair, trying to adjust it so she could read her romance novel in comfort. "This tastes weird, I think there's something wrong with it." The girl replied, prepared to pass it over for her grandmother to inspect.
At those words Whina's mother woke up, eyes blood shot, and snatched the cup from her hands, nearly knocking it from the startled girls grasp, "Whina! That's not for you!" Clutching her top to her breasts with her free hand, "It'll rot your teeth."
"Rot your brains more like. Moana, what are you up to?" Eyes dark and sharp as a sea hawks, kuia didn't miss a beat. She sat up, back straight in her aluminium and plastic lawn chair, and demanded truth.
"Nothing! I'm a grown woman, mum." Realizing she had to choose one or the other, Whina's mother put down the cup and tied her top back on. "It's just a little drink. I have a hard enough time at work, can't I just come home and unwind a bit? Is that a crime?"
"Unwind? Is that what they call it nowadays?"
Whina sat to the side with her bucket full of shells, blinking back tears as she watched what had been such a perfect day fall to pieces. All she'd wanted was something to drink, and now everyone was mad at each other and she didn't understand why. It wasn't her mother she looked to for guidance in the matter, to help make it clear. It was to kuia, her grandmother, that her eyes turned. It looked as though she was about to say something, but when Whina looked at her, she stopped. Her mouth closed, her expression softened.
"Come on, bug. We're going home." Standing up, the old woman in her shapeless brown dress collapsed her chair and began to gather together her belongings, and Whina, not knowing what else to do, followed suit.
"Mum, I drove us here. What are you going to do, take the bus?" Her mother sounded irritated, desperate, uneasy. She too began packing up, but slowly, still trying to control the situation, even as she stumbled picking up her towel and shaking out the sand.
All her things gathered, Whina followed her grandmother as they began walking down the beach in silent protest of something that the girl still didn't understand. They took the bus home.
Kuia had the keys to the car, but she couldn't drive.
(kuia: grandmother in one of the tribal dialects of Maori)
After lunch, Whina and her grandmother went to collect shells on the beach while her mother took a nap. The girl carried her beach pail and a stick, using it to poke at clumps of kelp and debris washed up on the shore, checking for anything that might have been caught up like fish in a net. One time she found underwear, which she thought was a pretty silly thing to lose. This time she found only a jellyfish, which she gave wide berth. Her beach pail was half full by the time they returned to the spot on the shore where her mother still lay sleeping. The back of her top was untied, her skin silken, burnished bronze. Most children think their mothers are beautiful, but Whina knew that most people thought her mother was very pretty, too. She didn't look like most other mothers. She looked like one of those girls from her cousin's Girls of Polynesia calender that he kept in the garage, even had the big, tousled hair.
The girl set her bucket down and picked up the plastic Big Gulp cup she'd been using to hold water, but found that it was empty, a shaking of the ice not enough to quench her thirst. There was a fountain up the beach, but her mother's cup was right there, so she took a drink from that instead. It tasted funny, thick and sweet and kind of like cough syrup. She swallowed it down quickly, the soda burning, warming it's way to the pit of her stomach. She grimaced at the bitter taste. "What's wrong there, love?" Her grandmother asked as she fussed about with her folding chair, trying to adjust it so she could read her romance novel in comfort. "This tastes weird, I think there's something wrong with it." The girl replied, prepared to pass it over for her grandmother to inspect.
At those words Whina's mother woke up, eyes blood shot, and snatched the cup from her hands, nearly knocking it from the startled girls grasp, "Whina! That's not for you!" Clutching her top to her breasts with her free hand, "It'll rot your teeth."
"Rot your brains more like. Moana, what are you up to?" Eyes dark and sharp as a sea hawks, kuia didn't miss a beat. She sat up, back straight in her aluminium and plastic lawn chair, and demanded truth.
"Nothing! I'm a grown woman, mum." Realizing she had to choose one or the other, Whina's mother put down the cup and tied her top back on. "It's just a little drink. I have a hard enough time at work, can't I just come home and unwind a bit? Is that a crime?"
"Unwind? Is that what they call it nowadays?"
Whina sat to the side with her bucket full of shells, blinking back tears as she watched what had been such a perfect day fall to pieces. All she'd wanted was something to drink, and now everyone was mad at each other and she didn't understand why. It wasn't her mother she looked to for guidance in the matter, to help make it clear. It was to kuia, her grandmother, that her eyes turned. It looked as though she was about to say something, but when Whina looked at her, she stopped. Her mouth closed, her expression softened.
"Come on, bug. We're going home." Standing up, the old woman in her shapeless brown dress collapsed her chair and began to gather together her belongings, and Whina, not knowing what else to do, followed suit.
"Mum, I drove us here. What are you going to do, take the bus?" Her mother sounded irritated, desperate, uneasy. She too began packing up, but slowly, still trying to control the situation, even as she stumbled picking up her towel and shaking out the sand.
All her things gathered, Whina followed her grandmother as they began walking down the beach in silent protest of something that the girl still didn't understand. They took the bus home.
Kuia had the keys to the car, but she couldn't drive.
(kuia: grandmother in one of the tribal dialects of Maori)