In the serene Maui twilight, streaks of crimson and fiery blazes lingering from the scorching
summer day begin to fade upon the magnificent dusky velvet stage. She bends down to unfasten the
silver clasp on her sandals, and I cling tightly to her free hand to balance, while sliding mine from
my feet. Unhurriedly tossing our sandals on the sloping sand dune, we begin the journey together
down the endless sandy beach. Radiant scarlets and golden flames diminish, and nightfall sweeps across the sky. The sudden darkness catches me by surprise and she becomes only a hazy silhouette in the black. I do not have to look to know she is still there walking beside me. That sweet, comforting aroma that only a mother can wear, a fragrance that a child will never forget, silently assures me. An amalgam scented of face powder, clean laundry, and fresh pikake blossoms ripples through the evening air. The scent triggers my mind and I can barely see two figures in the dark. Slowly the shadows take shape, and transform into a woman and a girl of five years of age. Scenery emerges from the dark corners and a simple house comes into view.
The rich blue sky spreads itself broadly behind it, so perfect it almost seems like a backdrop in
a play. It is all clear now and I carefully watch them playing in the small backyard, beneath a
towering mango tree. The long green leaves shiver and sway with the gentle breeze, and the yard is
scattered with fallen ones. Purple and white orchids, stretching tall in their stone pots, line the
dark green fence which encompasses the backyard.
A homemade swing formed from a piece of white painted wood and two thick ropes hangs on the branches. The little girl slowly pushes herself on
the swing with her two tiny slipper clad feet. Humming a simple tune, she gazes at her surroundings
with large, innocent eyes. Moving around her, the woman sweeps up the fallen leaves with a rake.
Suddenly the girl cries out to her mother and with a smile, she puts down the rake. She carefully
pulls the swing back, then gives it a great push. The little girl's face lights up with exhilaration
as she shrieks in delight and her long, charcoal black hair streams out behind her. I watch the
scene in bittersweet memory, and the longing to return to my childhood days overcomes me. Gently,
the scene dissolves and the sea filled breeze brings me back to the dark beach with the waves
pounding in my ears.
Whispering breezes seep out of the sun-warmed sand and weave its path gently between the
lofty palms, their leaves swaying to a melody only audible to them. Crashing waves below erupt
into a cool mist that scatters droplets on our legs, and with a hasty swipe, they disappear. The
illuminated sky becomes hazy and I strain to see the same woman and a thirteen-year old girl in
the black distance. The clouds slowly disappear and they are sitting outside at dusk on a wooden
porch talking quietly. Red bougainvillea brushes the corners of the dark wood, and ti leaves wave
freely in the cool night wind. I can not hear, it is as if I am watching a silent movie. The woman
makes a movement as if to take the girl's hand and point out constellations in the beautiful star
sprinkled sky, yawning wide above them. The girl jerks her hand away, embarrassed. Ignorantly, she
fails to notice the woman's dejected face gazing at her in disappointment.
Looking down, the girl is absorbed in arranging bougainvillea flowers into different patterns on
the planks of brown wood. The woman is staring intently, expectantly, eagerly at the girl,
trying to make conversation, and using her hands to gesture. Yet the girl never once looks up,
never utters more than a few words. I watch helplessly, as the woman feels more and more frustrated
and hopeless.
Oblivious to her mother's feelings, the girl continues to shut her out. Abruptly, the woman stands,
throws her hands down at the girl and enters the house in tears. I watch with shame the events
taking place before me, and wish desperately that I could change them. A gust of wind spirals
around me, swirling my hair and it grazes my cheeks. I force the images to disappear from my eyes
and breathe in a deep gulp of the calm night air.
From behind a bundle of cotton-spun clouds, the
brilliant moon peeks out, pitching shadows against the bold night sky. In the moonlight upon the
moist sand, I realize our two sets of footprints had begun to separate as the slightly larger ones
wandered up towards the dry sandy hill, and the smaller ones down towards the bubbling water.
Neither pair of footprints intended to drift apart, it is just how the journey goes. The
illuminated beach fades as a new scene emerges. Beneath my feet, the soft sand crumbles away,
and a cold white floor with gray and black speckles forms in its absence. Bright lights glare
down at me from the ceiling, and soon I feel a trickle of sweat dripping down my face. The line
begins to move.
"Time to go." I whisper. She does not say a word, but smiles a watery smile and holds my hand
tightly. Slowly she lets go, but I continue to cling to her hand, desperate in the moment.
The excited emotions I had felt a week ago were gone, and only the sick feeling of leaving
home existed. We look at each other, and in that gaze, a thousand words pass between us.
I drop her hand and wrap my arms around her back tightly, giving her a long squeeze.
Unwillingly, we tear apart and I hand my boarding pass to the ticket agent. He returns the stub and
I head slowly down the long corridor, clutching my blue bag to my side. I look back once, twice, to
see if she is still standing there, watching me. I smile as my eyes fill with tears, and turn the
corner.
Everything blurs, and I shake my head to clear the haziness. I am lost in the cool sea breeze picking up around me. Looking up at her, I feel the desire to run and wrap my arms around her legs as I once used to. Somehow along the way, all that had disappeared without my realization. I long for her to walk beside me, my companion along our journey once again. Staring at her turned head expectantly, she turns and catches my eye and holds the gaze for a long time in pure silence. Giving a gentle smile, she walks down toward me. Together, we continue our journey to the end of the beach, her footprints and mine.
About the author
Tara Sakauye, 16, another Honolulu Advertiser reader.
She is a junior at Honolulu's Iolani School. Sponsoring teacher: Eddie DuPriest.
Story: "Footprints."
Tara Sakauye, 16, another Honolulu Advertiser reader.
She is a junior at Honolulu's Iolani School. Sponsoring teacher: Eddie DuPriest.
Story: "Footprints."