It’s always the last day in my dreams about Hawaii, where I lived for most of my young life — give or take.
I’m back on the beach, at some kind of resort. This could be our last reunion. We’re all getting old. I don’t see Mrs. Hao, our Newswriting advisor, anymore. Nadine, our last editor, takes her place. She arranges the memorabilia and tributes, video and photography, even a full-page ad full of fully-cooked, cheese-filled pasta.
I’m telling her, and Edward, that we need to get James and Gerald to attend the last of our reunions before it’s too late. I think they agree, but we’re all distracted by the dying sun setting on the beach. Our beach. Our lazy, indulgent childhood…Huli Huli chicken sales and football drama, deadlines and breakups, that time Cesar groped me in the dark room, stinking of old moth balls (borrowed from “Parasite”).
I don’t want to leave the beach, or them. I never do.
But this is no longer my home.
Originally published at https://carolbankswebercoggie.wordpress.com on September 19, 2020.