Prints in the Sand: My Journey with Nanea

Getting back to Mrs. Watson’s neighborhood takes longer than it did this morning, maybe because our legs are worn out, or maybe because I keep watching the sun slide lower, my stomach sinking right along with it. Saying goodbye to Mango is going to be so much harder than I expected.

Nanea, though, seems lighter than ever, nearly skipping along the sidewalk with Mele at her heels. She loves being outside in the summer evening, tired of being shut up behind blacked-out windows every night.

I get that. The evening air feels wonderful against my skin, and insects and birds fill the quiet all around us.

We pass Mrs. Watson’s fence, then a huge stadium Nanea calls Honolulu Stadium, before turning onto King Street. Mango whines beside me, and I bend down to scratch his head. We must be getting close, Nanea guesses, betting he already recognizes the neighborhood.

Several blocks later, Nanea finally stops in front of a street sign. Kahuna Lane, she reads aloud, asking Mango if this is the place. He only whines back, clueless as the rest of us.

Something nags at me as I study the sign. Kahuna doesn’t sound right? Didn’t Mrs. Santos say King and Kahekee something, not Kahuna? Nanea smacks her forehead the moment I say it. Kaheka, not Kahuna. She turns in a slow, confused circle, trying to get her bearings again.

I ask, dreading the answer, whether Kaheka is far. She bites her lip and points in the opposite direction. It’s a solid half hour on foot, though running would cut that down.

We sprint past the stadium until Mango’s tongue hangs nearly to the ground, matching how I feel. I beg Nanea, who is racing ahead with Mele, to ease up just a little. Nanea slows down just a little, warning that we still can’t dawdle with the curfew coming fast.

I drop to a brisk walk instead, wishing I had an iced tea from Mrs. Santos. When we cross McCully Street, Mele veers toward home, and for a second so does Nanea’s gaze, but her feet keep carrying her toward Mango’s, calling Mele back to her side.

Every window on the block sits dark, and aside from the occasional passing car, the whole street feels abandoned. I hear the hiss of a garden hose, which makes me thirstier than ever, and then I see the man watering his lawn. He calls out, wondering if we should be headed home.

My palms go damp at the question. We haven’t even tracked down Mango’s family yet, and daylight is running out fast.

Nanea looks just as uneasy, until Mango suddenly bolts ahead of us, tearing straight up to a white house and pawing at the door. It swings open, and a little boy scoops him up, laughing that he finally found his way back.

His mother appears behind him and asks, relief spreading across her face. Nanea apologizes for how long it took, explaining that Mango wandered awfully far. The woman repeats the name, confused. The boy corrects us and says the dog’s name is Niu. Although Mango would be a fine name, too. Nanea grins and translates for me. Niu means coconut.

The mother thanks us again, then asks if we would like to say our goodbyes. Nanea steps back with Mele, letting me have this last moment alone. I scratch Niu behind his ears exactly the way he likes, admitting I never figured out if he was a coconut, a mango, or a sausage. Either way, he will always be my friend.

Niu answers with one last lick before trotting inside after the boy. Walking away leaves me strangely torn, sad to lose him and glad at the same time that he finally has his family again.

Nanea and I fall into a quiet rhythm side by side, the fading light impossible to ignore now. I ask whether we should just call her parents for a ride. She hesitates, admitting Papa already left with the car for his shift, though Tutu Kane could probably come get us. Still, it isn’t quite dark yet, and she thinks she knows a shortcut that might get us home just as fast. She waits for me to decide.