Prints in the Sand: My Journey with Nanea

Thinking about how much Nanea misses her brother David, and how much I miss Dad and my own brothers back home, gives me an idea. Maybe, I offer, our hula could tell a story about family. Nanea’s whole face lights up at that. She wants it centered on ‘ohana, family, too. Once her grandparents head out for the morning, the two of us clear away the breakfast dishes, then retreat to her bedroom to piece our dance together.

Nanea says the moon belongs in the hula, since no matter where David gets stationed, he’ll see the same moon as she does. That resonates with me completely. I explain the ocean does the same thing for me, since staring out at the waves lets me imagine Dad’s plane cutting across the horizon on its way back to us. Understanding flashes across Nanea’s face, and from there we dive into building the dance.

For mahina, moon, she shows me how to curve my arms with palms tilted upward and fingertips meeting overhead. We rock side to side like palm trees on the shoreline, waiting for our families. Then we end with our hands rippling in slow waves, echoing the ocean that will carry everyone home. The idea of Dad’s return brings a sting of tears to my eyes, though Nanea pretends not to notice. Running through the routine again and again lifts my mood, especially the part where David and Dad are imagined home at last and we get to give them a hug.

From sadness to happiness—I have so many emotions. I am so glad there’s hula to help me say what’s in my heart.

Once we’ve got it down, Nanea cracks open her door and announces that Papa is awake. The instant we creep into the living room, he reaches out to tickle her. She invites him to watch our hula. Nervousness grips me right up until he wiggles his eyebrows my way, a gesture just like my dad would do. So I take a deep breath, and we begin.

Nanea talks us through the dance as we perform, pointing out the moon David and Nanea both watch, the palm trees swaying on shore, and the waves bringing everyone home. Mr. Mitchell dabs at his eyes once we’re finished, then erupts into whistling, clapping, and cheering until Nanea giggles and tells him that’s enough.

When the time comes for Nanea to leave for gardening, I know it’s time for me to go home, too. As we pile into Mr. Mitchell’s car to drive back to the beach, it dawns on me that I’ll now have someone new to miss: Nanea.

As we drive, Nanea quietly admits she knows my family will be leaving soon, and that she’s going to miss me terribly. I shape my arms into a moon like we practiced and remind her to look up, promising I’ll do the same. In response, she smiles and forms her own arms into a moon. I wish I could freeze a picture of Nanea in that pose, so I can always remember her.

Right then, I settle on a decision. Once I’m home, I’m going to take hula lessons like Mom wants me to. It might help me make new friends. Mostly, though, I’m hoping it keeps alive my memory of the friend seated beside me at this very moment.