The Floating City
Waialua, Sunday, 6:30pm
The young woman wanders away from the sound and light of the house party. This part of Waialua, nestled right under the mountains, still undeveloped and quiet, is new to her; she’s spent most of her life in Honolulu. But eventually, she heads back to the house to refill her beer. As she takes her first sip, she realizes the person who was behind her, now pumping expertly at the keg, is a blonde girl in a sundress, no more than 11 years old. The girl notices the stare and says
the beer’s for her father. The guy waiting his turn bends down and says, in that slow sing-song that adults use to speak down to children, that it would work better if the cup were tipped, so that there’s less foam. The young woman can’t help but murmur sarcastically, “Teach them while they’re young.” No one responds. She shakes her head and heads back to the field, beer in hand.
