Kawekiu

The soothing ocean breeze floats above the tops of the cresting waves just outside of Waikiki and filters past its sacred sands to make its way through the narrow alley that sits between the Royal Hawaiian Hotel and The Moana. Visitors and locals alike find comfort from the heat of the unmerciful sun as the cooling wind embraces their perspiring forms, causing them to sigh in exasperated relief. Skimming above the heated pavement of Kalākaua Avenue, the natural movement of the air dances through an open hotel lobby where a young Hawaiian girl sits at a grand piano and invokes the spirit of Debussy through her rendering of "Arabesque."

Her fingers move effortlessly across the ivory keys while each note entreats her body to inhale every cascading rise and fall of the sweet movement slowly. The pitch appears from some unheard decibel and falls Kawekiuslowly like a fine mist of rain or an old yellowing leaf that has seen its last days.

With almost a life of its own, the wind becomes a gently turning dust devil attempting to embrace the formless sound of that beautiful, lilting music. It seemed to ascend to a height of unbreakable joy and then sadly descended again as if it were a waterfall, emptying itself of its last few teardrops. The effort was fruitless and heartbreaking; all the wind could do was float the sound through the hotel halls, hoping that someone would know her pain. Indeed, someone did. With its haunting beauty, the music resonated with the security guard's past struggles and the pain she had caused others. It was a reminder of the redemption she sought, a connection to her own journey of healing.

Mela Paulino, a lone security guard, a woman in her late thirties, sat at her station on the opposite end of the Waikiki hotel. Her once-vibrant eyes now held a hint of weariness, a testament to her struggles. She was slowly rebuilding her life after losing everything. Drug use gifted her with many incredible spiritual visions and gave her the strength to perform amazing athletic feats. It also gifted her with the stamina to experience the undying throes of ecstasy, as she was able to make love for days. However, drug use also cost her her job, her marriage, and her children. The court deemed that she was an unfit mother, and after a yearlong stay in a women's facility, she was released and was now making a concerted effort to piece her life together. Her parole officer was merciful and paired her with a true friend, a security company supervisor. The pay was minimal, but she needed it to live an honest life. She remained humble and stayed punctual. During times like these, when working the graveyard shift, she found that there was too much time to think. However, tonight, she completed her rounds early. There was no more to do except remain at her station.

Many period photographs from the 1800ʻs, specifically between the years 1874 and 1899, could be seen everywhere. The nostalgia of the property only served to rekindle old memories that the security guard would instead have put away like an old forgotten song. However, each second that she'd spent alone with nothing to do was a second that her old heartaches seeped in through the pores of her skin. Those heartaches made her feel flush and would cause her temples to throb; all she could do to remedy such an unforgiving emotion was to fight back her tears and will herself back to reality. Once she did this, everything would go back to normal.

Glancing toward the lobby, the security guard noticed a light breeze billowing the curtains, which aligned the walkway. The gentle wind was coming toward her. That current of air lifted from the tiled floor and slowly wrapped its calming coolness around her. She found it to be unnerving at first. Still, a second later, she felt as if she were a child again, sitting beneath the comfort of the old monkey pod trees at Puʻiwa Park, where the Kiowao rain would marry with the Kukalahale wind and bring a soothing caress of air that lulled her into a deep slumber. It was that same feeling again as she sat at her station, only now the wind carried a companion that exuded the most haunting music she had ever heard. The pure sweetness of its lilting strain beckoned her from her seat and seemed to fade out ever so slightly but left enough of itself that, by pure curiosity, the hotel guard had no choice but to follow.

The sound led her across the lobby. The aroma of the evening buffet did not affect her. The small chatter of guests milling about the pool also failed to capture her attention. All she could manage was an irritable glance at anyone who seemed to be in her way. She had to find the source of the music. It was not like the addiction she'd previously suffered; she did not want to get away and forget matters that troubled her mind. She wanted to be aware, to be cognizant, to be present. Present for whatever it was that she was going to find. There was an answer at the end of this music. She did not want the music to end. It enveloped her, filling her with a sense of longing and hope, a feeling she had not experienced in a long time.

At the end of the walkway is a vast open space with a single grand piano on a floral red carpet. A beautiful, young Hawaiian girl, tall and slender, sat there playing the music as if she and the piano were sharing some intimate secret that could only be known to the two of them. At that moment, Mela was overwhelmed by a peacefulness she had never known. There was no fear as she approached the piano, where the Hawaiian girl played. Mela sat beside her. The Hawaiian girl smiles as if there is no care they should be concerned about. Her eyes smile, too, while her hair cascades about her shoulders. Her white dress fits her figure perfectly; it gathers at her slender waist and flares out just above the ankles. The music wrapped her like a warm blanket, soothing her troubled soul and bringing a sense of calm she had long forgotten.

"It's beautiful," the security guard says, "I feel safe for some reason."

The Hawaiian girl smiles again, and as she begins to speak, Mela notices her refined British accent. "Do you know about the components of a piano?"

"No," Mela replied.

"There are too many to describe; suffice it to say that

what we see before us is an exquisite grand piano, and what we hear around us are all the many efforts of different components that form a singular sound which could cause someone to be melancholy or lift someone to the heights of unimaginable happiness." Leaning closer to Mela, the Hawaiian girl whispered, 

"Do you know how I know that your components are functioning perfectly?"

"No," the security guard answered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"You're still alive; that's how I know!" the Hawaiian girl smiled.

Mela let out a hearty laugh that seemed to absolve her of all her sins, self-imposed and otherwise. Her tears fell without effort now.

"I forgot to ask your name," Mela said with embarrassment.

"Kawēkiu."

"Thank you for your music."

"Don't thank me," the girl said whimsically, "Thank Debussy; it's his composition! And also, thank your ʻaumakua!"

"My ʻaumakua?"

"The wind, it was he who brought me to you."

"I see," Mela replied, not fully understanding the statement. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

"No," the Hawaiian girl answered, pointing to Mela's heart. "I will be here."

Mela felt herself slowly fading out of consciousness, while the Hawaiian girl slowly faded into nothing as she continued to play the piano until the very last note.

The hotel front desk staff found the security guard and helped revive her. Upon rising, she appeared to be someone different; the darkness that followed her was gone. She seemed to be wholly alive and vibrant. She inquired about the whereabouts of the Hawaiian girl who played the grand piano in the lobby; however, she was informed that there was never a grand piano, much less a Hawaiian girl playing it.

She left the hotel to catch her bus to Palolo Valley on Kuhio Avenue when her shift ended. Only then did she notice the statue of a young Princess just near the bus shack.

Mela noticed the inscription on the plaque: "Princess Victoria Kaʻiulani Kalaninuiahilapalapa Kawekiu i Lunalilo Cleghorn."