The woman who moved in down the street is working in her yard, carefully pruning the hedges and gently removing the mock orange blossoms, which she collects in a basket hanging from her arm.
She's wearing a BDU floppy hat, sunglasses, and gardening gloves, which are too big for her hands."I can't let the hedges grow too tall," she said while I walked past. "Too much dust, and if the blossoms get too big, it gives people a headache and agitates the asthma."
"You're doing a good job," I waved and smiled.
"I'm Dora Pungsulan," she waved back.
She was a bit too overdressed for the Hawaiian weather. A long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and sandals with socks on. Wearing an outfit like that might cause her to become dehydrated, or worse, suffer from heat stroke, but she appeared to be doing well. On the way back from the store, with my drinks and bags of chips in the brown paper bag, the woman named Dora was just finishing up her pruning. As I walked by again, she saw me and said, "Pretty good for the first day, huh?"
"Nicely done," I agreed. "What are you going to do with the blossoms?"
"Leave some in the kitchen and the bathroom, to get rid of the smell sometimes," she pinched her nose. She removed her floppy BDU hat and sunglasses at that moment. Her raven hair cascaded around her shoulders, framing her face, made of dark skin and sharp, beautiful doe eyes, accentuated by perfectly arched eyebrows. Her slight smile revealed white teeth that almost seemed too perfect.
"That's it for me," she sighed. "Back at it tomorrow,"
"Back at it tomorrow," I smiled and walked to my house.
*
Later that evening, while I watched yet another old classic movie from the 60s, the doorbell rang. I got up to answer it, but made sure I looked through the peephole. It was Dora, dressed in a nice shirt and a pair of jeans. In her hand was a Tupperware bowl containing some food.
"Hey," I greeted her while pulling back the porthole. "Good evening."
"Hi," she waved. "Sorry to just show up unannounced, but I made a little too much pork adobo, and I'm wondering if you'd like the rest?"
"Really?" I had to be sure because nobody just gives away a Tupperware full of pork adobo.
"Yeah, I know, right? I do that all the time, I always make too much," she held the Tupperware out for me to take. "You can just bring my Tupperware back to me, whenever. It doesn't have to be right away."
"Well, thank you." Taking the Tupperware in my hand, I realized that I didn't want to be rude and just shut the door. "Did you want to come in and join me, or hang out?"
"No, maybe next time," she apologized. "I have to get home and get some work done for my job, but in the meantime, do enjoy the adobo!"
*
A couple of days later, I got home from work and made myself some peach iced tea. That's when I saw the Tupperware sitting in the dish rack. I ran it over to Dora's place and happened to see her in her yard, placing jars of See-Mui on her garage roof. "Hey, let me hold the ladder for you!"
I put my foot on the bottom rung, but made sure I was standing with my face to the right and not looking directly up at her. "Let me know when you're on the way down."
"I'm coming down," she said. I made sure I got out of her way so she could step down safely. "I appreciate that, thanks for being a gentleman."
"No problem," I said while handing her back her Tupperware. "The adobo was delicious; it melted right off the bone. Thanks again!"
"You never told me your name," Dora called from behind me as I walked out the gate. "That's rude, you know?"
"I'm sorry," I chuckled, which I'm sure irritated her a bit. "I'm August Marks."
"Is that a Haole name?" She asked. "Because you look Hawaiian."
"I am Hawaiian," I replied. "Thanks again!"
*
Work let out late one night, so by the time I got home, I was exhausted but very thirsty. I walked to the store at the end of the block, passing Dora's home, which I didn't even notice because I was just caught up in my own thoughts. I glanced up to see her standing on her porch with a well-dressed guy. Dora was dressed up nicely, too, but nothing fancy. By his body language, the guy was obviously expecting something in return for the lovely dinner he might have paid for. By Dora's body language, it looked like he was going to get just a handshake if anything. His hands were out in front of him, palms facing up and a bit hunched over. He was begging. Dora opened her door and stepped in. The guy followed but got the door shut in his face. I shook my head and snickered, but I snickered too loudly, because the guy heard me and came after me.
"What the fuck? Are you making fun of me, mother fucker?" He was through the gate and in my face. I let him push me first so that I'd have an excuse to kick him in the nuts, which I did. He went down in a heap, which is where I left him until the police arrived. Dora had no idea what had happened until the blue and whites arrived and flashed their siren lights. I told her everything.
"That's my ex-husband," she sighed. "We always go through the same thing. He takes me to dinner, saying he's changed. He takes me back home, expecting to come inside and spend the night. It never ends up like that, but this is the first time he's tried to attack someone."
"Bruised ego," I nodded. "Gets 'um every time. By the way, I'm sorry that happened. I'm also headed to the corner store. Did you want anything?"
"I'll come with you," she said as she began walking ahead of me.
I got a big bottle of water, a pack of Oreo cookies, and some cheese spread. Dora got Fig Newtons and a bottle of Raspberry iced tea. We left the store and took our time walking, engaging in a casual conversation. We ended up sitting on her porch and talked until the sun came up. "Come," she said as she stood up and reached her hand out to me. I grabbed it and stood up. "Come inside, I'll make breakfast."
"At least let me help," I couldn't just let her cook while I sat there and did nothing.
I was allowed to pour the juice while she made the spinach and eggs with corned beef. We sat for a while talking about everything and nothing, but finally came the question. "What about you? Divorced? Single? Gay? Straight?"
"Single, straight, and it just hasn't happened yet," I was honest. "But I like this, what we're doing now. Hanging out, talking without expectations on my part anyway."
"Oh, so you think I have expectations?" She laughed.
"Whether you do or don't, I'm just saying this is nice," I smiled. "Don't you think so?"
"It is nice to have an adult conversation that doesn't include belittling and gaslighting," Dora admitted. "But, I don't really know you yet, so all of this that you're giving me could just be the nice ribbon wrapped around what's really inside the package, you know?"
"You're right," I agreed while filling our juice cups. "Or I could really be a nice guy, and it scares you because no one has ever been this nice, and this real with you."
"I could say the same for you," Dora agreed. "Which could be why you're saying that you like THIS part of what we're doing. You're afraid of commitment, and you don't want it to go any further beyond us sitting down like this and having a real conversation over breakfast."
"We could both be right about the other," I agreed.
"Help me clean up," she said as she began clearing the table.
*
She sat on her love seat, and I sat on the leather couch. At some point during our conversation, we both fell asleep. When I woke up, I saw her lying there all curled up with her eyes closed. I began to quietly let myself out so I wouldn't disturb her, but she woke up anyway. "What time is it? How long have we been asleep?"
"It's nine in the morning," I whispered. "I'm gonna get going."
"It's nine the following morning? Are you serious?" She sat up and looked around, then looked at her phone. "How long were we talking?"
"I don't really know, I kinda lost track of time," I laughed.
"Omuhgawd, I gotta get ready for work," she yawned. "Have a good day!"
Work was work and I was beat. Waiting at my front door was Dora. Her lip was cut, and her left cheek and eye were swollen. "I'm sorry, I didn't know where else to go. I just had to hide somewhere, I couldn't think of anywhere else!"
I took her in my arms and held her, assuring her everything would be fine. The police came later and took a statement. Of course, she pressed charges, and her idiot ex was arrested for battery. I convinced her that it wasn't safe for her to live where she was anymore, and that until she could find another place, she should at least stay with me. I had a storage unit that I wasn't using, so I offered it to her if she wanted to put the rest of her things there. She obliged, and for the following six months, everything was fine. No weirdness, no awkward feelings or discussions. The lovemaking happened on a late Sunday afternoon. I was lying on my couch, half watching a documentary on how apes treat one of their own that doesn't share or contribute to their community. Dora came and lay next to me, curling herself up and tucking her body into mine. She kissed me and paused to see my reaction. "Oh, hey," I said. "If you're feeling obligated about staying here, you don't have to do this. I don't expect anything. For real, I don't."
"I want to," she answered. "You've always been real to me, and good, and you always make me feel safe. This is what I want, and I hope you want it too."
It was another form of communication between the two of us, as cliché as it sounds. There were tons of communications after that. Later in the week, I stopped by the store to buy ingredients for spaghetti, garlic bread, and some excellent red wine. I figured I'd get home before Dora did and start cooking early so that by the time she got back from the gallery, dinner would be ready. It was the transition from the wine section to the produce area for mushrooms that I saw Dora hand in hand with her ex, Jonathan, who had previously beaten the shit out of her. They were cozy, snuggling and rubbing each other's backs. The warm kiss came next, not in the form of a peck, but a long enough kiss to know that what I was seeing didn't just happen on the spot. I left the shopping where it was, walked out of the store, and went straight to my car. On the way to the storage, Dora called. To avoid suspicion, I answered the call.
"Hey hun, I'm gonna be working late tonight. I've got this big art piece that just arrived, but it has to be assembled in parts, so I've got to stay and make sure the workers don't break it," she explained too much.
"Oh no," I pretended to care. "By careful, alright? Don't get hurt. I'll catch dinner at the drive-thru."
"Ok, I love you," she said with parting sentiments.
"Love you more than myself," I replied.
"You're too sweet," she giggled before I hung up.
*
Dora came home to an empty house later that evening. What I mean by that is everything in the house was gone. Her things and mine, gone. It was all sitting in the storage unit. I went down there and closed my account at the storage and asked the management to please include its contents in the next auction. I booked a flight to the island of Hawai'i, and I never came back. I got a new cell phone and changed all my social media accounts to private. As for an address, I got a P.O. Box, and I went on with my life.
I wasn't keeping time, but at some point, I saw on social media that Dora had been murdered by her ex one day while hosting a lunchtime gallery viewing. Her phone battery died, and she left it charging on her desk. Because she had answered Jonathan's calls right away, he assumed the worst. Arriving at her gallery and seeing her talking with a man in a nice suit with movie-star looks, Jonathan Pungsulan's lifetime of insecurities, born from parents who told him that he was not only nothing, but that he would amount to nothing, got the best of him. He stabbed Dora to death in front of all her clients.
The realtors had difficulty selling the space where the art gallery used to be due to Dora's lingering, bloody specter. No denominational blessing worked. It's undergone a few incarnations, serving as an ice cream parlor, a boutique for cats, and a stop for baseball card collectors. Nothing survived business-wise.
Jonathan, as far as I heard, committed suicide before his arraignment. It was sloppy because he panicked at the last minute, so it took him a while to die. They found him aspirating painfully through the bullet hole in his throat. Oh well.
I think Dora is there at her art gallery because of the impression she left of her last traumatic moments in that space. Meaning her blood. What would it take to absolve Dora and that space from all that trauma? Forgiveness.
That's not going to happen anytime soon, so I'd assume she's stuck in the moment she created for herself.
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