How Jack became Pupule
I rushed through this and edited it once (and then only enough for rough cohesion) before turning this in because it was late.
So it's SERIOUSLY rough and needs a good hard polish before adding to the manuscript.
How Jack became Pupule
They call him “Pupule” now. He is ten. They used to call him “Haole” like all the other white foreigners on the island, me included. I call him Jack. He’s my brother. Sometimes I wish I had a new name like him. Well, something better than “Haole” or “Melemele.” The kids at school will call me that and then pull my blonde pigtails and run away. But I have never done anything to deserve a new name.
Jack has.
Last Christmas Uncle Malakoma, Dad’s friend from the Army base, gave Jack a long wooden board. He said it was time for him to learn how to “hang ten.” Uncle explained that the board went in water, and you stood on it. When you “hang ten” you hang your toes off the front edge of the longboard. Only some of the best surfers could do that.
I looked at the board a long time, wondering how you could stand on it in the water and decided it must be like a canoe. You can stand in a canoe, but you had to be careful and balance otherwise you flip over and fall into the water.
I went with Jack and Uncle Malakoma to the beach when Jack was ready to learn. We spent the next several months going to the beach every weekend. At first they practiced on the sand. Uncle taught Jack to paddle, to pop up quickly and where to put his feet in order to balance on the board. Eventually, Jack graduated to water. Jack must have fallen in more times than he had fingers and toes. But he never gave up. He kept getting on, over and over, popping up and falling back in with a splash only to get back on and do it again until he finally got it. It took him a couple of weeks, but before the first month was over he was riding the waves. He fell into it like a natural Uncle said.
One school day just before summer break, after school was over, we walked home. There was a note on the kitchen table from Mom. She said she’d be back in about an hour. She had errands to run. We were supposed to sit and do our homework. My homework was already done. I finished it at school. Jack never liked to do his homework.
He had an idea. He said we should get his long board and walk down to the beach that was close to our house. When we first moved here last fall, Dad told us not to go to that beach. He said the locals gave non-Hawaiians a hard time when they used that beach and it was best to just leave them to it. Dad said “a beach is a beach.” It didn’t matter which one we used.
I told him I didn’t think it would be a good idea. But Jack was insistent and usually, Jack got whatever Jack wanted. So I finally agreed, more because I didn’t want him going alone than any other reason. The board was heavy. We lifted it and carried it, resting it on our heads as we went. Jack and I were about the same height, so it worked out better than I thought it would.
We trotted down the dirt road to the corner, hung a left, heading toward the secluded beach access. We stopped at the corner store to buy a liter of water that we could share and a bag of chips in case we got hungry and then waited for a break in traffic on Highway 83. We ran across the road, the plastic bag swinging just in front of my face. I couldn’t stop or try to adjust because traffic had been heavy since school let out and Jack kept screaming for me to hurry. I figured getting bonked on the head a few times by the bottle of water would be better than getting flattened by a truck.
We ran down the north side of the highway until we came to the little dirt turn off that marked the trail up to the beach. It ran for a quarter of mile through the woods, wide enough for one car at most places, with a few spots to pull to the side to let other traffic through. It ended in a big circle where cars could park. There was only enough room for maybe five or six cars, though. Usually people drove together, I guess. There were two vehicles when we got to the park, a jeep and an old VW bus.
We decide to put the board down for a moment to rest. It had been a lot farther than we had thought it was when we left. Jack opened the bottle of water and guzzled it, then passed it to me. He sat on the ground, and I sat on the stump of an old palm tree. I wiped at the sweat on my forehead and we both panted for a good fifteen minutes.
That’s when they showed up. I didn’t know their names, but I’d seen them around town. They were locals. And this was there beach. We were just “Haole” invading their space. I looked at Jack quickly when the truck bounced up the drive and pulled up to a tree. When it stopped, three big guys jumped out of the back and then two people got out of the cab.
I was scared, and Jack could see it. He stood up.
“Relax. We’re just kids. They aren’t gunna mess with us.”
Jack was wrong. The driver made a beeline straight to us.
“You! What you two doing here?! Go home. This is a private beach.”
Jack frowned. But he never backed down from anything and wouldn’t start now. “No. It’s not a private beach. It’s the east end of a state park.”
“That’s right. For Hawaiians only.” I could tell the man was irritated by the way his jaw kept clenching. “Go home before I put you over my knee and give you a spanking, squirt.”
“No. “
I was sure Jack was gunna get us in big trouble with these guys. I tugged on the sleeve of his shirt and whispered, “Come on, let’s just go, Jack.”
“NO!” He sad louder, growing more irritated. “We have as much right to be here as they do. We live here. We can’t leave. This is our home until Dad gets transferred again.” His eyes turned to the group of men, daring them to interrupt him. “I tell you what…
I’ll surf you for the right to be here.”
The group of guys just gawked down at him. The driver stared at him for what felt like forever, then looked at his friends. “Did I hear him right?”
“Kona…” One of the said, “It’s not exactly the safest waters for a kid, you know what I mean?” He was big, like Uncle Malakoma and had a friendly face. He seemed genuinely worried about us. My fingers tightened on Jack’s shirt sleeve. If this guy, who didn’t even know us, was worried, I thought I should be too.
Jack tugged on his arm, dislodging my fingers. “What’s a matter? Are you afraid a little kid is better than you?”
Kona scoffed. “Kid, I could out surf you one legged, a hand tied behind my back in a swimming pool full of sharks. How old are you…like five?” Kona knew plenty of five year olds who could surf better than some grown men. But they were islanders who had been surfing probably before they could stand. It was the way here. Jack had only been surfing for a few months.
Kona stood there a moment longer exchanging glances with the men around him. “Fine, kid. You want to surf, I’ll meet you in the water. First one to hang ten wins.”
I didn’t think that was the standard for surfing competitions, but that was what this guy wanted. Jack beamed and ran for the board. I stood, lifting the back of it up and we ran through the short spanse of woods between the park and the beach.
When we popped out the other side we slowed quickly and looked around. To our left, rocks crawled up out of the water, rising up to a ledge way above our heads. I couldn’t see the top but as the big man came out of the woods behind us, he told us what this was.
“Up there, the richies live. They got real nice view, don’t they? They aren’t Hawaiians. They’re Haole, like you. They bought it up, but it didn’t come with no beach. “ He beamed big and knelt beside Jack and I. “Listen little man. Those waves are rough. That reef makes ‘em break hard. You go down…you might not come back up. You don’t have to do this. There are plenty of beaches on the island.”
Jack’s jaw squared up the way Dad’s did when he was facing a challenge. “I got this.”
The man shook his head. “I’m Malu. What’s your names? So I knows who tell when you don’t come up.”
“I’m Jack…this is my sister AnaMarie.” Jack offered his hand and the man shook it. He rose then, and returned to the gang of men. They were taking off shirts and talking low. They kept looking back at us. It looked like the rest of the guys were trying to talk Kona out of doing this. I heard one of them call Jack “Pupule.”
Jack was taking his shirt off and handed me the one towel we’d brought with us. “I’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing.” He was always so sure of himself. I never felt that way.
My hand fell on his shoulder. “Just be careful. And don’t fall in.” My drifted out to the waves that broke just off shore, then at the rocks to the left of the beach and how the waves crashed onto them. They looked dangerous. “And stay right.” I added.
“Help me.” He lifted the board again. Part of me wondered just how this brother of mine could possibly hope to beat a grown man who had probably had been surfing longer than Jack had been alive. Especially when he could barely lift the board by himself.
We carried it to the water and dropped it in. Then Jack was paddling for open water with Kona hot on his tail. Malu approached me and we stood there watching. I looked up at him then, “What does Pupule mean?”
“You heard that, huh? It means crazy. Your boy, Jack? He’s nuts. He just doesn’t know it.”
I nodded slowly, my eyes drifting back to Jack’s board. He was so small on it that I kept losing him. Out they went and on the next big wave, they were both coming back. Jack bounced up fast. He’d learned to do that real well. Kona was next, and he moved quick along his board. Too quick.
In Kona went, his board spiraling away through the wave. Jack had it made.
All he had to do was walk out to the edge of the board so that his toes wiggled on the edge. But Jack could see something we couldn’t. Kona’s head had popped up just as another wave broke and forced him back under. The next thing we knew Jack threw himself off his board.
I screeched and the other guys were hopping around trying to see what was happening. Malu’s big hand fell on my shoulder. And then he was bounding through the water toward the two of them. I covered my face. I couldn’t watch. I was so scared that Jack was going to hurt himself. He was too young, too little to possibly help Kona.
I heard splashing and peeked to see two more of Kona’s friends rushing into the water after Malu. The last friend ran out to the truck to get a cell phone to call for an ambulance. With great determination, I finally dropped my hands. My stomach was a tight knot as I looked over the water. I counted heads.
One, two were swimming out. Three was almost to them. And dirty blonde four was pulling five toward shore at a snail pace. Jack had gotten him! I jumped up and down in the shallow waters cheering Jack on.
They finally made it to shore. Kona had a big cut on his forehead and was bleeding bad. He was pale, and shaken, but awake.
“Boy…you saved my life.” He offered Jack his hand. “Pupule…you can surf here anytime you want. No one will mess with you.”
“It’s not very sportsman like to let my competition drown.” Jack smirked big and shook his hand.
It was dark by the time we got home. Mom and Dad were worried sick. It helped a little that the officer who drove us home explained that Jack had rescued a surfer. But it didn’t help enough to keep us from getting grounded.
So it's SERIOUSLY rough and needs a good hard polish before adding to the manuscript.
How Jack became Pupule
They call him “Pupule” now. He is ten. They used to call him “Haole” like all the other white foreigners on the island, me included. I call him Jack. He’s my brother. Sometimes I wish I had a new name like him. Well, something better than “Haole” or “Melemele.” The kids at school will call me that and then pull my blonde pigtails and run away. But I have never done anything to deserve a new name.
Jack has.
Last Christmas Uncle Malakoma, Dad’s friend from the Army base, gave Jack a long wooden board. He said it was time for him to learn how to “hang ten.” Uncle explained that the board went in water, and you stood on it. When you “hang ten” you hang your toes off the front edge of the longboard. Only some of the best surfers could do that.
I looked at the board a long time, wondering how you could stand on it in the water and decided it must be like a canoe. You can stand in a canoe, but you had to be careful and balance otherwise you flip over and fall into the water.
I went with Jack and Uncle Malakoma to the beach when Jack was ready to learn. We spent the next several months going to the beach every weekend. At first they practiced on the sand. Uncle taught Jack to paddle, to pop up quickly and where to put his feet in order to balance on the board. Eventually, Jack graduated to water. Jack must have fallen in more times than he had fingers and toes. But he never gave up. He kept getting on, over and over, popping up and falling back in with a splash only to get back on and do it again until he finally got it. It took him a couple of weeks, but before the first month was over he was riding the waves. He fell into it like a natural Uncle said.
One school day just before summer break, after school was over, we walked home. There was a note on the kitchen table from Mom. She said she’d be back in about an hour. She had errands to run. We were supposed to sit and do our homework. My homework was already done. I finished it at school. Jack never liked to do his homework.
He had an idea. He said we should get his long board and walk down to the beach that was close to our house. When we first moved here last fall, Dad told us not to go to that beach. He said the locals gave non-Hawaiians a hard time when they used that beach and it was best to just leave them to it. Dad said “a beach is a beach.” It didn’t matter which one we used.
I told him I didn’t think it would be a good idea. But Jack was insistent and usually, Jack got whatever Jack wanted. So I finally agreed, more because I didn’t want him going alone than any other reason. The board was heavy. We lifted it and carried it, resting it on our heads as we went. Jack and I were about the same height, so it worked out better than I thought it would.
We trotted down the dirt road to the corner, hung a left, heading toward the secluded beach access. We stopped at the corner store to buy a liter of water that we could share and a bag of chips in case we got hungry and then waited for a break in traffic on Highway 83. We ran across the road, the plastic bag swinging just in front of my face. I couldn’t stop or try to adjust because traffic had been heavy since school let out and Jack kept screaming for me to hurry. I figured getting bonked on the head a few times by the bottle of water would be better than getting flattened by a truck.
We ran down the north side of the highway until we came to the little dirt turn off that marked the trail up to the beach. It ran for a quarter of mile through the woods, wide enough for one car at most places, with a few spots to pull to the side to let other traffic through. It ended in a big circle where cars could park. There was only enough room for maybe five or six cars, though. Usually people drove together, I guess. There were two vehicles when we got to the park, a jeep and an old VW bus.
We decide to put the board down for a moment to rest. It had been a lot farther than we had thought it was when we left. Jack opened the bottle of water and guzzled it, then passed it to me. He sat on the ground, and I sat on the stump of an old palm tree. I wiped at the sweat on my forehead and we both panted for a good fifteen minutes.
That’s when they showed up. I didn’t know their names, but I’d seen them around town. They were locals. And this was there beach. We were just “Haole” invading their space. I looked at Jack quickly when the truck bounced up the drive and pulled up to a tree. When it stopped, three big guys jumped out of the back and then two people got out of the cab.
I was scared, and Jack could see it. He stood up.
“Relax. We’re just kids. They aren’t gunna mess with us.”
Jack was wrong. The driver made a beeline straight to us.
“You! What you two doing here?! Go home. This is a private beach.”
Jack frowned. But he never backed down from anything and wouldn’t start now. “No. It’s not a private beach. It’s the east end of a state park.”
“That’s right. For Hawaiians only.” I could tell the man was irritated by the way his jaw kept clenching. “Go home before I put you over my knee and give you a spanking, squirt.”
“No. “
I was sure Jack was gunna get us in big trouble with these guys. I tugged on the sleeve of his shirt and whispered, “Come on, let’s just go, Jack.”
“NO!” He sad louder, growing more irritated. “We have as much right to be here as they do. We live here. We can’t leave. This is our home until Dad gets transferred again.” His eyes turned to the group of men, daring them to interrupt him. “I tell you what…
I’ll surf you for the right to be here.”
The group of guys just gawked down at him. The driver stared at him for what felt like forever, then looked at his friends. “Did I hear him right?”
“Kona…” One of the said, “It’s not exactly the safest waters for a kid, you know what I mean?” He was big, like Uncle Malakoma and had a friendly face. He seemed genuinely worried about us. My fingers tightened on Jack’s shirt sleeve. If this guy, who didn’t even know us, was worried, I thought I should be too.
Jack tugged on his arm, dislodging my fingers. “What’s a matter? Are you afraid a little kid is better than you?”
Kona scoffed. “Kid, I could out surf you one legged, a hand tied behind my back in a swimming pool full of sharks. How old are you…like five?” Kona knew plenty of five year olds who could surf better than some grown men. But they were islanders who had been surfing probably before they could stand. It was the way here. Jack had only been surfing for a few months.
Kona stood there a moment longer exchanging glances with the men around him. “Fine, kid. You want to surf, I’ll meet you in the water. First one to hang ten wins.”
I didn’t think that was the standard for surfing competitions, but that was what this guy wanted. Jack beamed and ran for the board. I stood, lifting the back of it up and we ran through the short spanse of woods between the park and the beach.
When we popped out the other side we slowed quickly and looked around. To our left, rocks crawled up out of the water, rising up to a ledge way above our heads. I couldn’t see the top but as the big man came out of the woods behind us, he told us what this was.
“Up there, the richies live. They got real nice view, don’t they? They aren’t Hawaiians. They’re Haole, like you. They bought it up, but it didn’t come with no beach. “ He beamed big and knelt beside Jack and I. “Listen little man. Those waves are rough. That reef makes ‘em break hard. You go down…you might not come back up. You don’t have to do this. There are plenty of beaches on the island.”
Jack’s jaw squared up the way Dad’s did when he was facing a challenge. “I got this.”
The man shook his head. “I’m Malu. What’s your names? So I knows who tell when you don’t come up.”
“I’m Jack…this is my sister AnaMarie.” Jack offered his hand and the man shook it. He rose then, and returned to the gang of men. They were taking off shirts and talking low. They kept looking back at us. It looked like the rest of the guys were trying to talk Kona out of doing this. I heard one of them call Jack “Pupule.”
Jack was taking his shirt off and handed me the one towel we’d brought with us. “I’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing.” He was always so sure of himself. I never felt that way.
My hand fell on his shoulder. “Just be careful. And don’t fall in.” My drifted out to the waves that broke just off shore, then at the rocks to the left of the beach and how the waves crashed onto them. They looked dangerous. “And stay right.” I added.
“Help me.” He lifted the board again. Part of me wondered just how this brother of mine could possibly hope to beat a grown man who had probably had been surfing longer than Jack had been alive. Especially when he could barely lift the board by himself.
We carried it to the water and dropped it in. Then Jack was paddling for open water with Kona hot on his tail. Malu approached me and we stood there watching. I looked up at him then, “What does Pupule mean?”
“You heard that, huh? It means crazy. Your boy, Jack? He’s nuts. He just doesn’t know it.”
I nodded slowly, my eyes drifting back to Jack’s board. He was so small on it that I kept losing him. Out they went and on the next big wave, they were both coming back. Jack bounced up fast. He’d learned to do that real well. Kona was next, and he moved quick along his board. Too quick.
In Kona went, his board spiraling away through the wave. Jack had it made.
All he had to do was walk out to the edge of the board so that his toes wiggled on the edge. But Jack could see something we couldn’t. Kona’s head had popped up just as another wave broke and forced him back under. The next thing we knew Jack threw himself off his board.
I screeched and the other guys were hopping around trying to see what was happening. Malu’s big hand fell on my shoulder. And then he was bounding through the water toward the two of them. I covered my face. I couldn’t watch. I was so scared that Jack was going to hurt himself. He was too young, too little to possibly help Kona.
I heard splashing and peeked to see two more of Kona’s friends rushing into the water after Malu. The last friend ran out to the truck to get a cell phone to call for an ambulance. With great determination, I finally dropped my hands. My stomach was a tight knot as I looked over the water. I counted heads.
One, two were swimming out. Three was almost to them. And dirty blonde four was pulling five toward shore at a snail pace. Jack had gotten him! I jumped up and down in the shallow waters cheering Jack on.
They finally made it to shore. Kona had a big cut on his forehead and was bleeding bad. He was pale, and shaken, but awake.
“Boy…you saved my life.” He offered Jack his hand. “Pupule…you can surf here anytime you want. No one will mess with you.”
“It’s not very sportsman like to let my competition drown.” Jack smirked big and shook his hand.
It was dark by the time we got home. Mom and Dad were worried sick. It helped a little that the officer who drove us home explained that Jack had rescued a surfer. But it didn’t help enough to keep us from getting grounded.