First Time At A Luau…?
Flames spit beyond the fire-breather's mouth as he twirls around his flaming stick, accompanied by hula dancers who shake their hips rhythmically to banging drums, creating this energetic Polynesian experience for the dozens of awed, fed, and drunk leis-wearing tourists.
"A Lou-oww?" he mumbles while reading his paper invitation inside the hotel lobby, waiting to board a bus that will take him to tonight's luau.
Dressed in a red polo shirt, ironed pants, and dress shoes, he scratches his head and checks his watch. He received this invitation from the front desk after registering and paying for tonight's exciting event. They were having a promotion, so this seemed like a fun cultural experience for his penultimate day in Hawaii. He sees the coach through the tall window doors where portly, middle-aged Americans wearing Hawaiian shirts meander to the coach's front. He pats his pockets, belongings, and a packet of cigarettes. He did want to try American cigarettes before he returned home, even if he didn't smoke that often. He nods.
On the coach to the luau, an overweight American squeezes him against the window, and he hears him grumble.
"These seats are so freaking close together--what's your name, bud? You a local?"
Java chuckles. "Indonesian. From Sumatra." He hears the man grunt. "Where in America are you from?"
"Dallas. I can fit in my truck easier than in these dumb seats…sorry, I don't mean to ruin your mood."
He hasn't. He actually has given Java time to ask more questions, which he does, though these questions sounded better in his mind than spoken aloud because this man was equally clueless about a luau. They have barbecue and beer cookouts in Texas, but nothing like what they'll be experiencing tonight. It'll be fun.
FwoOOosh!!
Flames spit beyond the fire-breather's mouth as he twirls around his flaming stick, accompanied by hula dancers who shake their hips rhythmically to banging drums, creating this energetic Polynesian experience for the dozens of awed, fed, and drunk leis-wearing tourists. Yet Java, smelling like his American cigarettes, glances at the food left. He gets why Americans are so big; they eat so much food! The seafood and fruits remind him of back home tonight, but it tastes somewhat dull with little to no spice, chilis, or spicy flavors.
He keeps this to himself.
What he has overheard and learned on the coach pertains to the history of the luau, how the native Hawaiians lacked a uniform language for communicating with each other--similar to why Bahasa Indonesian became the uniform language of Indonesia than say Javanese--so they expressed their culture and customs with dance, music, and clothing, striking similarities with what he has seen in Java, Bali, and even Sumatra, using music and rituals to communicate, and as he also knows, draw in tourists to places like Bukittinggi and Padang. He knows the Hawaiians invented surfing, a common sight three hours north of Padang, attracting Australian surfers.
He watches as the crowd cheers with joy, wishing time went slower. He'll have to leave this soon. The beautiful beaches, the laid-back culture, the friendly locals, and the fantastic weather as well. He will have to leave Hawaii and leave America. Leave a wonderful time here. He sulks.
He excuses himself to smoke a cigarette, wanting to watch the nighttime waves crash against the soft beach that curves to the hotel lights.
He’ll never forget the sight. He smokes alone.
