The Valley

Mom told me not to go into the water, but I insisted. It was a hot day, humid, and the ocean beckoned—blue waves rolling up and down the stretch of white, flawless sand.

It had taken what seemed like forever to reach the beach. We had to take a jeep down steep jungly inclines, where you could see the wreckages of cars wrapped around trees. Then there was a river to cross.

Waipi’o valley is called the valley of kings. They say that you can see the torches carried by ghosts of ancient Hawaiian warriors going down the zigzagging trails along the valley. They say you can see the flickering lights as the nightmarchers drift up and down the taro fields until dawn.

Fun fact: this was also the filming location of the end scene in Waterworld.

My younger sister stayed on the beach with my mom and her friends. They reclined on colorful beach towels in the sand and chattered like birds. My sister quietly stuck her feet in the hot sand and watched me. She called to me every time I sank out of sight or ducked under a wave, her voice rising in pitch. She was scared. I did not know why—the water was blue tinfoil, the air smelled like fruity Mentos, the beach golden with it’s bright jungle border and the valley rising in the backdrop. It was beautiful. And I felt safe within its beauty, nestled between the hug of the valley walls.

So I was surprised when I could no longer feel the sand under my feet. It was a dumb animal surprise, without fear. The beach seemed like it had moved miles away in moments. The waves were larger out here and they came more quickly. And I was still surprised—but not scared yet—when, facing away from the ocean, a wave slammed over my head and rolled me down into the water.

I kicked myself up, gasping, as more waves crashed over my head. I fought to stay afloat, but the water kept getting in my nose and mouth and it burned.The distant figure of my sister hovered at the edge of the shore, called shrilly, as I waved my hands wildly and screamed out. My mom, now a distant blur on the shore, waved back. The waves crashed over my head, and it was like getting hit repeatedly.

Exhausted, I floated down in a trail of bubbles. Underwater, I could see the bright blue all around me, the foamy, white crests of waves above me, and was overcome by a lull akin to falling asleep. A drowsy sort of calm and acceptance.

I felt at peace. I closed my eyes.

To this day, I don’t know what happened. One moment, it felt like I was drifting deep underwater in the deep blue void, miles from the surface. The next, my feet hit the sand. I kicked and kicked and crawled out of the water like a bedraggled beast and lay on the wet sand with the waves rolling over me. The ocean had spat me out, unwanted. My sister ran over to me screaming, while my mom laughed with her friends on their bright towels, and I lay face-down where the waves brushed the beach gently, with my arms reaching out in front of me, and stayed there.