The Bones of “Da Kine but Different”
I never see Jimmy in years. We talk here and there, we still family, but you know how da kine stay. A drive back over the mountain can take ages. But when Ma calls me up and tells me fo go talk with my braddah, nothing else matters.
My first job was as a produce clerk at Times Supermarket. After school, I’d throw on the blue uniform and apron, a pair of black slacks I got from my brother, and stock fruit, make gift baskets, and clean onions until I couldn’t wash the smell from my fingertips. On my lunch breaks, I’d often sit outside on a bench, eat fast food or leftovers that I packed from home, and read that week’s copy of the Honolulu Weekly. There was a busted vending machine near the payphone (receiver missing, of course), and I enjoyed reading the columns, features, and political cartoons, including Cecil Adams’ “The Straight Dope.”
Years later, I would pick up a copy and see a call for submissions for their annual fiction contest. I was just discovering Hawaiʻi’s literary scene and was feeling ambitious, but I didn’t have a story to submit.
At the same time, my wife and I moved out of my parents’ house and were renting a converted garage on Lulani Street in Kahaluʻu, an area I had only passed through on the way to the pier. Without much credit or much money, the $1,300 was all we could afford. Living there, we soon realized that the street was quite different from where my wife and I grew up (a quick Zillow search can tell you that) but also quite similar.
It also made me think about the secrets, tensions, and illegal activity that take place in plain sight, ignored or assumed not to exist. A left or right turn away, literally. Pull into your driveway, lock your door, and enjoy the view.
The setting was there, maybe a premise, but that’s not a story.
Photo credit: Donald Carreira Ching
At this point, I should mention that part of the reason my wife and I moved out was because of differences with my family, which I’ll talk about more in another post. I thought about being a five-minute drive away and not seeing them, then I thought about my brother who was living in town at the time. If you’re from the Windward side, you know how far that can feel, but circumstances can sometimes close that distance.
I opened a document on my computer and wrote the first line, “I never see Jimmy in years.”
This story is one of only two written completely in Pidgin. The complexity, nuance, and concision of the language fit the theme. I could hear the character in my head before I knew the story.
I ended up entering it in the contest and winning second place. I was in the backroom at work (a different job) when I got the news. My wife grabbed a stack of copies from that same vending machine in front of Times.
Like other previously published stories, it’s been revised substantially since being published in 2012. The biggest revision was to the ending, which is more open-ended and reflective of the complexities of these situations and issues. The title is different too.
I hope you enjoy the story, and if you haven’t got a copy of Blood Work yet, pick one up.
And if you’re free, I’ve got a few readings coming up. One at the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa on 10/16 at 3:00PM, and another at Barnes & Noble Ala Moana on 10/19 at 2:00PM, alongside Wing Tek Lum and Scott Kikkawa. Come out and talk story. I’d love to see you there.
More soon,
Donald
Talk story