Sid yawned and stretched, the image from her dream was still surging in and out of focus in her consciousness as she began loading up the Mr. Coffee but still hadn’t left her as she tried unsuccessfully to reach around and scratch that perpetually itchy spot right between her shoulder blades. What she needed was one of those silly bamboo backscratchers that they sold at the tourist stands near the beach but it was low season now and their shuttered counters meant no backscratcher until the season ramped up again in April. Maybe they had one at the Wal-Mart in Lihue? The coffee maker burbled and began to fill the house with the wonderful soft perfume of the local island coffee. Sid leaned against her kitchen counter, closing her eyes and letting the smell seep into her consciousness and begin to wake her up.
There they were, nine people in scuba gear, all carrying suitcases. The odd thing wasn’t the suitcases, but that all of them were wearing normal clothes instead of wet suits. Her Mr. Coffee sputtered it’s final drops and Sid opened her eyes; listening to the last drips singe on the metal pad of the pot warmer as she impatiently pulled the out the carafe and poured her first cup. She cradled the mug in both hands and held it just under her nose, the vapour rising from the chocolate coloured surface and caressing her forehead. Sid closed her eyes agai: in front was a woman carrying a red make-up case, her long, dark hair streaming in uncontrollable, mermaid-like swirls around her mask and regulator. She wore a tan suit that looked sage green in the dim underwater light; the pants fit snugly and the cropped jacket was buttoned. The soft fabric of her shirt was transparent and rippled like the pectoral fins of a damselfish. Sid smiled and took her first sip. She would have to ask Momilani when she got to the shop; Momi could always find a meaning for this kind of dream. She would ask some seemingly incidental question :
“Was the woman wearing shoes?” her caramel coloured forehead creasing like an old leather handbag as she listened to Sid’s answer, cogitating a bit before issuing a prediction, a proclamation and the same advice that she always appended in hopes that perhaps, attached to the more magical world of dream interpretation, Sid would listen. Sid smiled and poured her second cup, imagining what Momi would say,
“You will meet someone important this week. Wear your blue scarf tomorrow. Have only one cup of coffee in the morning time, five is too many!”
Tipping her feet into an old pair of house slippers as she crossed the threshold, the original white vinyl soles and blue velour tops long ago dyed orange from the island’s iron coloured dirt; Sid scuffed out onto her patio. She missed her grandfather No’eau. Before he had died, leaving the care of the shrine to herself and Momi, she had never had these kinds of dreams. They were fascinating but they always left her slightly uneasy, as if they were trying to tell her something important that she never quite understood even though she followed Momi’s instructions (except about the coffee) to the letter. She shivered a bit, it was Kauai but February was February even in paradise. At least now, there was not a crush like in summer. Jo-Jo’s Shave Ice was the most popular shave ice shop on the island and she didn’t like the crush of impatient customers that packed the brightly painted shack and overflowed filling the bare red dirt outside the door. Low season was nice, she went in the afternoon, after lunch when the tourists were done with their morning hike through Waimea Canyon. There was a little time to talk to people, hear their stories, explain about the sweet bean paste that they could have between the macadamia nut ice cream and the fluffy ice soaked in flavoured syrups. Sid looked down at the bottom of her flourescent orange mug that said ‘Welcome to Kauai’ in bright turquoise; it was empty again. Maybe today she would stop at three; that would make Momi happy.
