Rani Patel In Full Effect. Sonia Patel
I drop my backpack and slink into the hallway. All the sweat gets sucked back in and I’m dry as a bone. My eyes become binoculars and my ears a highly sensitive wire tap. I match my breathing to my heart beat and maintain complete stealth. By now I’m lying on the hallway carpet. I commando crawl to the beginning of the hallway and peer around the wall at my mom.
She’s shaking her head and grumbling. She’s done this before—complain out loud to herself when she thinks no one’s listening. But generally she cries while she gripes. Today’s different. More anger and no tears. I didn’t think it was possible, but the V-shaped crease on her forehead is deeper than usual. I mentally record her solo tirade, translating it from Gujarati to English.
“Salo Pradip. He’s never taken me on vacation anywhere. Maybe I’m the stupid one because I don’t ask for anything. I just do all his work. My girlfriends on the mainland get fancy clothes and houses. They go on trips. I know they speak up. I’ve seen it.”
I’m stunned. I’m holding my breath.
She continues her rant. “Their husbands treat them like wives and their kids like kids. Not their wives like servants and their kids like princesses.”
Oh snap!
“And now he’s got a new princess. Wendy. That kutri. She gets to have it all. His attention, no work, vacations. And what about poor Rani? And she thinks he’s such a good dad.”
She thinks about me! Maybe she doesn’t hate me!
My eyes dart around on a crazy search for nothing in particular. All I can hear is my heart beating and pushing the blood through my arteries. I let out a long, slow breath. The corners of my lips venture towards my eyes, which send tiny wet emissaries to greet them.
I creep my way through the bodies and plop down in the chair Pono saved for me. He gives me an inviting chin-up. His “it’s so on” smile kindles my activist flame. And ignites my Pono fire.
He goes back to scribbling on his notepad while I consider how much I need a cold shower. I look around the large hall of the Kaunakakai Community Recreational Center. Locals are spilling out of the open entryways on either side. I can tell the meeting’s gonna be intense. My heart is throbbing at lightspeed. I’m not quite sure if it’s because the gorgeous brown skin of Pono’s arm is touching mine or if it’s the meeting. I order my brain to focus on the meeting.
Fortunately my brain obeys. But then I realize this is my first activist meeting without my dad. I scan the room to make sure he’s not here. No sign of him. Today it’s just me. Skittishness tries to oust my courage.
You can do this without him. You know your stuff.
Courage triumphs and I’m ready to fight for the environment. As are most of the locals here. Public Enemy’s Fight the Power runs through my mind. And so does my own spontaneous rhyme.
Everyone wants a piece of it—
Moloka’i’s water. Admit it
all ya’ll plotters wantin’ a judicial writ
to give you free reign to buss out yo’ tool kit
and construct for profit.
But we won’t submit.
We ain’t soft.
So you best back off
cuz you bout to be iced out—Jack Frost.
I envision going up to the standing mic at the center of the room and spittin’ my rhyme as my testimony.
The lights dim. I swag walk to the standing mic.
A spotlight comes on. A DJ drops my beat. I spit…
Pono elbows me back into reality. “Hey, Rani. You gonna give a testimony?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Cool. Me too.”
“Yours is the one I’m looking forward to hearing,” I say, smiling.
He smiles back. It almost makes him look shy.
Did he just blush?
But before I can read into his face anymore, the EPA Chair calls the meeting to order.
After today’s hearing, the EPA will decide if the Moloka’i aquifer is truly its principal source of drinking water for the island and if contamination of it would be a health hazard for the inhabitants of the island. If they determine it is, then Moloka’i would get federal Sole Source Aquifer Designation. So any federally funded development would have to get EPA approval to make sure it doesn’t pollute the aquifer. This would be huge for keeping Moloka’i Moloka’i.
The Chair calls for the first testifier. Auntie Hannah. She and Auntie Lani are the main activists fighting to protect the island’s water. I think of them as Moloka’i’s dynamic duo. The Salt-N-Pepa of water activism because first, Auntie Hannah is white and Auntie Lani is a brown Native Hawaiian and second, because they’ve got mad verbal skills. Watching them testify at public forums is the most inspiring thing I’ve ever seen.
There’s buzzing in the audience as Auntie Hannah walks to the mic. The Chair calls for silence and Auntie Hannah introduces herself. Pono and I exchange ecstatic glances. He puts his left arm around the back of my chair. His fingers barely graze my arm. I do my best to listen to Auntie Hannah’s testimony and ignore my urge to leap out of my chair and jump on Pono’s lap.
Then I hear a familiar voice.
Oh no.
No. No. No.
I pivot a bit to the left and see my dad weaving through the chairs to a couple of empty ones near the front. Freakin’ Wendy’s behind him. Dad and I make eye contact, but he looks away before I can make out his expression.
So this is what it’s come to. My dad is willing to fight for the water of Moloka’i. Willing to fight for Wendy. But he won’t fight for our family. For Mom. For me.
My eyes don’t release my panic yet. First I feel my heart shaking. Literally. Then my entire body. My eyes eventually release salty fluid almost as an afterthought. The secondary tears drip onto my lips and into my mouth.
I feel Pono’s hand on my back. “What’s wrong, Rani?” I turn to face him. His eyebrows are lifted and his eyes wide.
“I don’t feel so good,” I say, my eyes shifting to my dad and Wendy. Pono’s eyes follow mine, then return to me. Suddenly, it’s like someone shoved plugs into my ear canals. I see Pono’s lips moving but I can’t hear what he’s saying. And I can’t see him clearly because it’s as if someone put an opaque plastic bag over my head and tied it at the neck.
Air. I need air. Help!
Next thing I know I’m near my truck. Trying to catch my breath.
Dad’s home for the first time in I don’t even know how long. It’s strange having all three of us in the house at the same time. It’s like Dad’s a guest, a visiting raja from a faraway kingdom—with a new foreign rani—who stops by unannounced. In the spirit of hospitality, we all sit down for the gourmet meal his old kam vaari prepared. It makes me miss the days of our previous family dysfunction when our roles were well defined.
Mom serves us the food. A million questions spring up in my mind, slow at first, then faster and faster. Like microwave popcorn.
Why is he here tonight?
How can he leave us?
If I’m not his rani anymore, what am I?
If