Watahbed Séance
I.
When I was fourteen
my whole room
was one watahbed.
Das da year I moved in wit’ Tūtū Papa.
He was so proud for show da new setup
he wen make special for me.
But my new room nevah have room
since was colonized by one Cali king-sized
watahbed.
One mainland monstah
wall-to-wall wit’ barely any space
for two slippahs sit side-by-side.
Papa smile an’ joke,
“If ʻEwa evah run outta watah,
going have your watahbed.
If get hurricane, no need fill up da tub,
cos get your watahbed.”
Musta been da last one in all Hawaiʻi!
Papa wen get um real cheap from his fren,
cos da heatah was hammajang, but das okay
cos nobody in ʻEwa evah
need one heatah.
His fren wen buy um twenny years befo’
from one military guy living Schofield.
Who else can afford for ship
one giant empty bag across da Pacific?
II.
For chree months was perfect.
My own room, like my own inland sea.
An’den —
cousin Jenny wen come live too.
Last time I seen her was at Uncle’s funeral.
She told Papa I wen eat all da mini manapua
but really, was her.
I had for wipe down an’ put away all da chairs
an’ Jenny got for “put away” da dobash cake.
Papa tell, “You make trouble, you get chores!”
Wasn’t always fair who got what.
Das how my room became our room
an’ our room was one watahbed
an’ we was miserable.
Cos Jenny! She sleep like one queen-size starfish,
all spread out across da vinyl.
An’ me, all wedged between da watahbag an’ da bed rail
like one wana, spine-bracing against da waves.
Get plenny waves on one watahbed.
One too-humid Honouliuli night she tell,
“You so heavy, every time you roll over,
get one small craft advisory alert.”
Like she wasn’t taking up da whole deck herself
from port to starboard side?!
But, I nevah like say.
We was jus two distant cousins floating in da same room,
an’ nobody wanted for rock da boat.
III.
Life was pretty calm until dey wen announce
ticket sales for Junior Prom.
For me, one freshman, was minah.
For Jenny was mayjah.
Every week pass wit’ no prom-posal,
her skies came more stormy.
Peepo in her class trying for pair off,
wondering who asking who, an’ if someone going ask you
befo someone else ask dem.
Jenny had one whole decision matrix mapped out!
But still, nobody ask.
She came so desperate
she brought home one spirit board
for try tell who, what, when.
I nevah really believe in fortune telling, or Junior Proms
but if for real can communicate wit’ our ancestors,
k den, I get plenny questions.
You know, watahbeds pretty good for sleeping
but junk for holding midnight séances
an’ we had nowhere else for try go
that Papa wouldn’t hear us.
Cross-legged we sat, spirit board between us,
da whole spiritual plane sloping downward,
tilting to touch my knees.
Da plastic piece wit’ da window in da middle
sliding fas’ to meet my shins.
Jenny pull um back but wen slide to me again.
“Stop moving.” – “I not moving.”
“Den why everyting stay coming your side?”
Cos gravity. Science.
Cos no such ting as one flat watahbed.
Cos I stay more fat.
We each put two hands on da slidah.
“No press!” Jenny said. “Keep still!”
Trying not for move one moving board on top one moving bed
needs endurance an’ ab strength I no get.
Jenny called out her question, “Who going ask me to Prom?”
We waited. Nahting. Not even one nudge.
Every time one of us shifted our ʻokole
one small tsunami roll underneath an’ da board go shift,
da slidah go shift too.
Once, it drifted toward YES
an’ Jenny almost choke on her own gasp.
But YES was not an answer when da question was a name.
“You seen dat?” – “No, you wen move.”
“I nevah!” – “Oh, mebbe was me, den?”
Hard for tell if was moving cos of spirits
or cos of Jenny’s restless, star-fish legs.
We try some more. Looking hard at da board.
Willing da slidah for slide in some recognizable pattern.
Nahting. No messages from beyond.
No prom date.
IV.
Mebbe da problem wasn't us.
Mebbe was da board an’ its western binary booshet.
YES. NO. Das all?
I no tink anyone in our family
evah answer one question wit’ only yes or no.
An’ what if da spirit no can spell da word dey like say?
What if dey speak ʻŌlelo? Or Pidgin?
What if dey feel dis board no represent dem
an’ dey no like answer?
We took Jenny’s glitter pens an’ made our own edits.
ʻAE / ʻAʻOLE.
CAN / NO CAN.
PAU / BUMBAI.
We even added one ʻokina to da alphabet
jus in case.
Den we hana hou.
I close my eyes for really concentrate
an’ dis time da slidah wen move.
Up–left–diagonal–back. Finally!
I open one eye for peek an’ see,
but Jenny’s eyes stay closed too!
Howzat for two Podagees missing da point.
“You pushing.”
“I not pushing.”
“You was pushing.”
“You was pushing!”
“Not! I was checking!”
“How you going check but not look?!”
An’ das when Papa heard us from da hallway . . .
“Eh, what’s dis commotion?”
V.
He saw da sparkly spirit board
sitting slanted between us. He shook his head.
“Why you use dis rubbish? Das not protocol.
You get questions, go outside ask an’ read da clouds.
You no call people if you no know who you calling.
You no call people if you no can listen when dey answer.
No need invite trouble when family give you ‘nuff.
Throw dis away!
An’ since get two silly girls
calling anykine into dis house—
we going make sure every entrance stay secure.”
Papa made us remove all da jalousies
in da whole house.
Wash um—dry um—clean da tracks.
Replace all da little screws das been rusting since statehood.
Even da up-high windows in our “room.”
You know how hard was for take out jalousies
while balancing on our watahbed?
Took us all day, an’ my abs was already sore!
By da fourth window
Jenny confess who she hoped would take her Prom.
By da tenth one
we agreed mebbe she should jus chance um
an’ ask Darren herself.
By da last one
I was helping her plan one prom-posal.
Turns out lickens an’ forced labor
is pretty good for cousin bonding.
Papa checked on us.
“Good. Tomorrow you girls can cement
da garage.”
Misty-Lynn Sanico is a Kanaka ʻŌiwi writer and editor from Honolulu via Honouliuli. Her work has appeared in Bamboo Ridge, the Honolulu Star-Advertiser, and elsewhere. She is the editor of What Whispers Back (Bess Press) which brings new uncanny fiction into conversation with the Hawaiʻi’s Best Spooky Tales series. She is currently working on making her Pidgin poetry less "overwrought."
