The Day the World Disappeard

            Powerful hands griped mine. They were like my father's hard, calloused hands but in miniature. He was bare-chested and was dressed in a brightly colored malo tied around his waist. A lei of koa leaves rested on his head. His hair and beard were so black it was as if the night had fallen from the sky. 

            He let go of my hands and grunted. "Iki kaikamahine almost drown," he said gesturing at me and then the river. 
            I blinked my eyes, expecting that the apparition before me would disappear. I looked at Kenji. His eyes were closed. Was he dead? Then the apparition spoke again.
            "The Menehune are an ancient race," he said. "We once ruled all the islands of the Great Sea, but it is here we make our final home. We watch over the land and its people. We are proud and possess powerful magic and can do many wonderful things—but we cannot bring your mother back to you."
            "My mother?"
            "Shush, little one, for I must go." He smiled at me and laughed. He did not sound like a dog. He sounded like a babbling brook meandering through a quiet meadow.
            "Life is filled with both joy and sorrow," he said. "It is up to you to choose which will rule.  Your mother is gone, the Great Father has taken her, but someday you will see her again."

From “A Menehune Tale”, a story from my upcoming book, “unexpected pleasures”

One day. when I was eleven, everyone in the world disappeared for twenty minutes….

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon in the summer of 1961. I had just left the Bal Theater on East 14^th Street in San Leandro, fresh from a day spent at the Kiddie Matinee—ten cartoons, two movies, usually American International “monster movies”, as we liked to call them. I was alone. I began my walk home under a bright August sun, my eyes still adjusting from the luxurious darkness that had enfolded me since 11:00 that morning.

It was a breezy day as I headed up 148^th Avenue using the shadows of the long theater building to walk in the shade for as long as I could. When I reached the next corner, I crossed Bancroft Avenue and turned right, approaching the myriad of residential streets that would eventually lead me to my home on Lark. At Coral Avenue I made a left, and that was when it all began.

I didn’t notice it at first. I was just walking alone down a deserted street passing 1950's vintage parked cars and freshly mowed lawns. I remember wind chimes tinkling in the breeze from a front porch. It felt lonely on that street. I liked that feeling; I was a weird kid. I let the emotion caress me as I walked. It didn’t hit me until I reached Tower Street that there was no one around. Not one person or a moving car on the street or even a stray cat.

It was just a quiet day, I remember thinking. A very quiet day. Halsey Ave was a long street. When I reached it, my eyes scanned up and down searching for proof that the people living there were alive. But I didn’t see anyone. Not a soul. Where were they? Were they huddled in their homes watching "Wideworld of Sports on television? Had they all gone downtown to the summer sale at JC Penny’s? Where were the kids who always roamed the streets riding their bikes or playing catch?

A chill went through me. Surely there would be people on Lark Street. It was always busy on Lark. It ran parallel to East 14^th Street and people routinely used it as a shortcut. My mom was always complaining about the speeding cars that zipped past our home. Surely I would find someone there. I hurried to the corner and turned right. My house was nearly at the end of the long block, just three houses in from an even busier street, 150^th Avenue. But Lark and the avenue at its end was empty of life.

I got very, very scared. And my walk turned into a full out run as I headed towards the safety of my house. My mom would surely be home. Maybe even my two sisters. Dad was working. That run was a blur. I kept expecting a car to pass me. As I rushed passed the houses of my childhood friends, I hoped to see at least one of them playing in the yard or looking out their front windows, but there was no one. No one!

I stopped in front of my house and stared vacantly at 150^th Avenue. Surely a car would pass heading up to Foothill Boulevard. The seconds that passed seemed like minutes of complete and utter isolation. Finally I cried out and rushed into the safety of my house, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.

“Mom! Mom!” I called out. “Susan? Carol?”

No one was home.

What had happened? What would I do? I had had nightmares in my young life. Martians invading my street. Sometimes I dreamt of a giant Jesus appearing in the sky, ending the world in a terrible Second Coming. But I hadn’t bargained for being alone in an empty world. What would I do? What would happen to me? Who would cook my dinner? I was rooted to the floor, gasping for air in my living room when I heard the back door open.

“David? Is that you?”, my mother asked as she closed the door.

And the world was given back to me.