The Ohana Cottage

5

JOHN

After I finish cleaning the pool and doing some yard work the next morning, I head back inside the house. I had stayed outside a little longer than normal, hoping to run into Mia. I wanted to apologize for last night. I’m not sorry for wanting her to be safe, but I’m afraid that maybe I came on a little strong.

When I first walked into The Toasted Crab last night, I was focused on taming my anxiety and reminding myself that I could handle being there. When I looked up and saw that scumbag put his hand on her, I almost completely lost it. I’m honestly surprised that I was able to stay as calm as I was, although I’m realizing now that I took some of that anger out on her. Once again, I was an asshole. I seem to be making a habit out of it.

Opening my laptop, I pull up my email and skim the few messages I’d received since last week. My aunt had written to remind me to check on Rose, a neighbor that lives down the street. Rose is an elderly woman who lives by herself. She doesn’t have a lot of family in the area, so she rarely has any visitors. I rarely see any extra cars parked in her driveway. When they moved, my aunt had asked that I pay Rose a visit every once in a while. She’s a sweet old lady who doesn’t ask me a lot of questions about myself, so I don’t mind.

I continue scanning through the emails, and my chest immediately tightens when I see a new email from Adam Hanson. My throat feels like it’s starting to close, and I swallow the lump that’s starting to form. I crack my knuckles and clear my throat.

Nope. Not going there today.

I delete it without even opening it. I’m not ready to hear anything he has to say. Anger rises quickly from deep in my stomach without warning, and I take a deep breath, not wanting it to overwhelm me. My nerves buzz on the surface of my skin, sending a wave of goosebumps over every inch of my body. After a moment, the anger dissipates, and I’m left with just the familiar heaviness in my chest that’s simply part of me now. I’ve learned to function with it and just try my best to ignore it.

After a quick shower, I venture outside and down the street to Rose’s house. Rose answers after the first knock, as if she knew I was coming. I have a hunch that she camps out in front of her window a lot, looking outside at the neighborhood, keeping tabs on everyone.

“Rose.” I nod my head in greeting.

“John, good morning.”

“Need any help around the house?”

“Actually, if you wouldn’t mind, this landscaping could use a little help.”

“Sure.”

I’ve helped Rose enough that I know she keeps her garden shears in a small shed along the side of her house. Grabbing them, as well as a bucket and a few other tools, I make my way back to the front of the house. She has shrubs lining her front porch that need trimming, and I figure I might as well trim the large tree she has in her front yard for shade. I don't mind the work; it keeps me busy and out of my head.

As I get to work on the shrubs, my mind drifts to the house I grew up in. My dad was always meticulous about taking care of the landscaping at our house, constantly mowing the grass or trimming shrubs. We had a garden in the backyard that required a great deal of maintenance too, so any free time he had, outside of being with his family, was spent doing yard work.

My mom was native Hawaiian, and when they met, my dad adopted some of her cultural values. ‘Malama ka ‘aina’ means to respect and care for the land. Hawaiians have a deep connection with the islands and find great honor in taking care of them. My father took that seriously, and he took great pride in maintaining a beautiful-looking yard and home for us to live in.

Thinking about my childhood, and more specifically my parents, always hurts and only adds to the crushing grief I live with, so I try and push the memories from my mind. After my parents died, I didn’t think grief could get any bigger or more consuming than it was then, but I was proven wrong.

I blow out a deep breath, shake my head, and move on to the next shrub. After an hour or two, I gather the tools and put them back in the shed. I wave to Rose after she pokes her head out and yells her thanks, and head back home.

As I walk into the house and flick on the lights, a tiny sense of comfort comes over me. Since being home, I haven’t felt comfortable anywhere, but I feel the least out of place here. In this house alone is the only place I can just be—I can go through daily tasks with my buried emotions, and I don’t have to put such an effort into being around other people. It takes an insane amount of effort just to be out there in the land of the living. It’s too stimulating for me, too triggering, so I spend most of my time here. That’s what my life has come to—living as a recluse.

I strip out of my clothes and step into the shower for the second time today. Letting the warm water wash over my face, I fight to keep my mind blank and not give in to the wandering that it wants to do. Stepping out of the shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and stop in front of the mirror. I don’t look in the mirror too often; my reflection just serves as a reminder of the conflict going on in my head. The darkness in my eyes looks too similar to the eyes of my soldier brothers, and I see those constantly—I don’t need another reminder.

I quickly shave, rub a towel over my face, and walk into my room, opening my closet. My eyes catch on my uniform that’s hanging in the corner. It’s been in that exact spot since I came home, collecting dust. I try and ignore it, like I do everything else. I didn’t even put it there—my aunt must have. She washed all of my clothes and unpacked my bag while I was in a post-deployment haze, disconnected from reality. I feel grateful for her and my uncle, but also guilty that they had to see me like that. I know they worry about me.

I slide a shirt off the hanger and pull it over my head. Pulling on some shorts, I fasten the button while walking back down the hall to the kitchen. At the island, I pause and drum my fingers over the marble. Should I call Matt? Maybe see if he wants to come over? It’s been awhile since I’ve seen him, and he knows not to talk about the military around me or ask questions, so he’s the easiest person to be around.

I decide against it… maybe tomorrow. I grab my laptop and slide open the patio door to head out by the pool. I drag one of the chairs out from beneath the shade so it’s fully in the sun. I figure I can pay some bills and order a couple things I’ve been needing online. I’ve been mostly ordering my groceries and having them delivered so I don’t have to deal with the grocery store. The sun warms my skin in a familiar way, and I feel calmness trying to ease its way into my body. As usual, it doesn’t succeed, and before long, the sun is no longer giving me any kind of comfort, so I head back inside.