Hana Hou

Chapt. 6

Life's But a Walking Shadow

When we are gone, what then? Kimmy will remember us, and after that… Trent told me that was why he'd begun his archiving project, to create something of a repository for the less famous musicians he knows.

All of us- Jane, Trent and I- will leave a body of work behind. Kimmy too, in her own time and her own way- she will go on to do great things, I'm certain of that, and she herself is a legacy of two wonderful people that lived on this planet for a short while. Even a little of me, because by some whim of fate our lives have become intertwined. So for a little while, we will be remembered, as long as our labors are seen, heard and read, and the others that have known us live.

But beyond that-in this time of seemingly limitless machine memory, the sheer volume of work that can be preserved has raised the oceans of legacy to an unimaginable volume. With such a cacophony of voices, who will be heard?

In time, the tools needed to understand- context, and for that matter even the nuances of language- will vanish, and we will go with it.

So it must go, or so it seems.

"Okay guys, listen up." Daria waited until the kids had settled in for the session. "As you all have probably heard by now, I had a chance to meet with a lot of people from the literary community-such as it is- affiliated with the University of Hawaii at Manoa. I said 'such as it is' not out of any disrespect or in any way in judgment of that community simply because creative writers tend to be an independent, difficult group."

A wave of good natured laughing rippled through the students, with fingers pointing in all directions.

"Funny," their instructor deadpanned. The kids laughed again. Daria never understood why her students all thought she was funny. She'd gotten used to being seen as humorless, growing up; only Jane and Trent seemed to appreciate her sense of humor.

"Anyway, I wanted to announce that the University Press of Hawaii will be publishing an anthology of your best work in book form, going back to the beginning of this special program. I have been asked to provide annotation and editorial content, and the collection is intended for academic distribution."

A noisy arglebargle arose. They were going to be published!

"Waitwaitwait." Daria held up both hands. "Now before you get too excited, it's not something that you'll be able to by at a bookstore, not that there are very many of those left. This is intended for distribution into the academic world. You will each receive two copies from the University Press and may purchase additional copies at a substantial discount. An anonymous donor has agreed to provide matching funds to help lower the cost to you.

"However, there's still another publication coming up. Bamboo Ridge is Hawaii's literary journal, and you've all seen the copies around the classroom. They are going to be publishing a special collection of carefully selected work that this program has produced. That means that they will choose up to thirty pieces, so unfortunately not everyone will be included.

"However, they will be putting the complete works of these classes online, with your permission. Each of you will be asked for your approval for your work to be included. You need to sign these forms, and you need to take them home for your parents or guardian to sign. Now, before you ask, there's no money involved here. It's considered an honor to be a writer to be so included, and it will be an excellent addition to your college applications and resumes."

She paused as an excited chatter took over momentarily. She waited it out.

"Let me put this in terms that may be more familiar to you. You know that trophy case near the Principal's office? The one with all the sports trophies and ribbons? This is the same thing. You guys have won a very significant honor for this school. In fact, more people will hear about this than will ever care about our local football games.

"The school will be placing a copy of the University Press Anthology into the trophy case, and each of you will be asked to sign your name in this copy.

"People around the world and across time will have access to your art, and I am damn proud of you all."

"You know, we should go visit the bookstore," Trent said thoughtfully as he and Kimmy scooped the small black seeds out of papayas from the yard.

"Oooh, that mean cat bit me," Kimmy smiled. "She was cute, though."

Trent laughed. "Well, Cynthia did warn you that you shouldn't touch her belly."

"Where did you get this hippie bread?" Daria frowned, wondering if there was anything in it that Kimmy shouldn't eat…yet. The toast it made looked a little strange, packed as it was with grains that Daria wasn't sure she could name.

"Elaine from the cafeteria. Her mom makes it by hand. I think there's birdseed in it, but you're right. It's Holistic Sproutarian bread." Jane smirked, taking the last of the coffee. "Good, though, if you put bananas and bacon on it." She dumped the grounds into the bin that would be taken to the composter.

"You know, I need to go visit a couple of the galleries in Hanapepe. Some of my pretty stuff has been selling, and we can pick up some coffee along the way home." She scowled as she considered the near empty bag of coffee beans from the freezer. Damn stuff is expensive, but it's good. We're so boring that we get excited about coffee.

"Sounds like a plan," Daria agreed. I wonder if they still have that book I was looking at. "Kimmy, do you have plans for today? All your schoolwork is done, right?"

"Like you would let me slack off?" the teenager sassed good naturedly. "Can I ask Kuulei if she wants to go?"

"Whoo, catch thrills, yeah?" Kuulei giggled as she jumped into the car. "Alright! We going to da bookstore!"

"So boring around here," Kimmy agreed. "Nothing to do except homework, reading, making trouble for my folks, and chasing those stupid chickens around."

Daria glanced in the rear view mirror and noticed the impish smiles. "Right. And don't forget going to the beach all the time, hanging out with your friends, surfing the net, and otherwise clogging your hard drives with crap."

"Yeah, life's so tough here," Jane snickered. "No friends, lousy sunshine, and nothing to eat except boring food from around the Pacific Rim and Portugal and-"

"You guys had a pizza joint on the way home from your school," Kimmy pointed out.

"There was that," Daria conceded. "You know, if you like, I could cook one of those chickens for you girls every day after school."

"No you can't," Kuulei giggled. "They're an endangered species. Only like three million left on Kauai."

Everyone laughed. Backyard chicken coops had been blown over during the last major hurricanes years ago, liberating the inmates. With no natural predators for the ground nesting birds, they had quickly gone feral and began breeding like mad. Now they were small brown chickens everywhere.

"Your dad and I tried to cook one a couple of years ago," Trent laughed. "Even Mits couldn't make it edible."

"You ran it over," Jane pointed out.

"Should have tenderized it a bit, right? It was like eating stewed rubber bands."

"I thought you said that about octopus," Daria smirked.

"Only when I try preparing it," Trent admitted. "Mits says I cook it too long. No, this chicken was tougher than octopus."

"Are you guys trying to save money on lunch or something?" Kimmy laughed from the back seat. "That's just gross."

"My brother Jason told me how you're supposed to do it," Kuulei offered. "First you take a chicken and a rock, and you put it in a pot and boil until the rock gets tender. Then you throw away the chicken and then eat the rock."

"That's off a tourist t-shirt, liar," Kimmy laughed.

"Sue me," Kuulei said, mock insulted.

"They'll ruin their lunch," Daria grumbled, watching the girls take off for a shave ice store.

"I'll guarantee that when they come looking for us at the bookstore, they'll be ready for real food," Trent smiled.

"Teenagers," Jane grinned, wrapped paintings in her arms. "See you in a bit, you two." She headed off for a small gallery down the sidewalk.

"Guess I can see why those paintings sell," Daria admitted. "Years ago she'd call it selling out. But then, I do the same thing with my romance novels."

"Eh, it's a living," Trent shrugged. "Gotta eat."

"Yup." They turned and headed for the other end of the main drag.

Hanapepe was a quiet little town, in the middle of what was once prime sugar cane land. Years ago the population was mostly Filipino, Japanese, Chinese and other ethnic labor groups, but these days the mainland refugees like the Morgendorffer-Lanes had begun to take it over. That, and the steady flow of tourists had changed the mix of hair color in the community. It used to be predominantly Asian black hair, but now it had far more diversity.

Hapa kids like Kimmy were not at all uncommon. Intermarriage across ethnic lines demonstrated that culture counted for more than race, and the faces that Daria saw every day were beautiful to her.

Lawndale seemed like a lifetime away sometimes.

Five minutes later they pushed through the doors of the Talk Story Bookstore, which was acknowledged as being the westernmost bookstore in the United States.

"Hey, Daria," greeted Ed, one of the owners. "Got some of your real books for you to sign. Celeste has been keeping them from walking away."

The old cat reluctantly moved when Daria slid a volume out from under her. She scanned the slip of paper tucked in the pages for the owner's name and began writing a line thanking the reader, and then signed it. She worked through the stack until her hand began to cramp a bit. She reached over and scratched Celeste behind her ear.

"Ed, do you still have a copy of that Taylor Camp book? The one about the 70's Kauai Hippie Community?"

"A few," he reported, looking up from his computer screen. "One used, and a couple new ones."

"You make more on the new or used copies?"

"In this case, the used one will give me a better margin," he admitted. "Kind of a special book. People either are interested in it or could care less. The used copy is in really good shape."

"I'll take it, and a new one as well. I want to send one to my Mom for her birthday."

Ed laughed. "Your lawyer mom was a hippie?"

"And my dad. How do you think they came up with the names 'Daria' and 'Quinn?'"

She raised an eyebrow as she noticed the books a customer was putting on the counter. Most were racy, bodice-ripper romances, and she recognized at least half of the titles as her own.

Waiting until the woman left the store, she relaxed a bit.

"If you tell anyone I am never coming back here," she promised.

"Jeez, don't be so sensitive. Maureen says they're pretty classy for being trashy novels." He laughed. "And don't growl at me, lady."

A/N: Real bookstore. Real cat too. (I neva change da names cuz, eh, free advertising, yeah? Plus, I neva say anyting bad about da store. Eh, I no lie. Da store choice, brah.)