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WHERE THE FROG’S SING CAFÉ
by
Jo Davis
As we were barreling down a lava encrusted road in our rented jeep, Freda was yelling from the back seat. “Slow down Jo, I’m getting beaten up back here.”
“Sorry,” I yelled not realizing she was getting the brunt of the cane grass slapping the sides of our open-air vehicle.
We had laughed when we saw the sign alongside the road “Where the Frogs Sing Café voted Best by My Mother.” We slowed and saw an arrow pointing to a turn off we wouldn’t have seen had that sign not slowed us.
Well, we had to take it.
"Jo," Carolyn attentively asked as we pulled up to a thatched-roof shack with a sign over its entrance, Where the Frog’s Sing Café, “do you think this is safe?"
"This looks like the sort of place poor college students would frequent, a Barefoot pub on the beach. Besides, we have only met friendly people. Do you think that fellow we met while snorkeling would steer us wrong? He said there was a shortcut to our condo beside a café titled Where the Frogs Sing Café. He seemed nice."
"Well, you were flirting with him, no wonder he was nice."
"All the more reason to trust him. He was flirting back." I opened the car door and swung my legs out.
As Freda, dark-haired and tanned like toast, and Carolyn and I, red as lobsters who escaped the boiling water, slipped out of our jeep, Freda declared, "First, a cold beer. We need the energy to order food. I’m starving.”
The moment we walked through the doorway and Carolyn caught the screen door before it slammed shut, a girl who looked like Drew Barrymore with blond hair to her shoulders, and a smile that just didn't quit, pointed to a booth beside an open bank of windows. Identical windows on the other side of the room allowed a gentle breeze to blow through.
"Three beers," called Carolyn, "anything cold."
Hamburgers were the fare of the day, as indicated on the chalkboard. Freda was reading, "Burger with cheese. Burger without cheese, with goat cheese, Swiss cheese, with caramelized onion, lettuce, tomatoes, pickles…"
"I think I'll have a burger," said Carolyn.
The waitress brought three beers with limes on top of the bottles. I was immediately drawn to her. Something about her made me smile, no matter how hungry I was. She wore a pink tank top and jean shorts, covered by a small apron printed with Toucans, and she skittered across the floor on rubber surf shoes.
I wondered what she was doing out here off the beaten path, surrounded by cane grass. After she had placed the beers on the table, she stood there, pen poised in hand and slowly counted: "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Did you hear how loud that seventh wave was? It beat the shore like a rocket."
We looked questioningly at her, ordered hamburgers, and she left.
I began to count the waves. When I got to seven WHAM! It crashed against a rocky shore. Soon we were all counting. Yep. The ocean was accurate. Repeatedly, the seventh wave was the loudest.
The girl arrived with a tray of the most enormous hamburgers I had ever seen. "You came fast," I said.
"Counting the waves gives starving people something to do while they are waiting," she said, slipping an over-filled plate to each of us.
“There was a method in your madness,” I said.
“You got me.” She grinned.
A wrapping of colorful waxed paper held the enormous hamburgers together, but left a portion sticking out, ready for a bite. A haystack of fries sat beside them, with a small purple orchid perched on their top like a teeny squirrel guarding his cache. I love it when my food comes served with a flower.
"Thank you," we three said, taking our little orchid and slipping it into our hair. “Which side?” Carolyn asked.
“Are you taken, married?” the waitress asked.
“Nope.”
“Right side.”
Carolyn poked the flower behind her right ear, and took a bite of a French fry, waved the other half in the air, and announced, "This is the best fry I've ever tasted."
"Those are tempura French fries," said our waitress, "a specialty of the house."
We looked toward the chef, or whoever you call someone in a small café like this, who stood behind a bar flipping something on the grill. We waved, and he waved his spatula back.
"Hi, Emily. Hi Lee," the waitress acknowledged a couple coming in the door, andpointed to a booth. "Enjoy, guys," she said to us. "I'll be back."
We dove into those burgers, catching the burger juice with our napkins, and munched and drank until the enormous burgers were nothing but a greasy spot on the paper that had wrapped them.
We yelled "Cooks parade," and waved to the large Hawaiian cook/chef behind the counter. He waved and held up a finger, indicating one minute.
"What makes these burgers so exceptional?" I asked the cook when he came to our table.
"Mom grows the tomatoes. She picked yours this morning, which was after Tutu kana, Grandpa, poured a bucket of seawater on them the night before. The salt makes them sweet. Mom grows the lettuce and onions too. A bakery delivers the buns, Grandma makes the dill pickles, and the beef is Angus grass-fed. Being served by a beautiful woman doesn't hurt either."
"Well, you've ruined us for anything else now. We'll have to stay here forever."
He smiled, asked for our names, shook our hands, and introduced himself as Zane.
"A present," he said, setting a small bottle of vinegar on the table. The vinegar is for your red skin; it will help keep the blisters away. Aloha," he said, and went back to his kitchen.
When the girl came back to our table, she said, "That's my Daddy."
We three were stunned and didn't say anything, but looked at her, then at the man."
"My adopted dad," she said, acknowledging our bewilderment.
"He rescued me when I was a pregnant beach bum kicked out of my house by my parents."
“You didn’t grow up here?”
“No, I’m from San Francisco.
“What is your name if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Felicity.”
“Happy,” I said. “Felicity means happy.”
“Yes. I gave it to myself after I had my little girl.”
“Are you happy, Felicity?” I asked.
"No one is happy 100% of the time, but I'm happy 95% of the time. That's the reason." She pointed to the door, where a blond, tanned, barefooted little girl about six years old peeked into the room.
When her mom's index finger wiggled a "Come here," she burst into the room, ran to her mother, and threw her arms around her hips. She looked like a sea nymph, in a green smock, like a short Mumu printed with sea grass and sea turtles. Her hair looked like her mother's but had that delicate child's shimmer to it. It looked freshly shampooed and had a green ribbon that had once tied it, but now it hung sideways, tangled in her hair.
"Sunshine, dear, meet some nice girls from the mainland. This is Jo."
"Hello, Sunshine," I said, "I am happy to meet you."
"Me too," she said and hugged me.
"And this is Freda and Carolyn," her mother said. They put out their arms, and she slid into a hug, then quickly extracted herself. "Bye," she said and ran off to throw herself into the arms of the big man behind the grill.
The other two couples were chatting sweet sounds, and Sunshine seemed to know them, as she had waved when she came in. This cafe appeared to be the happiest place I had ever seen.
Sunshine came to our table with a plush brown toy in her hands. "Would you like the Coqui Frog? she said. "See, you press his belly, and he says his name.” She pressed its belly, and he clearly said, "Co-Key."
"How cute," I said, taking her frog and pushing its belly. "But we can't take your frog."
"He isn't my frog. He's everybody's frog. He's an experiment. Someone else had him, and they kept a little book where they wrote down whatever they found to share. They said to either pass him and the book along, or send him back to us."
"That would be fun," said Freda, "Let's do it."
"Tell your momma, we'll do it."
"Okay." She ran off.
Felicity's face lit up when she smiled at us.
Soon Felicity was back at the table. Can I get you anything else? I'm happy you took Sunshine's frog. I can't wait to read what you guys write. That way, we will be somewhat connected. I’ll give you the little journal that comes with it. The first folks who had it wrote briefly of some of their experiences. I hope you will write a lot.”
She started to walk away, then turned and said, "By the way, we are going down to the beach for a campfire this evening. Would you join us? It will be the people in this room. It's a short walk to the beach."
"Gosh, I'm tired,” said Carolyn. “Maybe we should get back to our hotel."
"Oh I hope you will come," said Felicity, “at least to watch the sunset."
"Let's do it," said Freda.
“Come on, Carolyn. It sounds like fun.”
She shook her head, okay.
"Freshen up and follow the trail at the back of our shack. We'll be there in about 20 minutes."
"We'll show you the way," said the couple in the booth behind us. "Hi, I'm Emma, and this is my husband, Lee." Emma stood leaning over the back of her booth with an extended hand. We shook hands, introduced ourselves, and within minutes aimed for the door.
The air was smooth as silk against our sun-brightened skin that now smelled of vinegar as we followed our newly acquainted friends down a sandy path to the beach. We could hear the surf pounding its steady beat, and it was clear that someone often came here, as there was a circle of rocks that made a fire pit, filled with fresh wood.
"Were you guys planning this?" Carolyn asked the couple.
"Oh, we often come here. It's our recharging place. Where else do folks stop and watch the sunset except on an Island?"
Soon, the others caravaned down the path: Kane, Felicity, Sunshine, and the other couple. Kane was pulling a wagon filled with an ice chest and some containers. The rest of the people were carrying blankets.
They gave each of us a blanket, but we only spread two on the sand, each angling toward the fire pit, and saved the other blankets for cushions.
"Is there any truth to the sun making a sizzle as it goes down?" asked Frank, the fellow of the other couple.
Sunshine piped up, "Silly, the sun doesn't go into the water, but some of the kids think it does."
"What about the flash I've heard about? Is that true?"
"The green flash? Yes, it's true. Zane, has seen one, haven't you, Zane?'
"Yes, I have. The green flashes are sporadic. Let's watch, maybe we will see one tonight."
We all became quiet as we focused intently on the horizon. Slowly the sun descended toward the water, and the moment that sliver of gold slid beneath the horizon, I did see green in the sky, not a flash but definitely a green glow. One could miss it if they were expecting something else.
The others were silent. Had they seen it? Sunshine screamed, "I saw it!"
One by one, the rest of us admitted that we saw it too. Most of us were afraid it wasn't true, or that we had imagined it.
"I saw it right at the horizon," Sunshine said.
"I didn't," I said, "but I saw something green. Perhaps it was an afterglow from staring at the red sun.” But I didn’t want to negate my experience. For each person it was slightly different. When each of us gave up our disbelief, we whooped and applauded the mystery of it all, and fell back on the blankets laughing.
That settled us all into a surreal experience, a shared event.
"Boy," said Carolyn, "I'm glad you guys didn't listen to me when I wanted to go back to the condo." I'm fully energized now."
“This is a magical spot,” I said. Do you guys live close by?”
"Oh, yes,” right down the beach, but this is our spot."
"Well, thank you for inviting us," said Freda.
"What causes the green flash, Zane? Do you know?" Frank asked.
"It has to do with atmospheric conditions. It's rather like a rainbow, in that the atmosphere between us and our view of the sun causes a refraction that separates the green from the rest of the colors. On infrequent occasions, a blue or purple flash follows the green, but I've never seen either of them.
Felicity added, "Mythology says that the green flash brings good fortune, or spiritual enlightenment."
"We are awed by events we don't understand," said Alice, Frank's partner, "especially in the sky, or in beautiful things we see on earth. Have you ever read the little book, Where Tiger's Belch?”
"Yes," said Felicity, "that book gave us the idea for our name, Where the Frog’s Sing Cafe, Amber visited us once, and told us her story.”
"What’s the book about?” I asked.
"You tell them, Alice," said Felicity.
"It's about a young woman, about you girl's age; she was a junior in college too, and she was desperate to know her purpose. She lived near a jungle in Africa and decided one day to set out to find her purpose. She declared that where a tiger belched, she would find it.
"Did she?" I ask.
"You will have to read the book to find out."
"Ah, Alice."
"Grandpa," asked Sunshine, yawning and probably tired of adult talk, "can I have one of your Butter Moshes before I go to sleep?
"Indeed, you can, Princess," he said, and went to the wagon to retrieve a rectangular pan of what looked like a cake, cut into squares. He dug one out for Sunshine and handed it to her, along with a napkin.
These are for everybody if you are ready for dessert yet."
"What is a Butter Moshe?" Freda asked.
"It is made with rice flour, coconut milk, milk, eggs, and butter, and has an unusual texture and is delicious."
"Grandpa, can I have a second?”
"You can have as many as you want, as long as you leave enough for the rest of us."
"Well, I'm pretty full," I said, "but curious. May I have one?"
"Absolutely, I made them for all of you. Help yourselves." Zane set the pan in the center of the group, and everyone took one.
"Zane," I exclaimed, "everything you prepare is exquisite. This Moche is such fun to eat, like a buttery-cake-gummy bear."
He laughed and opened the ice chest. "We have ginger beer, very gingery, non-alcoholic, Lilikoi soda, and water. Help yourselves. And for you, Carolyn, Freda, and Jo, rub this on your skin; it will help it heal. It’s aloe vera,” he said, snapping a succulent leaf in half and watching its juice collect along the two broken parts. “Rub the juice on your fiery skin. It will help it heal.”
The three of us caught the oozing juice and gently applied it to our vinegared skin. It was soothing. "Thank you, Zane. Are you a shaman or something like that?"
He laughed. I looked at Sunshine, a little angel, fast asleep, slumped against her mother with her second Moshe half-eaten still in her hand.
Felicity gently took the cake from her hand, laid her down, and covered her with a blanket.
"What a sweetheart," said Freda.
"My reason for being clean and sober and having a purpose in life."
"Is it to have a child?" I asked.
"That and others," she answered.
"Like what?" I asked.
"Like to share the goodness of life, to motivate others to go for their dreams, and not frivolously waste their precious life. Do not go with the group if that group does not support your magnificence. A life is a terrible thing to waste. I found that on the streets of San Francisco, but those streets gave me Sunshine. That experience sent me here, and Zane saved me. I am grateful."
"Tell me," Carolyn asked, "how does one go about finding their purpose? I have one more year of school, and your friend who wrote the Tiger book did as well. Did she go on to become a professional in her chosen field?"
"She went out to follow her dream. If you have something you want most of all in the world, that is God talking to you, whispering, saying, 'Go for it.' But sometimes it takes the journey for you to find it.”
"Like jump and build your wings on the way down, as Ray Bradbury said?"
"Sort of like that," said Zane, "but don't do that from an airplane."
"Many students at the beginning of their college education do not have a major in mind," offered Lee, "Doctors even, frequently choose their specialty after they have had some experience. Sometimes the journey is college, sometimes it isn't. Especially for those who don't know what in the heck they want."
"What about me?" asked Carolyn sadly. "What impact will I have on this world?
“I'm a psychology major, three years into it, but when I look at the world, I don't see many psychologists making a significant impact. I see people struggling. I see them in poverty. Some go to therapy for 20 years. Don't get me wrong, I believe in therapy, but it has to be good therapy. People don't change unless they want to or are forced to, such as when they hit rock bottom.
“Do I go into social work? Does that make a difference in people's lives, or would I be doing it for the salary? Does their counseling change behavior? You put kids into the social system, and they often get abused or molested. How depressing is that? Do I go into private practice? That means more school, and my folks mortgaged the house to send me to school thus far. They wanted me to get an education. But more school?"
"Never rule out what education can do for you." Zane said, "Right now, it is getting you to ask the right questions."
"But where are the answers?"
"We are honored that you came to our little out-of-the-way café. We know there are burdens out there. We know that people are suffering. You wonder if all the sacrifices you and your family made will ensure you a decent job. You feel that freedoms are being taken away from you. You worry about the future. Look at Sunshine sleeping peacefully. Didn't Jesus say that we should become as little children? Shouldn't we trust?"
"Yeah," said Frank, "tell that to a slave."
"For every positive aspect we put out, the brain, like a watchman, will counter it with something negative. It's our nature," said Lee.
"Sorry," said Frank.
"Look at the babies," said Zane. "Those little spark plugs arrive all wide-eyed, expecting fun and good times. They smile, giggle, kick up their heels, and are eager to learn new things—like walking, talking, running, and playing with wild abandon. Don't we want them to have happy times? However, the voices of the world—from institutions, culture, and parents—although well-meaning, often say things like, "You know you can't have everything you want."
The little soul would say, "Yes, I can,”
"'You are not the center of the Universe,' the world tells them.
"'Yes, I am.
"That's who you really are, dear ones. Instead, you are acting like a toddler who stuck a pair of scissors into a light socket. Oh, that hurt.
"Our little campfire on the beach is for simpatico people who will hear our message and will be elevated by it," explained Zane. "We are fearful human beings; if something physical isn't chasing us, we will make up a mental image to do it. We hope to calm the terrified mind."
"We are something like an underground railroad." Added Felicity. "Zane was that underground railroad for me. He picked me up from the Streets of San Francisco and put me on a boat to Hawaii, where a group of tahunas took me in. They said to me, 'This is your chance, baby, are you going to clean up your act, or abandon and ruin your child?'
"'I never will,' I yelled. 'I will work. I will pray. I will do everything in my power to raise this child to be a good person.' I set out to find Zane and to learn from him, and I did. Zane and I formed an alliance, a café, and a belief system."
"This is your time to become the warrior," said Zane. "It's the time to stand steadfast in your knowledge that there is a force stronger than you and that you have access to it."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Have you heard of the power of belief?"
"Sure, like the Placebo effect."
"Yes, that works," said Zane. "If we believe that a sugar pill is the medicine that will heal us, what happens? Often, we become healed. Yet, we had no medicine. What healed us?"
"Belief," said Frank. "We know that ultimately it's the body that heals. However, medicine can give it a boost when its energy doesn't seem strong enough to do the job. Others can trick us into believing a sugar pill is medicine; however, it seems we can't fool ourselves."
"What if," offered Zane, "we hold our dream with such tenacity that the storms of life will not push it away from us? The winds can blow, the rains can come, but 'I will stand firm,' you say. 'I have the power of the Universe behind me.'
"Don't let God off the hook. Remember the amputee, Lieutenant Dan, in the movie Forrest Gump, who held onto the Shrimp boat during a storm and yelled to God, 'Bring it on!'
"You yell back at God and say that 'I am a part of you, and I will not succumb to the dark force that is trying to pull me in. Don't you think God, the Power, the Universe, the Force, would say, "Well done, kid. I'm proud of you."
"Wow, said Carolyn, I hadn't thought of it that way. Would God be proud of me if I yelled at him and said I wasn't going to let life pull me down?"
"Would you be proud if your child said it?"
"Hell yeah!" said Freda, popping in. "I'd be proud of my kid for being that strong."
"Well, what about God?"
"I believe in a loving God," said Freda.
"Wouldn't you be a loving parent?"
"You bet I would."
"Isn't God as great?'
Silence.
"What about the rest of you guys? What are you into?"
I just wanted a college education," I said. "My folks always assumed I would go to college. I wanted a liberal arts education. The school assumes that you will choose a major. I chose English Literature."
"Sounds great to me," said Lee.
"Do you know of the doctor Patch Adams?" Zane asked. "They made a movie by that name. He wanted to help people."
"That's what I want," Carolyn said.
"He was quite a rebel," Zane continued. "He wanted to create a hospital where people helped each other. No one charged a patient a fee. The medical personnel worked for the facility. Doctors treated people because they were licensed to do that. No one used insurance. The trouble was, no one donated to build a hospital either. They had a clinic for a while, but the doctors had to work outside the clinic to afford to work in it. Yet, each year thousands of doctors apply for positions at his facility. Can you imagine?"
"Yes, I can," said Carolyn. "A dream is more important than a big fat paycheck. I prefer to be happy."
"Patch's principle, exactly. 'When you treat a disease,' Patch said, 'you win some, you lose some. When you treat a person, I guarantee you win, no matter the outcome.'"
"Wow!" said Carolyn. "What a concept. Treat the person, assist their happiness. I'm there. Where is that person, Patch Adams?" Is he still alive?"
"Yep, in Hillsboro, West Virginia. He has 300 gorgeous pristine acres of farm and mountain land," continued Zane. "Donated by a man he met in a mental hospital—no hospital yet, but I heard that after 40 years of working to raise funds, he has finally broken ground for a hospital."
"I'm going to research that," said Carolyn. "Isn't that phenomenal? Girls, she turned to Freda and me. "How about after we graduate, we give ourselves a trip to West Virginia?"
"Sounds good to me," I said. My dream is to be a columnist, like my parents used to read in the newspapers. However, colonists are virtually non-existent now, but writers still write. Going to West Virginia would give me good material."
"And me," said Freda, "those 300 acres in West Virginia intrigue me. I'm a farmer at heart."
"I'm so excited," said Carolyn. "There I was grumbling about how things don't work, and how hard it is. Now I have a new focus: treat the person, not the disease. That takes the pressure off. Our job isn't to keep people alive forever; it's to help them live while they are alive."
"To affect the quality of the day is the highest of the arts, to quote Henry David Thoreau," Felicity said.
"For the better, I hope," said Frank.
"Yeah, maybe he should have clarified that."
"Is that what you guys are doing here?" Carolyn turned to Zane and Felicity.
"I think she has our number," said Zane.
"I need a break after all this serious talk," Frank said. "I'm going for a swim," He began, unzipping his trousers.
"Frank!" exclaimed Alice.
"It's dark," he said, and I'm not wearing wet clothing when I get out of the water. Look the other way."
He moved a distance away, dropped his trousers, and ran toward the water—all we could see was a white butt disappearing into the night.
"Well," said Alice," I shouldn't let him be out there all alone in the dark," and she moved into the darkness.
The three of us girls looked at each other. Carolyn dropped her shorts, and with a "Whoopee," ran toward the surf—followed by two others—us.
The surf slapped me with a chill, but soon the ocean felt bathtub warm. I felt free, surrounded by the gorgeous night and laughing people around me, which gave me an energy jolt.
When we came running back, Felicia was holding a blanket for each of us. Wrapped in our blankets, we warmed by the fire, and Zane brought out cups and a thermos of coffee.
"I appreciated the butt parade," said Lee.
Zane pulled a ukulele from his wagon and began to strum it softly. When he started a rousing tune, Felicia jumped to her feet and said, "I know a little hula. "Come on, join me." She began swaying her hips and moving her hands. These are the little fishes," she said, holding her two hands together and making waving motions.
"Come on, guys, stand up, swing your hips."
Clothes first. We ran under the cover of darkness, slipped into our clothing, and came back.
"I want to go back to my little grass shack in Kealakekua, Hawaii," sang Kane,
"I want to be with all the kanes and wahines that I knew long ago…"
Felicia joined him. "Come on, guys, stand up, swing your hips. "I can hear old guitars a playing, on the beach at Hoonaunau."
Clothes first. We ran under the cover of darkness, slipped into our clothing, and came back.
"I want to go back to my little grass shack in Kealakekua, Hawaii," sang Felicia.
We repeated swinging our hips and trying to copy her hand movements as we repeated her phrase:
When she got to the end, 'Where the HumuhumuNukunukuapuaa goes swimming by,' we were on the sand laughing.
"Okay, guys," she said, "You cannot leave Hawaii without learning our state fish's name, Humuhumunukunukuapuaa."
“Repeat after me: (Hoo-moo-hoo-moo-noo-koo-noo-koo-ah-poo-ah-ah).
You can't go home until you've learned it."
"Let's just move here," I said.
"Tell them a story, Zane," Felicia said.
We all cuddled around the campfire, sharing blankets, and expectantly looked at Zane.
He threw a couple more logs on the fire and sat down cross-legged on the sand.
We all cuddled around the campfire, sharing blankets, and expectantly looked at Zane. "When my Tutu Kane was a little boy, he told us, the Kupuna of his village sat the children down as you are sitting, and asked them, 'What lies beyond the Horizon?'
You see, the children born on the Island believed the Island was the entire world. The children were silent for a while, afraid to get it wrong. Finally, one of the
Boys said, 'Water.'
"Another, 'The sky.'
"'A big long canoe holding ten people.'
"'A catamaran.'
"'The sun and moon.'
"Stars," said another.
"'Life lies beyond the horizon,' he told them. 'There is Life and more life. People live beyond our limited horizons. Remember, dear ones, there is more for you out there. It is so tempting to find your little niche and settle in. Experience it all. School is not all. Studying is not all."
"Boy, I hope not," said Freda.
"A job is not all."
"Hey," said Carolyn, "I could live in a little grass shack."
"Then your clients wouldn't take you seriously," said Frank.
"Not my circus, not my monkey," she said, and then lay beside me, her head in my lap. "You know," she said softly, "I would like to travel a while after school. I want experiences, not just academic know-how. How can I treat a person when I haven't gotten my life together? If it suits you guys, we could travel and get jobs as waitresses to earn money until we have enough to travel again. Consider visiting some of the blue zones, where there are more people over 100 years old than anywhere else in the world."
The fire crackled. The surf continued its rhythm. I contemplated what Carolyn had said. I would like that too. A writer ought to have experiences.
"Do you know what Aloha means?” asked Felicia.
"Hello, goodbye, and I love you," I said.
"It means more than that," she said. "It means doing good without expecting anything in return."
"Oh wow, to live under such a slogan," I said.
How divine, I thought. I was warm. The camaraderie of the group had soothed us. I gazed with soft eyes into the sparking blaze in the fire pit. The sound of the surf in the distance was singing its forever song. I could hardly keep my eyes open.
I awoke with the sun in my eyes and dazedly noticed that I was lying on a blanket on the sand, with another blanket covering me. I looked to my side and saw Carolyn sleeping with her arm over her eyes. Freda, on my other side, was rubbing hers.
"Good morning, Sunshine," she said.
"Sunshine!" I thought, and reared up. There were only the three of us on the beach.
The fire was out.
"I guess everyone else managed to get themselves home," said Freda.
Carolyn awakened and said, "Where is everybody?"
"It's only us. Felica and Zane probably had to get the café up and running and feed Sunshine. Oh, a cup of coffee sounds nice. Let's go to the café and have breakfast."
We gathered up the blankets, folded them, and stuck them under our arms. Then, carrying our shoes, we began the hike back over the sand to the café.
"You know," said Carolyn, turning around and shuffling backward, "we could go to West Virginia over spring break instead of waiting until summer. Either way, the message is clear: 'Treat the person, not the disease.' I want to do that. And I want to be alive all the days of my life."
"I vote for that," I said.
"Me too," said Freda behind me.
We could see the shack ahead, and quickened our steps. I was eager to see our friends, have breakfast, and continue our discussion from last night. When we got close, we noticed that it was indeed a shack—a dilapidated shack, with a thatched roof sadly in need of repair. No sign hung at its entrance telling us this was Where the Frogs Sing Café.
We stood staring for a good five minutes before all three of us sat down in the sand and stared some more.
"No way," said Carolyn, breaking the silence.
"Did we dream that damn café?" said Freda.
"Was there a café here last night?" Carolyn asked.
"I still have the flavor of Butter Moche in my mouth," I said.
Carolyn broke in, "I remember the hamburgers, and Zane and Felicia and Sunshine. "What do you guys remember?"
We recounted the evening: Felicia, Sunshine, Zane, even Alice, Frank, Emily, and Lee, the hamburgers, the hula on the beach, and Zane's message to us."
"Did we dream it?" asked Freda.
"If we did, it was a shared dream," I said.
"It was real," said Freda, "Zane's mention of Patch Adams is why Carolyn wants to go to West Virginia." She paused, looking sad. "I miss Felicia and Sunshine."
"Look here," I said, "we have their blankets. They were real. Is this a theatrical set?"
Suddenly, a voice made us jump like we had touched an electric fence. "Are you girls lost?" it said.
We turned to see an elderly Hawaiian man. His face was deeply tanned and weathered. Tattoos—black geometrical lines encircled his biceps. However, with his age and loss of muscle, they didn't have the rounded look we saw on the young men of the Island.
“Uh,” I stammered. "Not lost. Confused. Do you know a man named Zane?"
"There are many Zanes on the Island."
"Do you know one who used to live here?"
"Oh, yeah, this used to be a café. Zane made the best pancakes on the Island."
"And burgers too, I bet," I said.
"Hell yeah," he said, "the best hamburgers this side of heaven. I used to come here often. I don't know what happened to him and that pretty little wife and keiki of his."
We looked at each other, wife and child? "When was that?" I asked.
"Oh, I'd say about 25 years ago."
"Twenty-five years!" we exclaimed.
"Yeah," said the old man. "It seems like only yesterday."
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