| dewy decimal |
2004-10-20 - 12:58 p.m.
Across from Jon's mother's garage, there is a haunted house where the residents there have seen things that have boggled their minds. One woman claimed that one night, while watching Johnny Carson, a ghost descended from the ceiling, and settled in front of her with a blank, hollow face. The spirit was dressed in red plaid.
The house itself is a tasteful, old-fashioned home. A two-storied edifice painted in a medium-gray with windows stretched over with dark screening that divulges only the vaguest sillhouette. The perimeters are flanked by tea leaves and hapu fern, Their neighbors behind the house are the hundreds of residents that occupy the breathless graveyard, those that call Iwalani and 18th Avenue their final stop.
Last night, we drank beers and 'talked story' across from that house in Jon's mother's garage. It seemed to be staring at us through it's dingy windows.
I had just gotten off of work and had brought my co-worker Tara along because she had actually known Jon in Elementary school. Jon said he used to even have a crush on her. I think she was a little flattered because even in the darkness I could see that her face was pink.
Our friend, Waine'e was there with these haole twins that she met at work. She works at the Navy Exchange. They were in the Navy, so it goes.
They were supposedly identical but it didn't take long before I could tell them apart.
Two of Jon's other friends were there, a couple. The boy played his guitar as his petite girlfriend twisted with the breeze and sang the melody like a tiny bird.
After the twins left, Jon sang us a song that made me want to cry. His voice became tenuous in moments, then thick and soulful in others. I'd underestimated his writing and singing abilities and there on that driveway I felt such pride for my Jon Lummy-Lum. He was so beautiful there with his guitar.
As Jon sang us into sways and reflection, even the house across the street seemed to sleep. Its netted eyes seemed to fill with only the emptiest black.