Ghost of a Christmas Past
written by: Jim Bartlett
Two Days Before Christmas
Just outside Dunedin, New Zealand
Grabbing his phone and a water, Kailani locks the rental car and sets out on the short path that weaves its way down from the hard dirt parking area to the soft sands of Blackhead Beach. As he cuts through the shrubs and low-lying grasses that line the trail, he’s overcome with a bit of déjà vu.
Not too much of a surprise, really. After all, while he was here just yesterday, he knows the feeling is more so a result of this being his third Christmas in a row of coming to New Zealand. Each time he’s spent at least a week at this very beach. Walking this very path.
Albeit the last two years have been for a much different reason than the first.
And maybe because of that, despite it being just two days until Christmas. Despite the crashing waves beckoning from just beyond those shrubs. Despite the welcoming caw of seagulls celebrating his arrival. Despite a sky so blue there’s no choice but to smile, it’s not until he sinks his bare feet into the warm sand, an experience that normally borders on the divine, does he feel even the slightest easing of the frustration he’s carried these last three years.
But it’s short-lived, as when he stares off into that blue on blue horizon, there’s nothing to be seen that even closely resembles a resolve to his self-imposed dilemma. And he’s left to wonder if this is the impasse he will have to come to terms with. If the unresolved will be his resolution.
He sighs, letting his gaze drift out upon the break. Atop a cresting set, two lone surfers ride the tall waves brought in by a distant storm. Adorned in spring suits, they wear necklaces made of blinking LED Christmas lights encased in clear plastic tubes that glow almost as bright as their eyes and smiles.
Rudolphs of the surf.
Jealous, maybe just envious, he looks up, taking in the ever so bright sun, a gift from Kanehoalani, comfortably seated in the middle of a cloudless sky. While it does provide a warmth that soaks into his soul, his reprieve, however slight, mostly comes from the southern wind as it blows across his face, carrying with it the enchanted aroma concocted by the spirits of the sea in their secret lair just beyond that same horizon.
When he was a kid, Grandpa Kimo would walk with him along O’ahu’s North Shore, telling him tales of their ancestors, how they rode the boards, letting the waves, and the spirits of the sea, bring them back to the homeland. Christmas – Kalikimaka – was always a special time on the beach. They’d wear Santa hats and make seashell ornaments to decorate a “tree” they’d put together with driftwood.
And while the waves – he took to them almost like it was destined by those spirits – were driven by winter storms, it was always sunny and warm.
Like here on the southern isle of New Zealand.
Taking a deep breath of that salty air, Kailani walks just past the outcropping of igneous rocks – basalt – that line the upper part of the beach in a formation that almost looks as if they’ve been planted there by the nearby quarry, and the crop is doing quite nicely.
He finds a small berm and plops down, stretching his arms out behind him while digging his well-tanned legs and feet into the sand. His eyes are drawn, as they are oh so often, to the shiny scar that runs down over his left knee, and he closes his eyes, remembering, but trying to forget, that day three years back.
With the International Surfing Championships looming on Christmas Day, he had come to the beach two days early that year. It was his ritual, his routine, before a competition. Not only to get the feel of the waves, but more so to make his offerings to Kanaloa, the sea god, who could be as spirited as spiritual at times.
That part of his ritual came from Grandpa Kimo, who would grab him by the shoulder, a firm finger just a spit from his nose. “When you’re taking a ride upon his waves, standing on nothing more than a piece of wood, you need to be respectful. Watch and listen for his mood. Know what he wants, and give him plenty of it,” he would say.
“I think I saw you here yesterday.”
The deep voice reels Kailani from his reverie, and he opens his eyes to see a rather rotund older man standing just to the front of him. He wears long green shorts, a Christmasy Hawaiian shirt, Ray-Bans, a thick, white beard, and a broad smile, every bit as warm as Kanehoalani’s gift in the sky.
Kailani squints into that offered sun to fully take in the stranger, but it only takes a moment for his face to ring familiar.
“Yes. Yes, I was. I think I remember seeing you here down by the surf.” But something digs a little deeper into his memories, and he cocks his head. “In fact, I seem to recall you walking the beach here last year about this same time.”
The man winks and points a finger. “Good memory. I was indeed here last year. Taking my annual holiday in the sun before getting back into the thick of things. How about you? You seem to be enjoying a sunny Christmas here in the southern hemisphere. Like my homeland, are things normally covered in snow where you’re from?”
Kailani starts to answer, but takes a breath. Something in the way the man expressed his words, as opposed to the words themselves, makes him think the man already knows the answer. “Actually, I’m from Hawaii. So this IS the Christmas I’m used to.”
“Oh, my. Which island?”
“O’ahu. The north side.”
“Oh, my,” he repeats. The old man drops down onto the sand, crossing his legs before him. Taking off the Ray-Bans – exposing crystal blue eyes that sparkle like stars in the southern night – he puts a hand to his beard, closes an eye, and gives the fuzz a good rub. “Hmmm… let me guess. Haleiwa.”
Kailani feels his head jerk back, albeit ever so slightly. “Yes… how did you know?”
“Because you’re Kailani Moana.” He smiles, giving his head a shake. “Or… should I call you Keolaupaianaha? The warrior of the sea. That’s your surfer nickname, right?”
“Yes. Well, it was.”
“Was? No… it still is and always will be. You were, well, still are, one of a kind. No one touched those waves like you did. I would wager a bet that even the Duke, watching from the great beyond, stands in awe of your rides.” The old man sticks his hand out. “I’m Nicolas, by the way.”
Kailani meets Nicolas’ giant hand with his. The man gives a firm, strong shake, but there’s a deeper feeling underneath the warmth that Kailani can’t quite pin down.
But he likes it. And he likes Nicolas.
“Well, a pleasure to meet you, Nicolas.”
“The pleasure, and honor, is all mine, Kailani.” He waves his arms around, smiling at what Kailani can only imagine to be the magnificence of Blackhead Beach, a couple of days before Christmas. “SO, you’ve returned twice to this wonderful spot, but it’s not to sit in the sand and enjoy the sun now, is it? You’re looking for something.” He leans close, and, like Grandpa Kimo, puts a finger a spit from the end of Kailani’s nose. “What exactly are you searching for, my surfing friend?” But unlike his grandpa, whose eyes would have been locked with his, Nicolas’s laser focus is on the shiny line along Kailani’s knee.
“Well, since you know of me, you most certainly know what happened.”
“The accident…”
“Yes.”
“I heard some bits and pieces. But not the whole story. Do you mind?”
Kailani takes a deep breath, not unlike one he would take when the front of his board hangs over the lip of the wave’s crest, and he’s ready to make that first dive into the barrel. He then nods. “I’ve always come to the beach a couple of days before a competition, try to get in a couple of rides. Watch the break. Get a feel for the ocean’s mood.”
“Check out the lay of the land, or, in this case, the lay of the waves.”
“Exactly.” Kailani tilts his head, stretching his neck until he gets a satisfying crack, then sighs, half tempted to end the conversation right there. He hates dredging that day back up, and even more, hates to talk about it. But Nicolas… there’s just something about him…
But what?
“So,” he continues, “I was out a fourth time, probably would have been the last – turns out it was no matter what my plans may have been – and the waves were pristine. Soft, tall, just a touch of a breeze. There were a couple of other surfers down a ways, but one older guy riding a papa he’e nalu—“
“One of those great big old wooden longboards, right?”
“Yes. Balsa wood, but still a freakin’ monster. Anyway, he was staying fairly close to me – guess he saw that I was pickin’ some primo waves – and would give me a shaka every time he paddled back out, that smile a mile wide. He. Was. Amped.” Kailani takes in another long breath. “On that ‘last’ set, I sort of lost him as he went behind me, but I was too focused on this really gnarly wave getting ready to break. ‘What a perfect way to call it a day,’ I remember thinking. But as I turned and dropped into the barrel, I saw him out of the corner of my eye coming my way. Then, his body went limp and he just like dropped off into the wave. The board shot up and nailed me at the side of my knee.” Kailani puts a hand on the scar, trying to will his mind to forget the horrid pain he felt when the board struck. “It knocked me off my board, and when I fell, I caught my head on that chunker surfboard. Next thing I remember, I’m lying on the beach, a couple of paramedics leaning over me, while a number of others are working on the old guy next to me.” He shakes his head. “Merry Christmas, Kailani.” His voice, while not despondent, carries a thick layer of sarcasm.
“Hey, you made it. And here you are. The ‘old guy’”—Nicolas does a little bounce with his eyebrows—“had a heart attack or something, right?”
“Yeah. He did. Sorry, didn’t mean to be mean about the old guy thing. But, the good news is, they saved him.” Kailani turns to face Nicolas. “No. Wait. Not really. It was the girl who saved us.”
“Girl?”
“I say girl, but I never really saw her. They told me later she was a homeless girl or young woman that hung out in the shrubs up near the path. Came down to the beach a lot to watch the surfers. The paramedic said that he’d heard that when we went down – the other guy and me – she practically flew out into the water and swam out into those waves like a dolphin or something. Corralled us both and brought us back onto the beach. The other surfers called 111 – which I guess is 911 down here – while she made sure I was breathing and gave the other guy CPR until he was breathing on his own. When the paramedics arrived, she took off down the beach. Some said she faded into the glare of the sun, while others said that she was simply swallowed up by the sea.” Kailani draws in a long, slow breath. “Like some sort of spirit or ghost.”
“A ghost of your Christmas past.”
Kailani smiles and nods. “Yeah. My ghost of a Christmas past.”
“So, tell me, oh wise one: What is it about this that brings you all the way back to Blackhead Beach here in New Zealand Christmas after Christmas? You back on the water?” Nicolas turns his head this way and that, as if looking for something. “Where’s your board?”
“I boogie board now and again, but I haven’t surfed since that day.”
“The knee?” Nicolas’ gaze falls back onto Kailani’s scar.
“No, it’s fully healed. They did wonders. It’s… it’s…” He looks away, giving his mouth a funny twist. “I guess when they were working on me and the other guy, they had to cut our leg leashes to free us from the boards. Well, my board. I hear there was only half of his left. My hard head must have snapped his in the middle.” Kailani catches Nicolas’ gaze and smiles. “When I was in the hospital, I asked about the boards. The coppers – I think that’s what they call them here, right? – said that the paramedics told them they had to toss my board, my special board, aside, along with the half of the other guy’s, while they worked on us. Someone must have made off with them in all the confusion.” Kailani taps his chest and sighs. “That and my puka shell necklace. It must have snapped off when I clobbered my head on that board.” He again looks out at the two surfers, that feeling of envy or jealousy creeping back into his gut. “It hasn’t felt right to hang on another board, you know, sort of like ‘cheating.’ And no puca shell necklace? Kanaloa would probably toss me off the board.” He smiles, though his eyes are still on the surfers. “Anyway, now I come here hoping for, you might say, resolution. Or just spiritual balance. You see, she disappeared. I didn’t even get to say thanks. Nicolas, she freakin’ saved my life. I want to let her know… that… that… well, you know…”
“Have you checked the shelters?”
“Yes. A good half dozen of them between here and Mosgiel. And, after some effort, I even found some encampments back in the woods and one along the beach. But nothing. Over the last couple of years, during my stays here, I’ve talked to everyone who’d been here that day. The paramedics. The surfers. Even Bill, the ‘old guy,’ who’s doing quite well, by the way. And still surfs.” The thought brings a smile to Kailani’s face. “I brought him a custom board from my shop last year. He was stoked.”
“Well, there’s your Merry Christmas!”
“I guess. But…”
Stretching his arms out behind him, Nicolas leans back, mimicking Kailani’s posture. “Homelessness is a hard life. Some are there in transition, some have lost their way. Others have no way whatsoever. Then, there are those who are awash in drugs or mental illness.” He sits back up, placing a hand on Kailani’s shoulder. “But, even with all that, there are those who find their way out. Something or someone”—he gives his head the slightest nod toward Kailani—“wakes them up. Maybe sparks a little fire of hope. A chance at a fresh start. There are places that specialize in that right here in Dunedin.” Using a hand to help, Nicolas rises onto one knee, as if preparing to stand. But he keeps the other hand on Kailani’s shoulder. “One place in particular that I’m familiar with is New Directions. They’re not on the normal ‘radar’ for these sorts of things, but they’re the epitome of compassion and hope, and offer a compass to those who’ve lost their way. They’re in midtown Dunedin. Maybe you should stop by.” He lifts his hand and stands, taking a look at his watch. “Oh, boy, I’ve gotta go. Really, really enjoyed meeting and talking with you, Kailani.”
“Me, too, Nicolas. I feel like we’ve met before, but I can’t place it.” He stands as well, then reaches out and shakes Nicolas’ hand, feeling that warmth once again. “Guess I missed this New Directions place. I’ll be sure to check it out. Take good care.”
“You, too, my friend.” Nicolas turns to walk away, but only takes a couple of steps before spinning back around. “Oh, by the way. Ask for Martha when you get there.”
“Okay. Martha. Got it. Thanks. Maybe see ya tomorrow?”
Nicolas shakes his head, but smiles. “Gotta head back north. Busiest time of the year.” He raises a hand, twirling a little circle in the air. “Just came down for a ‘holiday,’ as they say here. Seeing this, and now talking with you, I’m all charged back up and ready to go. Speaking of go, you go see Martha. Mele Kalikimaka,” With that, Nicolas turns again and heads down the beach. Kailani watches him until he, like his mysterious homeless rescuer, disappears into the glare of the sun.
“Wow…” is all he can say.
With renewed optimism, Kailani jogs back up the hill to his car. He drops into the driver’s seat – he’s still getting used to it being on the wrong side – and pulls out his phone, googling New Directions. Like Nicolas said, it’s located in midtown Dunedin on Leeway Street nearby the Oval, which appears to be some sort of park.
His mind adrift, he makes his way down Blackhead Road, the main route back into town, hardly noticing as the street changes names a couple of times before he finally bumps into King Edward Street. It’s there he makes a left, the road ducking under the Highway 1 overpass where, like Blackhead Road, it promptly changes its name.
But it’s all good, as stretching out along his right is the Oval. And Leeway is on his left.
The area being an eclectic mix of older homes, apartments, small businesses, warehouse looking structures, and who-knows-what, he ends up passing by the building a number of times before the tiny sign finally catches his eye. The parking is dismal, so he has to circle around yet again to find a spot even reasonably close.
The two-story building, much like those around it, is older, yet neat and clean. The wood fence along the sidewalk, and even the wood siding along the shelter’s front, are radiant with what appears to be a fresh coat of paint. It’s not much wider than a house, but from the corner of the fence, where it meets the meager driveway, he can see that it stretches back deep into the lot, and seems to have yet another level below, where the hill slopes off.
It’s as he’s standing there that he comes to realize that he’s nervous. And not just a little. Is this his journey’s end, or just another dead end? Taking a deep breath, he peers over the fence. In the large-paned window next to the main door – which is decorated with a large wreath – stands a medium-sized Christmas tree. Though its lights are out at the moment, its many ornaments, bright and festive, shine on their own. Maybe more so because even from here, he can tell they’re handmade.
And made from the heart.
He feels the welcoming sight of the wreath and tree are a sign, a sign that he’s finally ready, and he slides over to the gate. But when he reaches for the gate’s handle – locked – he notices a handwritten sign tacked to the wood.
“Due to a water leak, we will be closed 12/23 and 12/24 for repairs. Please stop by on Christmas Day for our celebratory lunch. Lots of food, and even more hugs. All are welcome.”
Christmas Day
Dunedin, New Zealand
With the parking along the narrow lane even worse than his first visit to New Directions, the best Kailani can do is squeeze the car into a tight spot next to a retaining wall, a good two blocks from the shelter. But it’s the only touch of gray in what has become a “winter” wonderland of brilliant colors on Leeway Street this Christmas Day. As he steps out and crosses over to the sidewalk, he’s taken in by the fake snow that carpets the roofs and even the front porches of homes, its bright white reflecting Christmas tree lights and ornaments that sparkle through the windows of homes up and down the street.
Even more twinkling lights wrap those same windows, as well as the rails of the stairs and walkways of the apartment buildings to either side. Giant snowmen and Christmas trees, made from plywood or some such, painted their appropriate colors, stand tall in front yards, overshadowing an array of blow-up Santas and reindeers.
The season abounds, and even Kailani, with his anxiety for whatever reason, or no reason at all, doing its best to make a return engagement, feels the excitement and joy it brings.
As he moves closer to the shelter, the air begins to fill with cheerful chatter, both from those inside and those just arriving. In the background, from somewhere within the building, a good-sized group of “carolers” sing Jingle Bells to the accompaniment of a piano. The perfect soundtrack for the season.
Following behind a young couple, he slips first through the gate, then the main door. The room is much larger than it seems from the outside, though, as he looks over to the far side, he sees an accordion-style room divider – which he assumes is normally stretched across the room – neatly folded up against the wall, strings of decorated garland doing their best to keep it incognito. A desk sits next to it, most likely, Kailani guesses, the reception desk. A miniature Christmas tree, complete with blinking lights and tiny presents, sits on it dead center.
Across the room is a medium-sized kitchen, its peninsula filled with cookie and fruit plates. Several foldup style tables line the wall where the squished accordion partition is trying to hide, each filled with various food plates, including sandwiches, salads, fish and chips, and even meat pies.
Lining the front of the peninsula are a number of ice chests, filled with juices, soft drinks, and teas.
The room is alive, people scattered throughout. The Christmas singers, maybe ten or twelve in all, and the accompanying piano, are set up on a raised platform – something that looks to be made of shipping crates – in the corner opposite the kitchen. As Jingle Bells winds down, they jump right into Deck the Halls, many of those in attendance joining in.
Kailani walks over to the Christmas tree, a smile breaking across his face as he notices all the presents, big and small, stacked tall around its base.
“Quite a haul this year.”
Kailani turns to see an attractive woman, maybe in her late forties, maybe older, but it’s hard to say as she’s taken good care of herself. And he’s terrible on a good day at guessing anybody’s age, much less a woman’s. Her hair, a tiny streak of purple on the left side, is mostly brunette, well styled, and shoulder-length. She wears a sun dress with shoulder straps over a red and green Christmasy long-sleeved thin wool sweater.
But, best of all, her earrings are tiny candy canes.
“Yes,” he finally replies. “Quite impressive. For those staying here?”
“Yes, and no. Some, in fact, most, are gifts for the residents, both full and part time. Relatives and friends drop them off, but we have a very generous community, and some are donations.” She points to a large “stack” of presents more to the left. “Those are donations for New Directions. Once again, the folks here in Dunedin are so giving and kind, and they know how well this program works.” She leans in close, swirling the ice in the glass she holds and pointing at the leftmost presents. “I’m hoping one of those is a new computer.” She straightens and gestures toward the desk tucked up against the accordion divider. “That’s where I normally sit, and, let me tell you, I think the one I use now is steam powered.” She playfully taps Kailani on the arm and, throwing her head back, lets go a laugh that tickles the whole of his insides.
“So,” she says, taking a moment to recover. “I’m Cloe, the New Directions’ receptionist.” She sticks out her hand, but her eyes are locked into his. ”And you, whom I’ve never seen here before, and let me tell you, I WOULD have noticed you”—she gives him a little wink—“you look lost.”
Kailani, still smiling, shakes her hand and nods. “I’m Kailani. And, yes. I guess I am a bit lost. I’m actually looking for Martha?”
“Well, of course you are. A handsome hunk of a young man finally walks through that door, and naturally, he wants to talk to Martha.” She shakes her head, but all in jest. “In case you didn’t know, Martha is a knockout… like you.”
Kailani feels his face flush with warmth, and he stands there slack-jawed, not knowing quite what to say.
“LOOK at you,” Cloe says, giggling, her voice up an octave. “Sorry, I can be a bit over the top. Maybe that’s why I’m still waiting for MY knight in shining armor to waltz through that door.”
Kailani waves his hand. “No, it’s not like that. I was told Martha might be able to help me find someone. Someone who helped me a long time back.”
Cloe cocks her head, as if suspicious, but finally smiles, puts her hand on his shoulder, and spins him toward a small group over near a window just to the front of the carolers.
“She’s the one with the Santa hat, all that make-you-jealous gorgeous black hair flowing out down her back. She’s the center’s director. And, Mate, she’s really put this place on the map. Does a lot of good, that young lady does. If anyone can help you, she’s the gal.” She pushes him from behind toward the group, her hand finding its way to his butt for a nice little tap.
“She’s just jabbering. Go over and introduce yourself.”
Wiping the grin off his face, and maybe trying to give his reddened face a moment to recover, Kailani makes his way across the room, but in no particular hurry. As he comes up behind the group, his eyes are drawn to Martha. She’s petite, and that jet-black hair, as Cloe pointed out, practically glows. She, like him, sports khaki-style cargo beach pants, though, rather than his Hawaiian shirt (a Christmas one, not too much unlike Nicolas’), she wears a hoodie, one he can only guess is Christmas themed.
He steps up beside her, and across from another man who currently holds her attention with talk of an upcoming charity concert to be held at the Dunedin Town Hall. From here, he can see her face, and, like Cloe said, she’s stunning. At the moment, her focus is completely on the man, and Kailani gets the feeling that’s her style – giving her all to whoever might be speaking to her, leaving them with the impression they are the only person in the room. Yet, something else about her, something underlying that he can’t put a finger on, tells him that despite that that veil, she’s got some sort of sixth sense, and doesn’t miss much of what’s going on around her.
Even as that thought drifts through his head, he notices her eyes – dark chocolate, yet they carry the twinkle of the stars – shift, ever so slightly his way. They’re only on him a heartbeat, then they quickly switch back to the man.
Yet, something in what she saw must have not been enough, for a few seconds later, she twists, just from the waist up, to have a better look at Kailani. Like before, it’s only a heartbeat or two, and she turns back.
“We’re hoping for April, or at least early fall. The city’s behind us, we’re just trying to line up one more act. What’dya think?” The man leans forward, his look suggesting high hopes for a positive review from Martha.
“It really sounds wonderful, and, as you know, we’re always very appreciative of your agency’s help. And, wow, with the city of Dunedin behind it…” She lets her eyes shift again over to Kailani, something of a spark showing in them, then, with a short sigh, turns back to the man. “Sorry, so many things going on. You are very kind to think of us.” She reaches out and shakes the man’s hand, though Kailani can see in the man’s disappointed face he was hoping for a hug. If not more…
“Please let me know how I can be of any help.” She softly taps his arm and breaks into a smile. “And Merry Christmas.”
But before he can reply, or bestow some sort of holiday “cheer” upon her, she spins toward Kailani, her gaze every bit as focused as had been with the man. And while she seems intense, and he a bit nervous, he finds he can’t help but smile.
Because, as he suspected, her hoodie is decorated with a large peace symbol, the center lines an embroidered Christmas tree decorated with seashell ornaments, while the surrounding circle, also embroidered, is comprised of candy canes.
“PEACE IS NOT SEASONAL,” it says in colorful letters at the top.
“Are you Martha?” His words, a bit off in tone, sound like he feels at the moment – that this could be the end of his journey. She’ll probably know nothing of this girl, and he’ll have to reassess if he’s ever going to come back to New Zealand. That he’ll have to forever live with this hole in his soul.
He’ll not find his balance.
It takes her a moment, but she finally nods. Though just moments ago she seemed in complete control, a woman to be reckoned with, here, now, she looks a bit lost. Confused.
“A man I met at Blackhead Beach, Nicolas, said you might be able to help me find a young woman,” he continues, still waiting for any response from her. “I owe her, quite a lot, actually, and I need to say thanks.”
Little by little her shaking hands rise to cover her mouth. And then, the dam breaks, those chocolate eyes begin shedding tears.
Kailani is crestfallen. “I’m so sorry… did I say something wrong?”
She shakes her head, but her hands remain on her mouth. Quietly, and with a tremble in her voice, she finally says, “Keolaupaianaha?”
Kailani feels his knees go weak. She’s called him by his surfer name, and it shakes him to the core. She must know the girl, and the girl has told Martha what happened. He’s so close. So very close. Nicolas was right. “Yes, that’s what they called me.” His head drops ever so slightly. “So, do you know this girl, this woman? How can I find her? I need to… I need…” He breaks down, his own eyes now misty, his voice failing him.
Martha’s hand drops under the V-neck of her hoodie, and she pulls out a puka shell necklace. “This is yours, isn’t it? I found it on the beach next to where I dragged you. I needed it at the time, what happened that day changed my life forever.”
The tears and heartfelt words have quieted the group – even the singers – and they all slowly close in around Martha and Kailani, led, of course, by Cloe.
“It was you?”
She nods ever so slightly.
His tears now flow, and he’s lost what to do with his hands. Should he hug her? Shake her hand? Words come slowly, but he finally, albeit with quivering lips, gets them out. “You rescued me. You saved my life.”
But she shakes her head and wraps Kailani in a tight hug, her arms as if they’ll never let him go. “No, Keolaupaianaha, you rescued me. When I pulled you two out of the water, and watched you both once again breathe in life, my life breathed anew. I knew right then, and there I had purpose. I was worth something.” She, while seemingly impossible, hugs him even tighter, then steps back, showing the necklace again. “This was my reminder, each and every day, to do right. To do good.” She wipes her eyes, though it does little to help. “But mostly that I was worth something. You, Keolaupaianaha. You gave me that. I was drowning, too, before I found you.” She takes in a long breath. “I’d come here a few times, hoping to find myself. Get my feet back on the ground. But it wasn’t until that day did I come here with purpose. Resolve. I finished my degree and came back here, shadowing our former director, Tisha’s every move. I listened, well, most of the time, to Cloe. But mostly, I knew how it felt to be out there. Alone. And I didn’t want anyone to have to feel that way.”
She steps back into his arms. “You did that for me, Keolaupaianaha.”
By now, everyone in the room is crying, and Cloe comes closer, wrapping both Kailani and Martha in her own hug. She looks at Martha, but then shifts her gaze to Kailani. “I’m thinking you both found more than who you were looking for. You know, Keolau, Keo, oh, however you say that, Martha’s been looking for you as well.”
Martha nods and steps back, still wiping her eyes. “You disappeared. I kept watching the tournaments and contests and watching the news, but I didn’t see your name. You had become a ghost.”
Kailani gasps, but with a smile. “Ghost! Funny thing, that’s what Nicolas called you. A ghost of my Christmas past.”
Martha leans back, arms still around Kailani, and for the first time laughs.
He takes a breath, looks around at the group, then back to Martha. “I stopped surfing. My board was gone. And my spirit. I needed to find you to right it, give my soul balance.”
She steps back, wrapping a hand around the necklace. “And this, you needed this.” She starts to pull it off, but Kailani stops her.
“No… please keep it. I want YOU to have it now. It’s really important.”
Her eyes tear up again, and she nods. “Okay. I would love to have it.”
A cheer rises up from the group, who now surround them three and four deep. A taller man, wearing, of all things, a top hat, races over to the piano.
“I think this calls for a song!”
And with that, he begins to play, and is quickly joined in by everyone singing We Wish You a Merry Christmas.
It’s a loud, happy, yet raucous singalong, but somewhere in the third verse, a husky voice rises above the rest.
“Hello! Delivery here! Hello!”
The singing and piano stop, and everyone turns toward the door. Kailani, still wrapped in Martha’s arms, notices a man standing in the doorway holding a clipboard. He’s got a sort of “official” looking shirt on, but wears shorts and a Santa hat. He hasn’t shaved in a bit, and the look on his face says that he’s not too happy about being here.
“Is there a Kyany. No, wait, Kalllany, here?”
“You probably mean Kailani,” offers Cloe.
“Yeah, that be it. Well?”
Kailani steps out from the group. “That’ll be me.”
“Well, Mate, someone’s pulled some strings. I was just about to sit down for some Christmas tidings, if you know what I mean, when the boss called. Said this was a hot one, offered me some serious overtime. Well, I got Christmas to pay for – you know, the little ones and all, and, well, maybe some of those tidings…” He gives Kailani a wink. “So, here I am.”
Kailani looks around for a box or package. “What is it?”
“Oh, not here, Mate. Way too big. It’s out in the van.” He waves a hand. “Follow me.”
Kailani, along with a number of others, including Martha, tail behind the man as they go out to his delivery van, parked in the middle of the street. The back doors are tied ajar, and the end of a surfboard sticks out. Even from here, Kailani knows that surfboard. His surfboard.
The man unties the rope strung between the back doors’ handles and eases the board down to the floor. He then walks over to Kailani, handing him the clipboard and a pen. “Ya gotta sign there, Mate,” he says, pointing at a line to the bottom of the invoice. “And then you have to read this note.” He hands him a small manila envelope, a Christmas wreath sticker holding the flap closed.
Kailani opens it and pulls out a Christmas card, a cartoonish picture of Santa and Rudolph standing on a beach making a “sandman” on the cover.
Found this at the Op Shop up in Timaru. I was hoping you might want to use it again someday soon.
Merry Christmas, Nicolas.
“Who’s this Nicolas fellow?” asks Martha.
“Wait, you don’t know him? Big, round, older guy, thick white beard, a smile like the sun?”
She shrugs. “Nope, sorry, no idea who he might be.”
“Are you sure? He’s the one who sent me to you. Said you could help me.”
“I’m not sure who helped who.” She smiles, sighs, and then looks over at the board, her eyes getting misty yet again. “It’s yours, isn’t it? The one, the one from that day.”
Kailani can only nod.
Martha wraps her arms around him. “Merry Christmas, my ghost from a Christmas past.”
Hawaiian Masters Spring Surfing Finals
April of the following year
Waimea Bay, Hawaii
An offshore breeze blows a salty mist into Kailani’s face, the scent reminding him of that day back at Blackhead when he popped out of the shrubs, and the gentle wind teased him with the enchanted aroma concocted by the spirits of the sea in their secret lair.
A late spring storm off the Marshall Islands has brought magical waves to Waimea this fine day, and Kailani, as if he never stepped away, as if those spirits had intended all along for him to be part of the sea, is on top of the finest wave of the day. And on top of the world.
The moment comes, that moment when his board hangs over the edge, and he takes a deep breath and drops down. The board glides along the face of the wave, shooting a rooster tail of spray out behind until the break folds over the top, and the tube forms.
He ducks in, two fingers slicing into the wave’s front as he races down the tube, one that seems as if it goes on forever. Through those fingers he feels the ocean’s pulse. Its heart. And for those moments, he is one with its soul.
Once again.
He blasts out from the end of the collapsing tube, the board carrying him up the slow curve of the face, where he does a spin off the crest and drops back down onto the front of the wave, riding it all the way back to the beach.
The overflowing and cheering crowd, their arms raised in unison, races to the wet sand to meet him. Like that Christmas Day at New Directions, they surround him, though this group, even more raucous, all seem to want to touch this surfing magician, hope to soak in even the tiniest bit of that sparkling aura.
But Kailani’s eyes only see one of his fans. Martha. Bursting through the crowd, she races up and wraps him in hug, turning her bright summery dress into a wet, sloppy mess. But he doesn’t care, and knows she doesn’t either, especially as he hears over the loudspeaker, “Keolaupaianaha scores another ten, Ohana. And we’d give him a twenty on that one if we could. With that, and no surprise, he’s our grand champion.”
Another roar erupts from the crowd – the ohana – and, though it doesn’t seem possible, this one even louder. Kailani, smiling ear to ear, looks around, his free arm raised – the other still tight around Martha – giving all his best shaka.
It’s then, someone toward the back, their own hand raised in a “thumbs up,” catches his eye. Though he’s well mixed in with the crowd, he stands out, as he’s a large man, a little taller than most. His white beard practically glows in the sun, and he wears a Santa hat, Ray-Bans, and a smile that, like Kailani’s tube, seems to go on forever.
Kailani’s breath catches, the crowd’s noise seems to fade. Can it be? He has to find out. Kailani pulls himself loose from Martha, a look of confusion washing across her face.
“It’s okay. I think I saw…” He shakes his head, not believing it himself, much less trying to tell Martha. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”
With that, he races off, trying his best to cut into the adoring crowd. But by the time he’s made his way through the high fives and hugs of the first four or five rows, the man has faded into the warm and welcoming glare of the sun.
Yet another ghost of Kailani’s Christmas past.
- Ghost of a Christmas Past - December 17, 2025
- Interview Q&A With Jim Bartlett - December 11, 2025
- Unmasked - October 27, 2025
