ʻIke Kuʻuna

  The House in Coral Sands Some houses hold memories like poison, seeping slow through the walls until everything inside turns dark. Our house in Coral Sands was like that – an older home built in the 1960’s with single-panel walls thin enough to hear every whispered secret, every muffled cry. Two concrete lions guarded our gate and entrance to the garage, their stone faces watching every car that pulled into our driveway, day or night. I was five when we moved there in 1983. The house became the family gathering spot because of the large pool in the backyard, though sometimes I wonder if the water drew more than just family. Some nights would stretch so long they bled into morning, cars coming and going while my grandmother and her sisters filled the valley with their voices. Twelve sisters singing in perfect harmony, their beer cans catching the light while dark figures moved in and out of the shadows beyond our yard. Me and my younger sister shared a room and a bunk bed. We'd...