Sand Blast - Chapter 2

SandBlast - written 2017 - Copyright Jag Aoti

Chapter 2 – One Day earlier

The Haggenfourth festival was the most anticipated holiday in Hiotai.  Celebrated once every three years, it brought the entire sleepy town together for an entire week.  This would be Jackson’s second Haggenfourth, and he intended to make it just a memorable as the last.

Haggenfourth was a tradition of music, dancing, and drinking that had spurred from the celebration following the successful defeat of the Bogatti rebellion that had plagued their island for three long years.

“Cindy, what are you wearing this morning?” Jackson said casually over their video call, as he sipped sweet cappuccino from his front porch.

“Barely anything, can’t you see?” Cindy laughed back at him, zooming out to reveal a bleached white string sundress over a cheery red bikini.

“Why are we apart – this is insane.  I scribbled Haggenfourth across your calendar months ago.  I have the whole week booked off.  Why are you a world away?” Jackson replied, a twisted eyebrow thrown in for good measure.

“Work is work, you know that.  There’s a story here, I can feel it.  And plus, the beaches are almost as good as Hiotai and the pay is even better.”  Cindy winked.

“What do you need money for?  I give you what you need here. 

Cindy winced at the expression, irritation spreading across her face.

“That didn’t come out as I meant it to” Jackson backpedaled.

Cindy chuckled, and left the video call running as she turned to leave – her long brown legs floating across the villa’s floor.

“See you soon Jackson – my boat back to Hiotai leaves tomorrow.” 

As the call closed with its familiar “beep”, Jackson flicked open his cellphone and hit play.  Sound erupted across his flat with the beat of drums, jangle of shells and techno-like rhythm of traditional Hiotai performers. 

A grin scrawled across his face as the rhythm sunk into his bones.  He slid across the hardwood planks to his antique fridge – sweating with condensation and just as beautiful as a 1950’s Bel Air with a powder blue finish. 

The top rack was lined with fresh fish – cut form yesterday’s catch and ready for a quick fry or filet for sashimi.  Jackson had bright orange Pacific Salmon, gleaming white tuna, and diamond-like slices of puffer fish ready for this special occasion.  He popped three diamonds into his mouth as he reached for the second row, twenty-four ice-cold bottles of Heeber, the local lager so light that they often shared it with kids on hot days. 

As Jackson stepped off his front porch down onto the white beach sand below he dug his feet deep and took a deep breath. 

Haggenfourth.

He could hear the rhythm, overlapping with each other from different houses.  The street-level cafes, restaurants overlooking the sea and the many pubs dotting the coast line emitted a joyous buzz.  With a long drink of his Heeber, Jackson shook the sand from his feet and marched onwards, into the mid-morning sun, into Haggenfourth, Day One.

Sand Blast - Chapter 3

Sand Blast - Written 2017 - Copyright Jag Aoti

Chapter 3 – Day One

“Hey Jackson!” Tony yelled, his open flowered shirt flowing in the breeze.  The buttons had surely busted off last time he tried to do it up, which couldn’t have been less than a few years ago.

“Jackson buddy – Happy Haggenfourth!  Where you been man?  We’ve been out here since sunrise.  Heck, Alberto’s been playing guitar straight for five hours already!”  Tony’s jolly way was jollier today. 

Alberto tipped a caparina and took a long swig, grinning while his fingers found the frets again.  

Jackson stepped up onto the deck of “The Puffer Pub”, it’s dark stained deck-boards creaking beneath his feet.  A palm from the sunshade tickled his forehead as he approached the long, bamboo skirted bar top, keeping Tony and Jackson within earshot and tipping his ball cap to the familiar faces around him.

“This Heeber’s about empty, Flago, you got any more back there?” 

A man with the head of a basketball on the torso of a gorilla stood up from his crouched position behind the bar, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in his baseball-mit sized hand.

“Jackson!” He peeped, throwing the cigarettes down and reaching over with a bear hug, his tank top drifting across the bar top like a strong wind.

Jackson grasped him back, with his grin widening.  He was among friends.

“Happy Haggenfourth!  A Heeber, I presume?!”  Flago yelled at him from only a foot from his face.

“Make it two, Flago.  I’m a bit late to the party it seems.” 

 “You got it” Flago returned, slamming two cold ones on the wooden bar.  With the flick of his lighter, both were uncapped and in Jackson’s hands.  Two rings of wetness were left on the bar top as a reminder of their soon to be short-lived presence.

Jackson retreated to the back corner, facing out towards Alberto’s rhythm and the beach beyond him.  As he lifted one bottle and picked at the label of the next, his mind wandered to Cindy.  What was she up to today, wearing that perfect red bikini.

“Jackson” Tony yelled “Hey Jackson, snap outta it!  How many beers you had before you come here?”

“Just the one” Jackson replied.  “I’m here buddy”.

Jackson lifted his bottle and tipped it to Tony, who was now practically sitting in his lap. 

Tony leaned in. 

“I have a story to tell you, my friend.  A big one.”  He whispered.

“Creepy” Jackson replied with a smile.

“No, really, something is going down!” Tony said, a little louder this time.

“Whatever it is, it better be a good thing.  Nothing can ruin my Haggenfourth.”  Jackson said, with a bit of concern.

As the tune of Alberto’s guitar drifted across the bar, Tony stood back and looked Jackson in the eye.  “Good for some, bad for others.  Meet me at the fire circle tonight…I’ll have more to tell you.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow, he’d heard this one before.  An island myth, or a new outsider bringing trouble.  Either way, it’d be entertaining.

“Sounds good Tony.  I’ll be there.  In the meantime, shall we play?”  Jackson replied, gesturing towards the worn pool table on The Puffer’s front deck.

“Bring it.” Said Tony, as he kicked his neon-blue sandals to the side and skipped to the table.

Sand Blast - Chapter 4

Sand Blast - Written 2017 - Copyright Jag Aoti

Chapter 4 – The Incident

Balls 1 thru 4 lay in the pockets, and in nine ball that was as good as a win. 

“One more” gestured Tony, his middle finger in the air.  The jinx wouldn’t phase Jackson.  He always one at nine-ball.

Jackson lined up the 5-ball, a sharp angle into the side pocket but with nothing in the way.  He pulled back with his right hand, the cue sliding across the tops of his left knuckles. 

Just as he was about to punch forward, a searing pain shot through his skull.  A loud crack reverberating through him.  Glass shattered around him and as he watched it fall to the ground, Tony leapt across the table towards him. 

Jackson crouched, just in time to dodge the freight-train of Tony that was coming towards him.  Tony’s arms outstretched, wrapped around a figure in the corner of Jackson’s eye, bringing him down to the ground in an imposing “caaaarunch”.  He spun around to see Tony on top of the man, his massive forceps squeezed against the man’s throat. 

The man kicked, and winced as his face went from white to red to blue, and as his eyes began to roll back, Tony let go and he collapsed on the floor.

“Who in the fuck is that, Jackson?  He just bottled you!  Are you okay brother?”  Tony yelped.

The man gasped for air, grabbing at his bruised throat and curling into the fetal position.  His kaki shorts were drenched – presumably piss.  Jackson noted the numbers tattoos across the back of his hands as he held them to his throat. 

1   7   4   8

His sandy blond hair was still intact.  His maroon button-up was ripped from the collar to the pocket, presumably from Tony’s initial impact 

“I have no idea” Jackson replied, holding the back of his head and staring at the man.

The man began to stand, a look of terror in his eyes.  Flaggo rounded the corner, picked him up by his shorts and heaved him into the hot sand just beyond the deck, his left ankle cracking on the last bottom step.  A howl erupted from him as Tony spit towards the dishevelled heap.

A small crowd had gathered, still sipping beers and tapping to the music, but with the interest and curiosity you’d find in schoolchildren.

“nothing to see here” Flago explained, kicking sand as he walked towards the ocean.

Flago dropped himself backwards into the waves, erasing the early afternoon’s turmoil from his mind.

Jackson stood, head pounding, with a look of concern on his face.

“I sure as hell don’t know Blondie here Jackson” Tony said as he slapped him on the back.  “Whatever you got yourself into, it won’t be coming back around here I don’t think.”

Jackson took a long sip of a warm beer from one of the tables on the deck.

“Never seen him before in my life – honest.  Didn’t think I had any enemies around these parts.”  Jackson explained.

Flago walked towards them, drenched from head to toe, and let the blonde man pass as he stumbled to his knees and tried to run his way down the beach.

“Heeber’s all around.  And let’s keep the bottles off our foreheads, shall we?”  Tony suggested.

“Good enough” Jackson and Flago said in unison, grinning at each other as they strolled back into The Puffer.

What the fuck was that?  Jackson thought to himself.

Sand Blast - Chapter 5

Sand Blast - Written 2017 - Copyright Jag Aoti

Chapter 5 - The Circle

The early afternoon drifted calmly into the evening as Jackson and Flago sipped Heebers and swapped old stories they had told countless times before.  The backs of their wicker chairs drenched in sweat, Jackson leaned forward and asked

“So what’s this juicy story you got, Flago?  My heads clear now – fill me in.” 

“Not now, not here” Flago rejected “tonight.  It’s important – don’t let me forget.”

--

Hunger struck them both and they wandered toward The Skillet, a greasy fish-fry on the far edge of Hiotai’s only peir.  Tony followed – his blue-eyed daughter, Sonja, now running The Puffer for the rest of the night. 

A lively group of college kids were circled to their left, painted from head to toe in Haggenfourth blue.  The paint was striped across the young men’s faces, bare chests, and the thighs beneath their shorts.  The girls wore even less than Cindy had on this morning, just Brazilian cut bottoms and blue paint to cover the rest.  A red-head caught Jackson’s eye, her painted blue chest glimmering under the sun like a chameleon in the ocean.  She winked at him as he passed.

“Haggenfourth” he thought to himself with a smile.

The paper trays were no match for the greasy fish at The Skillet, but as they sat down with a pound of battered and fried Pollock each, Tony, Flago and Jackson were not concerned about grease stains.

“So, you really don’t know who buddy was that literally smashed a bottle over your head this morning, Jackson?” probed Tony.

Flago snorted “I forgot about that, ha ha, what a day!” as he tore into a large chunk of white, flaky fish.

“No chance – you know I don’t mingle with blondes anyways.  Not the first time I’ve been bottled, but I have to say it’s the first time I’ve been bottled here on the island.” Jackson replied.

“Probably a fuckin’ tweaker from the mainland.” Tony explained.

“Regardless, you guys made quick work of it.  I’m not going to let it ruin the first day of Haggenfourth.  You know how they say it sets the whole tone for the week?  I believe it.”  Jackson said.

“I like your attitude Jackson, always have” Tony said

“I like his girlfriend” Flago grinned, receiving a quick jab from Jackson on the shoulder.

“Cindy and I aren’t… together.”  Jackson replied.

“She has a name!  Oh boy.” Gleamed Tony.

“Yes she has a name, Tony.  She’s been kicking around for over a month.  Don’t you ever open your eyes?” Flago inquired.

Tony sneered and grinned back at Jackson

“So where is she?  When can I open my eyes at her?” Tony asked.

“She’s out of town today.  Maybe tomorrow guys.  Sun’s almost setting, should we head to the circle?”  Jackson answered, changing the subject.

“Hell, yes we should” answered Flago.  “Let’s get some pocket beers from the barkeep.”

--

Pockets bulging with a beer in each, Jackson strolled upon the beach gathering at the southern tip of the island – not far from his flat.  Flago and Tony were not far behind, pushing each other into the sand and in no hurry.  Jackson didn’t want to miss this.

Jackson shouldered his way in to the crowd, a large gathering around a very temporary 20’ ring that was drawn in the sand.  In the center stacked 15 feet high were bone-dry logs, 3 feet in diameter and 3 feet long, criss-crossed like jenga blocks sky high.  In the center stood a woman, naked from head to toe, a single half-inch band of bright blue drawn down the left side of her body.  She raised her hands to the sky, as the sun began to set behind her, casting an orange silhouette across the calm ocean.  The deep beet of a drum was beginning.

Boom.  Boom.  Boom.  Boom Boom, Booom.

Jackson looked up toward the tip of her hands.

Boom.  Boom.  Boom Boom, Boom.

The crowd swelled, at least 50 people standing with beers perched on their lips and blue speckling on their bodies.  Some wore strands of bamboo, while others wore denim. 

Boom.  Boom Boom, Boom.

Jackson’s eyes widened as an elderly woman approached the stack, a burning torch in her left hand.

Boom Boom, Boom.

Then silence.

“Who here shall defeat this demon?!”  The lady squawked into the silence.

The waves of the ocean seemed to crash louder, in sync with the drums.

Boom Boom, Boom.

“We will!” Screamed the crowd.

Boom Boom, Boom 

“And who will defend our island against this demon?!” The old lady yelled, louder than before, lowering her hand to the stack.

Boom Boom, Boom.

“We will!” Screamed the crowd.

Boom Boom, Boom.

Then silence erupted.

And then flames burst from the bottom of the stack as the torch tipped towards it.

The woman inside screamed, the flames cracking loudly around her.

“And who will save us?!”  The old lady screamed.

Boom Boom, Boom.  Louder than ever.

“We will!” The crowd screamed, this time running towards the stack. 

From behind their back the first line threw sand at the flames.  Leaping over them, like a frog from a bucket, the second line grabbed the logs, from top to bottom, flinging them to the side.  The woman inside crouched in fear.

What seemed like an eternity was 10 seconds of coordinated destruction, leaving logs scattered and the crowd gasping for air on the ground.

And in the center, crouch but untouched, the woman stood up, revealing a beauty greater than Jackson had first seen.  Red hair brushing against her shoulders.  The blue stripe running down her side.

She stood once more with her hands outstretched to the sky, and with her head tilted to the ground she calmly said:

“This is Haoti.  This is our Island.”

The crowd erupted in cheers and lifted her to the sky, pulsing to the sounds of the drum.

Onward they marched, into the ocean.  Jackson sit along the shoreline with Flago and Tony, watching as the people floated in a great calmness.

“Haggenfourth” Jackson said with a wide smile.

“Yes, Haggenfourth.  Is this your first one or something?”  Flago nudged him, tipping his beer.

Mirror

Mirror - Written 2013 - Copyright Jag Aoti

There is something strange looking back at me in the mirror.  Someone almost unrecognizable by myself.  Someone I wish I knew better.

As life’s pace seemed to speed up exponentially in the last 7 years, my mind has seemed to twist and turn from bliss to fear, from joy to sorrow.  Less and less days seem to have me in them.  It seems a consciousness I once felt daily, a joy and care freed living, has been reduced to drastically different highs and lows.

While it would be easy to brush off as possibly a mental disorder or standard shifts in mood, I feel I am lacking a clarity and focus I once lived with 24/7.  This focus and self-consciousness led me through to a strong career, a strong identity and a strong ability to commit to something, anything.  Yet know my focus cannot coincide with my lust for life.  It is one or the other, black or white, 1 or 0.

When I look back up, this man in the mirror looks back with wounds.  Death, betrayal and mistakes.  He looks different.  Not worse, maybe better. But he feels different.  Feels departed from himself.  Almost as if looking down upon his actions, often with approval and happiness, yet disconnected. 

I once felt as though I had thoughts no others had.  Deep thoughts that allowed me to see deeper into situations, people, the world, and problems.  It may be this ability that has led to my dismay.  My disconnection.  My inability to juggle joy, fear, sadness and motivation effectively.

His eyes look tired.  Not that he needs sleep, but that they’ve seen too much.  That what they have brought in has plagued the mind and stained what was once a hive of energy and dreams.

Travelling the world from the perspective of sales, meetings, objectives not for me but for the company, has left a somewhat jaded taste in my mouth.  While new places brought interest, the road has been tiring.  Masking loneliness, burning out and travelling pain with booze and smoke has felt like a savior, but it has its own faults.

His beard is long, his hair is wild.  His lips are tighter than they’ve ever been.  What was once carefree is now careful.  Is now more confident, but less adventurous.  Is more tired.

Longing for that lift once felt every day.   Longing for that optimism that drove me towards success and friendships.  Maybe it was a fleeting time.  A time with an expiry.  Maybe this is it for now.  Black or white.  1 or 0.

The distance from myself is growing.