How a Clam Saved Elvis

Elvis Presley is here, and I will make him mine.

Hot white sand grips the soles of my bare feet. I walk down the beach, searching the plants at the edge. Is this where the orchids grow? Maybe I should have asked one of the locals, but they don't like it when white people wander away from tourist centers.

I find a small trail leading from the beach into the woods. There must be some native flowers in there. I need enough to braid a garland that looks like a lei. Then I can work in the Celtic knot magick Mom taught me. She had used it to ensnare my wealthy, witless Daddy; and now I can use it to make Elvis love me.

Paradise smells amazing. The fresh ocean breeze carries a light floral hint. I walk deeper into the dark, cool woods, reveling in vibrant greenery all around me. If there is an ideal place in this world for working a love spell, it has got to be Hawaii.

I come to a fork in the path. Left, or right? I peer down each curving pathway, then close my eyes. I take a deep breath. My intuition will tell me what to do.

I take another deep breath.

My intuition isn't speaking up.

I'll go right.

I open my eyes again and take a single step towards the right, and then I notice the vibrant pink blossoms out of the corner of my eye. They aren't down one path or another; they're up. Dozens of orchids grow from the branches of a tree overhead.

I haven't climbed a tree since I was a child. Daddy used to scold me for playing at boys' games. Well, there's no one around to look up my skirt here. Besides, I need the flowers if I want Elvis.

I jump and grasp the lowest branch. I dangle awkwardly, bark digging into my palms. I can't pull myself up. The bark scratches my hands as my grip gives way. I return to the forest floor.

I need the flowers if I want Elvis.

I try again, and fail again.

I back up, get a running start, fling myself at the tree and grab on. I swing my legs up and manage to touch the next branch with the tips of my toes. I try to leverage myself into a more secure position but fall again.

At least I land on my feet.

"You ain't nothin' but a hound dog," I say to myself. "Cryin' all the time." I eye the flowers and keep singing.

There has got to be something on the forest floor that can help me. I wander up the righthand path a bit, singing, but I don't want to get too far from my floral treasures. I return and try the lefthand path. There, I see a fallen branch that may be big enough to help.

Maneuvering it is tricky. I have to squat down underneath it with the end over my shoulder, then push up with my legs. I drag it to the tree.

"You ain't never caught a rabbit, and you ain't no friend of mine," I finish singing. I push my large branch against the tree trunk. I pull, I twist, I shove, and I even kick it into place. Finally, I have a ramp, with the tip of my branch secure in the crux between two of the tree's branches.

I get another running start. I launch myself up my ramp and wrap my arms around the tree's lowest branch. I swing my legs up and grip the branch with all four limbs.

I'm in the tree!

I'm hanging off the underside of the lowest branch. But I'm in the tree.

I start singing "Don't be Cruel" to myself. It's inspiring. I can do this.

The bark scratches at my skin and tugs my clothes. My arms have never been so tired. But I squirm my way up and around until I am on top of the tree branch.

"I don't want no other love," I sing. "Baby, it's just you I'm thinking of."

I can reach a few of the caches of orchids. They smell heavenly. I gather a large bundle in my arms, all the flowers I can grasp. Time to go back down.

It seems higher from above.

I can't climb down with my arms full. I have to drop my ingredients. I pray for gravity to be gentle as I watch the bundle fall.

Then I scoot myself out to the end of the large, low branch I'm on. It bends down a little with my weight. I carefully lean over to hug the branch. I reverse my squirming course until I dangle from the bottom again. I lower my legs, hold my breath, and drop.

I'm all right.

I pick up my orchids. Most of them are all right too.

My arm is bleeding a little and my skirt is torn, but I don't care. Elvis Presley will be mine!

I practically skip down the path back to the beach. Daddy paid an entire dollar for my concert ticket. I'll just have to place my magick knotwork on Elvis, and he will be mine forever.

The shade of the woods gives way to the bright sun and clear ocean breeze. It's the most beautiful day.

"You're lost, haole." It's a feminine voice. I turn and see one of the beautiful native girls. She wears a light, breezy dress with a floral pattern.

"I am right where I need to be," I tell her, beaming.

The native girl takes a deep inhale from a cigarette. "This place isn't for you," she says. Smoke drifts sensuously between her lips with every word. She nods at the flowers in my arms. "Those aren't for you, either." She takes another puff.

"I need them to work a spell." My jaw drops. How on Earth could I have let that slip? Mom told me never to tell anyone about our magick!

The girl gives me a penetrating look with her deep brown eyes. She smokes for a silent moment. "You didn't listen to the first warning," she eventually says. "You won't listen to me, either." She finishes her cigarette and blows out a stream of smoke. She flicks the last of her ashes on the beach, pinches the butt to extinguish the last of its flame, and pockets it. "Well," she says. "Maybe the next sign."

"Who are you?" I ask.

The girl circles around me and starts walking away. "Go home, haole," she says dismissively over a shoulder. "Go home to New Jersey."

"How did you--"

She's gone.

Bright sunshine and scorching sand aren't enough to stave off the deep chill washing over me. Is that girl some kind of Hawaiian witch?

Mom had told me about encounters our people had had with the Fae, but that was back in Ireland… were there Fae in Hawaii?

No.

No.

That girl is just one of those beautiful natives. She only feels unnatural to me because I'm not used to being around people who look like her. It's just like when I started high school and met black classmates for the first time.

I shake off the uncanny feeling. I want to get back to the hotel, where all the other ingredients for my spell are. I can braid the orchids together and work in the magick knots Mom taught me. Then tonight at the concert, I'll place the garland on Elvis's shoulders like a lei, and he will be mine.

I take a few steps. A firm, smooth object presses into the ball of my left foot. Curious, I shift the orchids in my arms and crouch to pick up the shell.

There are runes all over it.

I can't read the message but the markings on this clam shell are unmistakably written in an ancient runic script. Long lines criss-cross the shell in whole sentences. My heart freezes over.

If there aren't Fae in Hawaii, then there's something else. They write on seashells, they grow gardens in tree branches, and they give cryptic warnings while smoking cigarettes.

This place isn't for me.

I drop the flowers.

I throw the runic clam shell into the ocean.

I run.

Note - In case it wasn't obvious: this fictional protagonist's perceptions and assumptions are not meant to represent affirmative consent, actual Hawaiian culture, or the views of the author. One can only hope she will grow up and learn better. At the very least, she received a good scare today.