Unleashed

  Chapter 8

  Shawn was satisfied he had gotten Sally’s attention with the radical hologram. Just before they closed the video call, Sally wisely suggested he dilute the hologram for Surf Expo a bit more to prevent it from turning too real, which was the best way they could describe it. So after twenty-four more hours at the “bench,” as he called his photo editing station, he logged off his computer, genuinely stoked.

  Shawn was aware Sally was way smarter than him intellectually, and that their lives were like different trains on different tracks going in different directions, but the video call left him feeling alive because the conversation ended with them agreeing to meet. Specifically, they would in meet in San Diego, after Surf Expo.

  Each year, as required by their sponsor, Shawn and Drake flew to Surf Expo for an obligatory corporate hoo-ha, but because of the arranged meeting with Sally (and unlike past Expos where he would stay and party to keep his Deep Surf gig intact), he would fly out early with Sally to Kauai and track down Ben together. He needed to change his ticket right away, but all he could think of was her beautiful blue eyes.

  Shawn stood from his desk, clustered with a half-dozen, super-resolution displays made especially for professional photographers. A semi-circle of polished metal, cables, and flashing back-up drives were in harsh contrast to the grass-roofed structure he called home. His funky abode was once a World War II barracks for troops conducting coastal watch operations. After he bought it, he ripped off the metal roof and replaced it with thatched sugarcane leaves lashed together with coconut husk fibers. He also re-boarded the walls with island style wood to create a rustic living space within. In this idyllic seclusion, the gorgeous light surrounding him soothed his tired soul.

  As he lay exhausted on the hammock dangling in the center of the room, the bamboo door swung open silently and a stunning Polynesian beauty came in, setting a basket of fruit in the center of the natural Koa wood table. Sensing her presence and without turning, Shawn asked, “Wairau, you been stealing’ fruit again?”

  “I did not steal it, I picked it,” she replied.

  “Sure, from whose plantation? This ain’t your tribal island, Wairau, people own shit around here,” Shawn kidded. “Good you don’t like pot. You take some buds off the valley druggies, you’d be fertilizer soon enough.”

  “Do they own the rain which watered this fruit, or the sunshine giving it life?” she softly asked, as she arranged the sweet pineapples, papayas, and lychees.

  “Well, you’re always telling me I steal souls, you’re not much better stealing fruit.”

  “Shawn Pérez,” she chastened, “we have the tree’s blessing to eat her fruit. No one willingly parts with a piece of their soul.”

  “Well, I’m glad the money I spend sponsoring your PhD in Polynesian studies ain’t going to waste. You got it piled higher and deeper than any of them Hawaiian kahunas already.”

  “Shawn, my traditional learning is a way for me to understand your ways. What I believe in life has not changed because of the knowledge I have gained.”

  “And lokahi to you too, ya little fruit thief.”