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The turtle’s bald head wobbles. He turns to face me, then shuffles his fins on the rock so that he’s closer to me.
His eyes are bulgy. He blinks at me a few times.
I lift my hand and wiggle my fingers his way.
He moves closer.
“Aloha kakahiaka,” a man’s voice says.
I blink.
Did that turtle just talk to me?
“Looks like you got yourself a friend,” the male voice offers. It’s coming from over by the shed.
As I look that way, a man with a big smile steps out of the shed's shadows. He carries a bucket.
He unhooks a rope barrier that cordons off the area around the shed. A ‘Staff Only’ sign hangs from the rope.
“Oh, the turtle?” I ask.
“?Ae.” He holds the roped area off. “You like a little shade? It’s cooler over here than out there. You can visit him.”
“Thanks… I’m okay.”
“Well, you want to come over and get some shade, get a little closer to your friend, and go right ahead. Just move the rope aside. Anyone gives you trouble, tell ‘em Akoni said you could.”
He gives me a big, friendly wink as he passes and pats my shoulder. “Our home is your home for a little while. This guy is a good listener, too. Might be hard to believe, but I’ve known him since he fit in my hand.”
He holds out his palm to show me.
“Wow, he was just a tiny guy then. How long ago was that?”
“Five years ago, now. I used to feed him with a bottle when he was teeny-tiny. Now, he’s getting nice and big. He’ll go out into that big blue ocean in a couple of months and have himself a life, but for now, we take good care of him. Here—” He reaches into his bucket and pulls out a head of romaine lettuce. “You’ll have a real fan if you give him this.”
He wanders off, humming to himself.
I hesitate in the sunlight, watching the turtle. After a few minutes, the kind invitation wins me over. I unlatch the rope barrier, slip through, and settle into the shaded area.
My back leans against the shed’s rough, rustic shingles. I stretch my legs along the smooth stones that pave the ground. I’m wearing my flip-flops, and it feels nice when a cool breeze off the water tickles my toes.
The sea turtle seems pleased that I’ve joined him in his cove.
He scoots along his gray rock until he’s peering at me from about four feet away.
“You know,” I whisper to him, “you look a lot like my ex-therapist, Chester. He was bald, too.”
The turtle bobbles his head. He looks right at me, definitely interested. Not scared at all.
He likes my whispering, apparently.
“He moved to Canada,” I explain. “It was sort of out of the blue. At least, that’s how I felt. We were wading through some tough stuff together…”
I let my head rest back against the shingles.
At least in this quiet staff area, I have some privacy. Out on the walkway, resort guests walk along and chatter happily. Here in this shade, it’s just me and this turtle.
I tear off a piece of lettuce and toss it onto the rock.
