A waterfall splashed down giant rocks and into the pool of a wide cave. As we passed, a cool mist sprayed my face and I noticed that the lush foliage had grown larger, expanded into cartoon-sized leaves—or was it the pot?

Merilee smiled and passed me the roach. It burned my fingers and I dropped it onto the floor.

“Shit! Sorry,” I said, stamping the ember with my Doc Martens.

My mother laughed and gave my arm a little pinch.

We drove for a while in silence. I gazed out the window, mesmerized. The mountains were vibrant green, plump, and fertile looking. Their tops disappeared into rain clouds, waterfalls streamed down their crevices. In the valley below were flat fields.

“What is that? Rice?” I ventured.

“No, dum-dum,” my mother laughed. “Taro fields.”

I didn’t like her laughing at me.

A few minutes later, my mother pulled off the main road. We drove past a mermaid fountain spitting streams next to a sign announcing, “Welcome to Princeville.”

“Home sweet home!” she declared as we drove the rim of a golf course. Tract homes and condominiums rested on subdivided green lawns. It resembled a retirement resort. I had pictured my mother in some funky island community of aging hippies who ate organic vegetables and washed their clothes with rocks in a river. She pulled into a driveway past a sign that said Sea Star II and parked in the carport next to a small, blue Toyota pickup with a license plate that read, 2MCHFUN. She killed the ignition, but the engine continued coughing and sputtering a while longer before shutting down.

She opened the trunk and took out my duffle. “This-a-way!” she caroled.

Tentatively, I followed her down a cement pathway lined with spiky plants. We stopped at a door with a rainbow sticker arched over the number four and a green Astro-turf welcome mat with a mud-covered, yellow happy face in the middle. Merilee kicked off her sandals. A lizard scurried past my head and up the wall, disappearing into a crack in the stucco. Children’s laughter echoed from somewhere. I felt disoriented. It was a mistake to have gotten stoned. Merilee swung open the unlocked door and disappeared, leaving me on the happy face mat. Then she came back, took my hand, and led me inside.

The living room was dark, the sun outside too high in the sky to reach under the condo’s low eaves. A cottage cheese ceiling flecked with glitter hung not far from our heads. Across the room, a long window framed the golf course and part of a public restroom with the word “Wahini” stenciled on the wall. In the corner of the living room hung a rattan chair swing, and in it sat a little girl.