posted 10-22-2001 03:12 PM            

When she’s flying
she’s floating in cross-legged position.

Her hands flutter
a repeated clasping rapidly
toward palms that aren’t there.

From the ceiling
she calmly looks at the floor
the same way she meditates into teacups –
safe.

When I fly
my arms flap frantically.

I pump to stay afloat in deep air
avoiding power lines and monsters
landing on tops of trees with no branches
safe from harm
but unconcealed.

I am further from my enemies than my loved ones.

I have left something behind.

Ends

When you get to the other side,
promise that you’ll
throw the rope across
from the West coast
Eastward.

When you learn to drive,
promise you’ll drive
to the wrong side
of the tracks
to my house.

When you get to the other side,
promise you’ll throw
the rope across
from where you are:
both ends.

It's not progress when?

You are traffic
in my neighborhood.

Your muffler-free motor
keeps me awake
and now I have allergic reactions.

There's this fear of being struck down, also
but the blaring sirens are in my head to prevent
accidents
and I plug my ears.

They're making me aware
that I am on a bike
and won't keep up.

Narrow Shoulders

Unemployed on Labor Day
so I had it off anyway.

8 days later
fall sinks September’s chill
deep into narrow shoulders.

Through nerve.
Through muscle.
Into chalk-dust bones.

Pour water.
Put out fire.

Thought not
of the nation that morning.

Think all
of a nation in mourning.

Near miss darting eyes

There’s a girl dancing hotly in the living room with her white t-shirt tied up
around her fair belly and screaming navel exposed. Her eyes work over to mine -
eventually. But too much is too bad now, and anyway, I’m distracted. A girl has clumsily kicked a pan placed to catch ceilings leaks down the stairs. It’s the welcome sound - a pin drop in a balloon room.

posted 12-25-2001 10:33 PM            

I walked miles back then, just trudging along in my army boots and torn Levis, just to keep moving so that the schneds wouldn’t hassle me. The schneds were the cops- the gestapo, and they’d get you for loitering if you stopped moving, so I’d just keep moving from place to place, stopping here to see a friend and there to hang out with some of the local skins. Back then the cops weren’t the only ones you had to watch out for- just about everybody had it in for us, and I didn’t really like staying in one place too long if I were alone. We were the MBGG, the Mission Beach Ghetto Geurillas, a name coined in the drunken chaos of a summer night in 81 or so. Anyhow, it was better to hang out in numbers, and even then all of the time guys would try to roust us, but if there were three or four of us usually we could hold our own.
So I just walked and hung out, mostly, back then. I was a sight to see- 150 pounds soaking wet, 5’9 or so. I had hacked my hair off really short with scissors, and you could see my scalp but the hair looked like I had mange. A bunch of us had done that right then, and people didn’t like it- it didn’t sit well with the general public. It was too much like we had a uniform, and any kind of organization among our ranks made the general population feel threatened. It was never really 100% safe for us, anytime, anywhere-but I understand now how most people couldn’t see that side of the coin n back then.
I had walked from Crystal Pier all the way to Ventura place, about five miles I guess. Ventura was the hub of activity in Mission beach, a place were the swabbys came during shore leave to buy meth and herb, maybe some acid or mushrooms. As I approached the intersection of Mission Boulevard and Ventura I saw Wally Gator in the shadow of the derelict roller coaster across the intersection, following the tracks into the tunnel with a couple swabs to do a deal. One hundred feet away was Mike Woods, leaning against a car in the orange glow of the setting sun, smoking a camel and watching Wallys back to make sure nothing foolish happened. He wasn’t trying to be inconspicuous, mainly because he wanted the swabs to be certain that Wally had backup- he just stood there, fiddling with the ring on his middle finger and staring intently at the tunnel where they disappeared. Mike was about twenty, I’d say, and Wally about 18 or 19. Both were from somewhere else, had warrants in LA I think, and both sold drugs on the boardwalk to make a living for at least a couple years. Wally was about 5’5, manic and high strung. He had a really mean attitude and picked on me a lot when I was smaller. Mike was bigger, and infinitely more dangerous. Mike liked to fight, especially when he was drunk, and was good with his fists. Both had their heads shaved and wore the standard dark colored Bermudas, a t-shirt and combat boots- Mike had a goatee and a tattoo of the grim reaper on his left bicep. I turned the corner and headed up to thousand dogs, AKA Aculpulco #37, a little Mexican take out place sandwiched between a liquor store and Hamel’s roller-skate rentals. An area that was suspiciously devoid of small domestic pets, hence the name “Thousand Dogs”. Ronnie Haig was sitting at one of the dirty concrete tables in the parking lot eating a burrito. Ronnie always looked kind of washed out, I assume from the amount of his own product he used. Today he had on a pair of dirty levis and tennis shoes, a t-shirt with a flannel over-shirt despite the oppressive heat His close cropped black hair was sticking up all over, and his cheap plastic dark glasses hid his dilated eyes from the rest of the world. I sat down next to him and gave him a nod. “What’s up.” was all he said. I gestured across the street at Woods with an elbow and he just shrugged, none of his business. Sometimes Woods partnered with Ronnie Haig, sometimes with Wally. Never with Slick, Todd Bolt or Red, the scumbag hippy dealers who had no loyalty to our crew. When we were all younger Red pretty much had his say on the boardwalk around Ventura, but as we got older Woods pushed him out, because while Red was a little crazy, he didn’t want to cross Woods. They fought once and Red came out looking likehe got hit by a truck. We all thought he was going to have a contract put out on Mike or something, but I guess it was all just bullshit, and he never crossed Mike again. That would be a mistake one doesn’t make twice. Ronnie finished up his Burrito just as the two swabbys emerged from the roller-coaster tunnel, and we watched Wally come around from behind the coaster and join up with Woods at the intersection.
Ronnie half ignored the whole transaction, keeping a wary eye out for cops always. You had to watch for cops all of the time around Ventura. They wanted us really bad, but we had such a tight little crew that it was hard for them to get anything on us. Officers Clanton and Mumford had made it a quest to get Wally, but thus far all of the checks and balances of watching each others backs and whistling a warning when cops came around had held off any serious bids for his arrest. When Woods and Wally were stepping off the curb Ronnie turned to me. “Going to Bids place. Wanna tag along?”
“Yup.” I got up and we walked with him down the boulevard, stopping at the liquor store for four 40 ounce Mickey’s Big Mouths and a pack of smokes.
We reached Bid’s front gate at the same time as Woods and Wally did, picking our way across the small yard, avoiding several motorcycles in various stages of disrepair. The weeds had grown up around the edges of the yard, even though most of it was covered with gravel. There were two trashcans of empty beer cans, crushed, about six milk crates and a rusted mechanics toolbox against the front of the house.
“Hey Ronnie- what’s up Tobus?” Mike carried a twelve pack under his left arm and let himself in the front door with his right.
“Nothing much. Just cruising, I guess.” I answered, taking a swig off of my beer. “Is Bid around?”
“He’ll be here in a second- he was just over at Donna Maria’s when we went by.” Donna Maria’s was another Mexican place on the bay-side of Ventura, but with tables inside and a couple video games. Woods popped open a beer and drank half in the first draft. “You guys wanna sit down or what?” He made himself at home, plopping down on the worn sofa and switching on the Scooby Doo.
“Cool.” I didn’t like being in Bids place when Bid wasn’t there, but I guessed that Woods had permission so it didn’t seem like too big a deal. It was actually Bid’s dad’s house, and Bid’s dad was a big time biker meth guy. He was also the principal of a really tough alternative school downtown- a stopping off place where East San Diego gang members go before they graduate to jail. Kind of a finishing school for junior grade criminals and street thugs.
Remembering a tidbit of information I had heard down by the pier I asked, “Did you guys hear about Jack Rose and the Marino brothers?” They nodded no, still watching Scooby and half paying attention. Ronnie was nursing his beer and Wally cutting lines of crank on the glass end table. Woods was looking expectant, waiting to hear what I had to say.
“I guess the Marino brothers house got raided, and when Jack went by to see ‘em he got rousted by the cops and they took him in for some weed.” I continued. The Marinos kept the local street dealers in weed most of the time, and sold some nickel and dime stuff here and there on the side. They were like the wholesaler. Jack was the guy that kept pretty much everyone who sold on the street in dope. He was the supplier. I guess most of the people I knew around Mission Beach, well they were like the retailers. It was a simple setup, though it was more like a fact of life. Supply and demand, and as long as the West Pacific fleet continued to shore leave in San Diego, there would be a demand. There was always a supply.
Woods just shook his head and said “That’s all bullshit- I heard that too.” He let out a sharp laugh and took a swig of his beer. “The Marinos got rousted, but the cops didn’t get anything. Jack is as good as gold- someone like him doesn’t get taken in for weed.” I looked at him puzzled, obviously not totally getting it. “He’s connected- they won’t roust Jack cause he’s got some juice over in Clairmont, someone who backs him up and makes sure he’s not fucked around with. I think it’s the Italians, the Ghios or someone. Louie Descala and Vince Jaclallone were drinking beers with him at that street fair over in Pacific Beach a couple months back. They seemsed pretty tight. If he gets a parking ticket, his guys take care of it and it just disappears.”
“Those guys are heavy.” I paused a minute, weighing the gravity of everything I’d just been told, and what it meant to me at a street level. “Did you get an introduction?” I started to light up a smoke. “Cant smoke in here, worm.” Wally was always diplomatic. I grabbed my beer and got up, giving him the finger and heading over towards the kitchen door that leads to a sideyard to have a smoke. It was getting dark now, and the moths began flitting around the yellow porch light as soon as I turned it on.
“Nah- we talked and all, Jack and I, and those guys were all cool and everything, but we don’t get introductions to guys like that. They don’t exactly like to advertise their presence.” Woods could talk like that sometimes- he was a street thug to the core, but he definitely had payed attention in school, and could be pretty eloquent when he slipped up and forgot to be such a hard case. He’d never want to let on that he’s got potential.

I spotted the police cruiser from a block and a half away- it was pretty conspicuous amidst the gray dinginess of South Missions 40’s style architecture, most of which had been run down since the sixties, through the seventies, and into the eighties without ever getting much of a facelift. I guess people didn’t think there was much reason to dump money into the shacks that littered the alleys of the decaying neighborhood. They were probably right, seeing as how most of them were rentals that went for $1000 a month whether the landlord took care of them or not. Most of them had been trashed by tenants twenty times over, and patched together to just be rentable that many times again.
I paused at a bus stop, looking through the scratched plexiglass back at the cops to see if they were going to head my way. They had stopped to hassle a vagrant in front of the Laundromat, the cruiser double parked on Mission Boulevard, lights flashing as they swaggered over to the sleeping bum and poked at him with their batons.In the dusky gray of the evening the boulevard was surrealistic, with the sky the purple black of near dark tinted by San Diego’s smog. The flashing police lights bounced off of the buildings giving them an eerie strobe like quality, and every little piece of flotsam and garbage in the street cast long shadows across the pavement. Now the cops had the bum standing up as best he could, kind of reeling and tipping from one side to the other as they gave him a three point sobriety test. He was failing miserably as I changed my focus from the cops a hundred yards away to the bus bench shelter 18 inches from my face. Someone had drawn a 48 inch long hypodermic rig with “MBGG” scrawled in the center in poorly scripted gothic letters. “Stupid.” I thought to myself, turning away from the graffiti covered bus bench and retreating down the alley towards the bay side, hoping to avoid a brush with the cops on my way past. I stomped down the alley, my boot-steps echoing off of the walls that hemmed in the edge of the pavement, every building rising three stories to the height limits of the local building codes. The sound of traffic faded behind me as I walked towards the bay, and when I got to the bayside alley all I could hear was the televisions and stereos of the occupants of each dwelling I passed. The yellow street lamps were spaced evenly about every half a block, and as I walked my shadow would shrink and grow, first in front of me and then behind, then back in front, as I walked from light to light. I came to a place where two lights in a row were out and I stopped, sitting on my front stoop to unlace my boots. We had knocked the lights out with rocks one night, my roommate Teddy and I, to give ourselves a little cover as we came and went. There were cats digging around in some trashcans down the street, and I heard them hissing and yowling, assumably over a particularly good score. I took off my boots, walked up the stairs and tried the door, which was locked. I set the boots down and took a seat on the top step to wait for Ted, who would probably be home from work pretty quick.
I took a pack of smokes from my shirt pocket and shook one out. Putting it in my mouth, I closed my eyes tight and lit it with a disposable lighter I had lifted at the liquor store, Opening my eyes again only after the flame had subsided. I took a long draw on the cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke into the night air. The cloud slowly floated upward, and I watched it until it was no longer visible. When I looked down Ted was at the bottom of the stairs, having rolled up silently on his bike.
“Hey- cop’s are down on Mission.” I stood and climbed down the stairs grabbing his backpack so that he could shoulder his bike to carry it upstairs. “Maybe a good time to stay inside.” It was pretty well known that once every couple months the cops would do a sweep on Mission Beach, in an attempt to slow down the drug dealing that went on after swabby payday. Usually a couple people got busted, while everyone else cut and ran as soon as the word got out that there was a sweep on. We usually just stayed inside and drank beer, waiting it out for a couple days. It was easy to outlast the cops, because they rarely stayed at it long there were a lot of places they would rather be than our neighborhood.
Teddy unlocked the door, reaching in and turning on the overhead light before entering. He set his bike in the kitchen area of our small studio apartment and took the backpack from me, setting it amidst the clutter of rolling papers, bongs and other paraphernalia on the dining table. I sat on the edge of my single bed and lit another smoke. I hadn’t eaten all day and I was kind of hungry, but I had spent my last dollar on cigarettes three hours before.
“Wanna beer?” Teddy asked, grinning as he pulled a twelve pack of Schaefer Beer from his backpack. He tossed me one and pulled one out for himself, cracking and killing it in one fell swoop, and tossing the empty in the kitchen garbage across the room. I opened mine and did the same.

“Did you hear about the Marinos?” Ted had pulled a nickel bag out of the front pocket of his Pendleton and was breaking a little up into a rolling paper. “I guess they got raided today and got hauled downtown.” Twisting the paper between his thumb and index fingers of both hands he twisted the joint into a straight little pin.
“Nah- Woods said it was all bullshit- that the cops didn’t find anything.” He finished rolling the joint and licked the seal, pressing it flat against itself, and glanced up at me. “Well one of the waitresses at work lives down the block from the Marinos and she saw them get hauled off in cuffs in a police cruiser.” He grinned and lit the joint, taking a couple small hits to get it going and then a long drag, choking and sneezing a bit as the THC flooded his bloodstream. He held the joint out and I took it, took a hit and looked back up. “Fuckin’ cops.” I said in a strange, raspy voice, letting the smoke roll from my mouth as I inhaled it back in through my nose. Teddy starts busting up at this point, I guess just because we’re getting stoned and I’m doing the smoke through my nose bit. I took another hit and handed the joint back to Ted. “Nother beer?” He tosses one to me. We have to kill the beer quick because the fridge doesn’t work. Neither does the dishwasher. That’s where we keep our dope.

I wake up to a boot in the ribs, and I grab my side, wincing in pain and curl up to a tight ball in my sleeping bag. I sleep on the floor, so I get kicked occasionally when someone gets up in the night. I’m used to it. I keep my eyes closed tight to shut out the stark yellow light of the single overhead fixture presently illuminating our studio apartment. Ted and Phil are up at dawn to head off to work. They both cook at the Firehouse Deli Restaurant and have to be there by five to begin prepping food for breakfast. Ted’s scrounging through the wreckage from last night, desperately seeking the last of the weed that he saves each day to smoke during the ride to work. He finally finds it on the floor under the table, a tightly rolled spliff about two and a half inches long. The most I hear at five am between the two of them is the occasional monosyllable, and they eventually head off for work, shutting the door behind them. As soon as they’re gone I jump into Teds bed. Phil would be pissed if I was in his bed, but Teddy doesn’t care. We’ve run together so long, since we were young kids, really. So plenty of times he was in jail and I used his bed- the logic is you don’t waste a good thing, and sleeping on the floor is pretty harsh really. The alternative of not having a floor to sleep on at all is always there, in the back of my mind, though. Today I curl up in a warm bed and go back to sleep until 8 am.

When I wake up again it’s light out. I lie there in bed and just let my mind wander. I like to do that, just to daydream and see where everything takes me. It’s been a long time since I’ve lived in a really stable environment, but Ted and Phil’s place is about as safe a place as you’re going to find in Mission Beach. I did live with my mom and my sister Edie until I was fifteen. Then when Edie went away to College I was left in the empty house while mom drank wine with the judges and attorneys from superior court. I guess mom and I weren’t really that close, and I eventually found some friends to hang out with and then lived on the streets for a while, finally landing over at Ted’s when I got sent to my dads house. He just called me and said “bullshit- come live with us.” And so off I went. My dad and step mom were having troubles, and didn’t really need me there to compound them, so at just under sixteen I was living on the streets of Mission Beach, running amuck and basically not taking care of myself. I didn’t eat much, drank a lot, smoked herb and did a lot of speed. I don’t know what my parents were doing around that time, but they certainly weren’t looking for me. I had a new family, I guess. The crew I ran with watched out for me, as I was pretty young and pretty spare, and they watched my back and made sure I wasn’t around when the cops came. They knew I was okay- I grew up with a lot of them and they knew I kept my mouth shut and didn’t cause too much trouble, and so I was in. Ted and Phil were about the only people I knew that had real jobs. Everyone else was slinging dope. That was just a fact of life, a product of the environment around there. At the time there was supposedly a war on drugs- “Just Say No”. I would have liked to have seen someone try to show us just what we were supposed to say “Yes” to around there.

posted 01-05-2002 11:42 PM            

Chapter 1

“I’ve always loved you, you know.” He leans back from her some and looks a little downward, smiling a bit with his eyes. “I just never had a face or a name for love until I met you.”
A few seconds pass as they look at each other, satisfied, enjoying a moment where they don’t have to say anything at all- each knows exactly what the other is thinking. “You say such sweet things sometimes.” She laughs just a little, not a ‘funny’ kind of laugh but more the ‘I don’t know exactly what to say’ kind of laugh, a short, soft breath of a laugh. Then quietly, “I’ve never met anyone quite like you.” She leans forward, pressing against him. Her arms wrap around his back, just hanging on, her head resting against his.
“You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs, reaching up and touching her cheek lightly with a work hardened hand. They stand there nearly motionless for the longest time, swaying ever so slightly to the sweet sound of the horn of Miles Davis, emanating from unseen speakers somewhere around the room. A shaft of sunlight floods the room through the old wood double hung windows, casting rectangular shadows on the fir flooring and an old throw rug. A big tabby cat raises it’s head and gives them a long stare, unimpressed- and then lays down and resumes napping against the wall beneath the window.
He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls her gently towards him until his head is resting against her stomach. “I can hear your heart beat.” He laughs quietly. She feels the laughter against her stomach.
“What does it sound like?” She tenses a little, her hands wandering across the taught musculature of his back, exploring by touch through his shirt.
“It’s racing.” He says gently. “Your heart is racing.” She laughs a little again and doesn’t know what to say, and so says nothing at all. “I love the feel of you against me, your heart racing. It’s beautiful.” His voice so quiet it’s barely a whisper, “It’s life. It’s what I live for.” His hands wander down the backs of her legs, and though the room is warm she shivers. He pulls at her gently and she lets herself fall onto the bed next to him.
They lay there for hours watching the afternoon sun slowly descend towards the horizon, through Miles Davis and well into and out of Coplands ‘Appalachian Spring’, and even partly through Tchaikovsky’s ‘A Forest Murmurs’ before the purple light of dusk filters through the window, and he reaches over soundlessly and pulls a knitted blanket from the bedside and covers them both with it. They lay there, the two of them as one, his head resting against a pillow at the headboard, her head laying on his chest, his arms around her, he can feel her lithe figure through the gabardine sweater. She can feel his heart beat, and she thinks to herself that it feels strong, and he feels strong, yet she senses a sweetness about him that reassures her that he’s not too strong to love her, to really understand. And so she can lay her head on his chest and fall fast asleep, warm and safe in his arms.

I wake alone on the bed, staring at the ceiling until my eyes become accustomed to the dark. At first I think she’s left, and my heart sinks a bit for just an instant as I wonder why she’s gone- but then I look up to find her standing across the room in front of the window, clad only in a bed-sheet. I sit on the edge of the bed and listen to the rain for a moment, then join her at the window. Standing behind her I wrap my arms around her and hold our bodies together.
“I love the rain.” I kiss her ear, then her hair. She smells of gardenias. “It makes me want to lock myself up somewhere with some soft music and a beautiful girl.” My voice just a whisper.
“Hmmm….” She purrs contented, eyes closed now, her head next to my own. “Where will you find a girl like that in this downpour?” She laughs quietly, eyes still closed.
“I’ve got the only one I’d ever want right here.” I squeeze her tight, watching the rain drip from the eaves and wondering what she sees, and how I ever got so lucky.
She turns herself to face me, wrapping her arms around and exploring with her hands behind me, laying her head on my shoulder. She laughs a throaty laugh that’s nearly a growl, “You’re an awfully sweet man, you know?” She pulls away a little so she can see my face in the darkness. “A woman could very easily take advantage of you.” She pushes me the few feet towards the bed, and we fall together on it, still entwined, now tangled in the sheet that wraps her.
“Ah-love, you’re just full of surprises.”

I open my eyes in darkness, wondering almost immediately whether it’s morning or night. I look for the digital clock on my nightstand but something’s blocked it. Feeling around I find that I’d tossed my shirt over it earlier, and I uncover the clock and drop the shirt to the floor. The display says 5am. I get up and cross the room, grabbing my running shoes and shorts on the way out. I close the bedroom door most of the way, careful to not make a sound. In the light of the kitchen I wash down a handful of vitamins with some orange juice, inspecting my reflection in the glass of the window. In this light I look old, I think. But then, I suppose I’m my biggest critic anyhow. I slide out the door and sit myself down on the front stoop, pulling on my running shoes and lacing them up tight. I stretch a little, just a token amount really, though my doctor always gets after me to stretch more to prevent injuries. I really should stretch, as I’ve had torn muscles in my shoulder and calf, as well as a serious knee injury- but I’m impatient and stubborn, so I run instead.
I start out at a loping pace, picking my way down the dark street until I hit the smooth pavement of the main drag. The first half mile I always milk it, just because it seems foolish to start out at a sprint on cold muscles. At the half-mile mark I begin to open it up a little, and by the half way turn around my hair is drenched with sweat. I start back without pause, already feeling the beginnings of a side ache but I run that off and push on. By the last mile my lungs are on fire, but I pick it up to a light sprint all the way to the finish back at the end of my street. I walk off the side ache, rubbing the sweat from my hair with my hand. I walk up the narrow sidewalk and onto my front porch, quietly open the door and slip inside.

I look into the bedroom to see if she’s awake but only find a note lying on the pillow where her head would be. It reads “gone to yoga- see you later” and there’s a heart drawn in red crayon. I pick up the note and set it on my writing desk in the living room. I’ll look at it later, maybe when I’m feeling lonely, and it’ll bring me a little comfort.
I stand in the kitchen in just my running shorts and make myself a quick protein shake. I’m indecisive as to whether I should sit down and write my thousand words for the morning or walk down to Lyman’s Bay for a quick surf. I’m determined to get my 1000 words in every morning, and anything above that is elective. But as I ran down the road this morning in the predawn blackness I could hear the surf rumbling on the rocks by the roadside, and I know by the sound that it’s at least head high. The surf wins out, as it usually does, and I grab my board from behind the garage and walk down the narrow street towards the bay just as the dawn sky begins to lighten.
There was a time when I’d be climbing into my pickup about this time of morning in order to get a jump on whatever disasters the day had in store for me. I built houses for years, and while I love the hands on work, dealing with stressed out customers and employees eventually tired me out. I was lucky that something else came along and kept me fed, as a time came when I just couldn’t do it any more, as I always knew it would. I’ve always written as long as I can remember. Ever since I was a kid I spent a lot of time reading, and I’ve always been fascinated at how a good writer can construct a world inside of another person’s head. It’s a little like telepathy. Let me give you an example.

I sit here at my desk and visualize- in my head- a bowl of peaches. The bowl is glass, and there are lines cut into the side and while the view is not perfectly clear, it’s not blocked either. You can see the red and yellow of the peaches in a twisted abstract through the uneven surface of the glass. There are a dozen peaches and they all are perfectly ripe, and if you pick one up it’s firm and fuzzy, and you’ll smell that wonderful peachy smell on your hands the rest of the day.

Now you can hear me read this aloud right now, or you can read it next week, or next month, or a hundred years from now (assuming peaches are still peaches in a hundred years) and still it will conjure up the very same image in your head. I could even die and as long as the words are still on the paper the image will be there for you as soon as you lay eyes upon them. So anyhow, yeah- I’ve always been fascinated by writing, and been in awe of writers who can conjure up whole worlds and civilizations with just letters and punctuation.
Now I’m not a great writer, hardly so. Great writers make clever combinations of simple technique, so that it’s both pleasing to the eye as well as easy on the mind. I struggle along, word by word and sentence by sentence, and then I rewrite and edit and struggle along some more, trying to make everything pretty and neat and simple and still get the message across- most of important of all is the message, to me. I’m an OK writer that’s seen a lot of things in my life, and maybe the way I see things has an appealing slant to it sometimes, and it comes out pretty OK in print. And so I write.

Approaching the Bay from the South I can just make out the white lines of foam peeling across the mouth of the bay. I lay my board down on a picnic table and stretch a little to loosen up my back muscles. A couple cars are already parked in the dirt lot across the street, so I grab my board and pick my way across the rocky trail out to the point.
There is a small rocky beach halfway out to the point that is the customary spot where you get in the water and paddle out. It’s pretty protected from the surf, and it’s accessible. I pull the end of my rubber leash free from my board and attach the Velcro strap around my ankle. Then I resume picking my way across the rocks, wait for the perfect moment when a wave comes rushing up the beach, and I launch myself on it’s backwash and paddle, riding the momentum out towards the surf.
The sky is overcast as I paddle out, and that weird light before the sun comes out combined with the glassy smooth sea makes it difficult to make out the swells until they’re right on you. I paddle a little too far outside in the hopes of picking up a big set wave before the bay becomes crowded with the regular crew of guys that surf here before work. I think better of it and move inside just as a big roller looms up out of the gray dawn and lifts me up, pushing me forward. I stroke twice and hop to my feet near the nose of my board, keeping my center of gravity forward until I drop down the face of the wave, cutting a white foam ellipse into the smooth surface of the water. The force of the wave propels me far in front of the roiling foam and I take advantage of the inertia, turning hard to the left and laying almost horizontal, my head and one hand nearly on the waters surface. As I complete the turn I snap my board up under me and drag my left hand in the face of the wave to stall a bit, holding my position as the wave steepens above the shallow reef in a critical part of the break. As the water stacks up behind me I pull my hand from the water and casually but quickly walk to the nose of the board. As my weight shifts forward the board rockets across the face of the wave. I step back and maneuver the board down the face, and then up off of the top and back down again, again and again, each time generating a little more speed to get me through the critical section where the wave forms a perfect cylinder as it hits the inside reef. I cut back to the top one more time and then hold my position, crouching down and leaning forward, hanging onto the rail of my board with one hand and leaning into the face of the wave. The lip of the peeling wave pitches out over my head and for a few brief seconds I’m inside of the breaking cylinder. A hollow roar is all I hear, and my skin takes on a greenish cast in the light of the water all around me. Then as quickly as it began, the force of the waves energy propels me out of the tube and onto the shoulder of the wave, where I stand erect and lean a bit back, kicking my board over and down the back of the spent breaker. I lay down and paddle back out to the point in hopes of getting one more before the crowd shows up, but by now there’s people already paddling out, and so I catch a couple more and call it a morning, heading for home dripping wet, thinking of her and a hot shower.

I see her at the bedroom window as I walk across the lawn in front of my house. She’s scrutinizing a piece of clothing in the light of the window. She keeps a lot of clothes at my house- just things that have ended up there over time- and she’s commandeered a lot of my bedroom closet as well as a couple of dresser drawers. I don’t mind, though- not even a little really. I’m just a lot happier with the familiar feminine trappings of a woman around the house, just the girlish things and smells, perfume and tea and spice, incense and gardenias. She holds the sweater up to the light of the window, peering at it closely as if for a spot or a loose yarn. She spots me approaching and flashes her beautiful smile at me, and all of the sudden I’m just glad to be alive. I touch my index finger lightly to my lips and blow her a kiss, nothing dramatic but just a quick one. She smiles again and blows one back. I love this part about love- the part where nothing’s too silly, nothing gets in the way of telling the one you love that you adore her, that you think the world of her, that she’s someone special and important and makes your world one worth living in. I give her a quick wink and head back behind the garage to spray down my board and to hang it up.
The teapot’s whistling as I enter the kitchen, the windows in the French door rattling as I close it behind me. I reach to turn off the flame under the teapot just as she’s rushing in to do the same, and there’s a moment where we both pause mid action to see what the other will do. I turn off the pot and gently take her arm, pulling her towards me. I wrap my arms around her tiny waist and she hangs on with her arms around my neck, and her feet leave the floor for a couple seconds as we just soak each other up.
“How was yoga?” I ask her without letting go even a little.
“Yoga was tough…” She hangs there on my neck, her head on my shoulder. She leans back so she can see my face and kisses me on the tip of my nose. “But I liked it. How was your surf?”
I pause a moment, distracted by her delicate features and the way she looks waiting there patiently for me to answer. “My surf was good. But I cut it short because I began to miss your company.”
“awww…” She kisses me again on the cheek, and I realize once again that I fall in love with her over and over, at every little bit of grace and beauty, the effeminate mannerisms and the cute way she cares for me even though I’m a little rough around the edges. She leans back again, serious this time-and looks me in the eye. “Did you get your writing done?”
I look at the ceiling and for just the briefest second mentally I’m a kid again in the principals office, kicking at the floor with the toe of my sneaker. “Nah-ummm…I mean- yeah- I was going to do it later.”
“Ohhhh….You know we were going to Hilo this morning. You are so bad!” I try to stifle it, but then just burst out laughing- mostly because she takes my work more seriously than I do, and because she’s pretty outstanding when she’s mad, and because I’ll face just about anything but if she’s angry with me I’m humbled.
“I’ll really quick work on it and get it done, and then we’ll get out of here. How’s that?” I lean forward and kiss her on the nose, wrapping her up in my arms and pulling her close.
She weakens under my efforts. “Okay…” She says a little tentatively. “But don’t just throw something on there to get your thousand words. It has to be great.” She peels herself away and begins to pour her tea. “Oh- and don’t let me forget- I want to stop at the farmers market over in Hilo. Lychee berries- they’re in season right now.”

The motor of my MGB convertible purrs quietly as we motor along the Hamakua Coast. I’m in Jeans and a dress shirt, she’s wearing yellow flowered sundress that wraps her lithe figure and leaves me aching to be alone with her somewhere quiet. I’m driving, watching the gauges and listening to Dave Brubeck on the stereo; she’s deep in thought working on her electronic organizer.
The MG was one of the few things I kept after my divorce. I didn’t keep much- just my guitar, a couple surfboards and my MG- because I was ready to turn the page and begin a totally new chapter of my life. It was a long and arduous transition up to the break up- the both of us hesitant to admit what we both already knew- but once I said it out loud it took the pressure off, and really it was all details after that.
My ex wife was a real mess for years and years, and though I tried to keep her happy, it just couldn’t happen in the relationship we had. We’d married young, without fully developing emotionally, and then we became so dependant upon each other that everything about our individual growth was just stifled and oppressed. In the end, we agreed that it just couldn’t be right, that we needed to part friends before we made enemies of each other. My beautiful daughter (Veronica) stayed with her mom- there was really no decision to be made there- and I got a place nearby where I could stop in and visit on a regular basis. Over time the visits became less frequent, and Veronica and I would go to dinner on Thursday night, and maybe take in a movie or go shop. About once a month we’d spend a weekend together, either here at home, in Hilo or Oahu. It wasn’t the perfect arrangement, but we did the best we could.
After the split my now ex-wife went back to school. She got a degree in archeology, and stayed in the house I built for her. Veronica’s almost out of school now, and going off to college. I make every effort to be there at all of her important functions- awards, plays, and of course there’s graduation. I suppose after she graduates maybe her mom will sell the old house and move away. I don’t really know- we don’t communicate that much anymore. I’m not all that attached to the house, and it might be a welcome relief to get some distance between us, as I feel more than a little obligation to watch over her and keep the wolves from her door.
I met Kim a year and a half after the divorce. I’d warned her that I’ve been through a tough time, and that maybe I’m a little old and worn out for her. She seemed unimpressed with my claim, pretty non-plussed- and told me that she’d draw her own conclusion. Soon we were spending days together in the sweetest relationship, and I was amazed at just how tender it could be, as I’d never been with someone like Kim. We were great together, and everything seemed new and fantastic, and I swore I wouldn’t let it get old. I was careful to let her take her lead, and we had our time alone and still a lot of time together. I just didn’t want to become so dependant again and have it become tired and worn thin, frayed at the edges.

After the divorce I worked diligently to make ends meet. It was a new and bigger demand to carry two households- one was tough enough- but I felt it was worth it in order for everyone to be OK. I was still building at that time, and that paid the bills, but somehow I needed to really get ahead. So I bought myself a little cottage and began putting a little money into it in improvements. I’d get up in the morning and get things rolling at work- at this point in time I had put my writing on the back burner because I thought it was just a hobby. I’d work all day on my projects and then come home at five and work until ten on my place. Pretty soon the little cottage was refurbished with a few big improvements- a new bathroom and kitchen, landscaping- and so I put it up for sale and made a tidy profit on the transaction. After that I was on the prowl for fixer-uppers, and I’d buy them and live in them while I restored them. It was great for me to be busy all of the time, and it kept my mind off of my troubles.
Before the divorce I was very self-conscious about what I wrote, as there was a lot of writing I was doing that just bared my soul. A lot of stuff I wrote never was read by anyone but a select few people. Eventually after working at my breakneck pace for nearly a year and a half I bought one house and kept it, and a second to remodel. It was much easier on me to live in a finished home and work in the empty one. I also took a little money every month and put together a small investment portfolio that allowed me a little room to breath, and I began taking less big construction jobs and instead worked on my remodels on my own most of the time. Eventually I started writing again, and found that now that the divorce was a thing of the past, it was really easy to write freely.
I had a lot of weight on my shoulders at this time, because I still felt responsible in a lot of ways for the deterioration of the relationship between Lisa and I. I knew for a long time that the relationship wasn’t any good, but I just kept on because I didn’t know what else to do. It wasn’t like we were having these huge battles all of the time- more like lots of little skirmishes. Things were tense for me, and I knew I wasn’t really happy- but I kept on because it was “The Right Thing”, and I kept myself fooled for years and years, just maintaining a delicate façade where everything was OK, until one day the weight of it all just became too much for me too carry and it all came crashing in on me. That was a time of introspection, where I had to rediscover a lot of things about myself; what I really wanted, what made me happy, where I was going in life. I also discovered things about myself that I had never known before, and I found that the more I thought about it, the more I learned about myself and who I was. When I was first married I was emotionally just a kid, and now at 36 I was finally emotionally developed enough to understand the feelings in my heart, the cravings and desires. I wanted to have a relationship that was tender and loving without all of the controversy and tension I had thus far experienced.
This was a time that I worried a lot about Veronica, and the fact that she was going through a tough time of her life also, and I wasn’t right there with her every evening after work, and I wasn’t there to see her off to school every morning. It’s true that even when I was there living with her she still confided in her mom twenty times as much as she’d ever confide in me, and although I tried to be there a lot of the time I was at work before she got up, and working at my desk a lot of the evening. She’s a tough and reticent little girl, and she’s a lot like her dad in that she’ll try and take care of her stuff on her own at great personal expense before she’ll ever ask someone for help. This is a great trait as well as a tough legacy and a liability. It’s great to be able to be the one that holds things together, the person that makes things OK- but when you really need help, sometimes it’s difficult to know that until it’s way past due.
Eventually time won out and I just became tired of having all of the guilt about any of it. In time I just accepted that whatever it was, that was just what it was- there’s no changing the past, but the future holds endless possibilities, so I just moved on to the future. Veronica seemed to be pretty OK- I mean, I’m sure the divorce impacted her but she also just moved on and got on with her life. Lisa- I don’t know how Lisa is now. She was Ok before I moved out, and she was seeing a therapist for a while. But after I moved out she went downhill- I think possibly she was expecting me to never actually go through with it- and she stopped seeing her therapist. She said that she didn’t like him, and I asked her “Well maybe you could find one you do like?” and she said “Yeah- maybe.” And that was pretty much the end of it. And so now I’ve moved on and she’s still back in that dark period that I left behind, brooding and hanging onto her phobias and emotional baggage like a security blanket. I think she was just scared of what she’d find if she really dug into her problems. That was always the rub between us- she was too afraid to really live life, and I was terrified that somehow I wouldn’t.

So there we were driving along the Hamakua Coast in the MG- me in topsiders, jeans and a dress shirt- Kim in that yellow flowered sundress that makes me crazy every time I lay eyes on her. We have to stop and let the engine cool, so I pull off at Laupahoehoe and we wind our way down the narrow road until we hit sea level. I pull up in front of the Jodo Mission and shut off the engine. The silence is deafening after an hour of riding in the open car. I open my door and walk around and get Kims, taking her hand and pulling her out of the car and up to me. I hold her against me for a second and we kiss. “Did I ever tell you that you’re really beautiful?” I look down at her, almost smiling but not quite.
“Maybe once.” She smiles back at me, and I let her go and reach into the back behind the seat for a lunch we’d packed, and we walk hand in hand the rest of the way down the road to the beach. We ate lunch on a picnic table underneath the ironwood trees, and after we were done we threw scraps of bread to the finches and cardinals.
I love the drive into Hilo, if not just for the scenery alone then for the great roads that wind in and out of the valleys and hills, and I love to race the little sports car around the turns. When it’s rainy it isn’t really safe to drive the MG at all, because it gets a little squirrelly in the turns- but today is sunny and dry, and we race along in the winter sun. Kim has her auburn hair up in a yellow scarf so that the wind doesn’t make a complete mess of it, and the yellow makes her hair look radiant. She’s wearing those extra mod sunglasses- the ones with the thick square frames that are really dark- and she looks to me like a movie star from the fifties, maybe Lauren Bacall.
The Hilo Bay front part of downtown is really neat, just a lot of old buildings from the thirties and forties that have been restored, and a lot of curio shops and antiques, surf shops and restaurants. We got lucky and found a parking place in the first block, a lucky thing on a weekday but today being Saturday it’s nearly impossible to imagine the odds. We put the top up on the little car- just in case it rains- and we mostly window shop, walking hand in hand. We stop in front of a gallery and I slide my arm around her waist as we stand there peering through the glass at the pictures inside. There are three that are pen and watercolor, a farmhouse from different angles. They’re mostly white with a pale blue sky. The artist is John Crane, and I like his stuff. I’d like to have these prints but they’re $1400 a piece. There’s another one, by another artist, of a grassy knoll with a gnarled tree trunk, maybe burnt by lightening. You can just see a little of a sand beach and some ocean at the edge of the picture, and I like the way it alludes to more but you just have to imagine. We talk a bit about the pictures, and which ones we like. Kim likes the one with two children sitting on a bench with their backs facing us, leaning against each other. I like it also, but I like the Cranes more. Kim lays her head on my shoulder and pulls me closer with her hand in the back pocket of my jeans. I kiss her hair on the top of her head. Her hair smells of gardenias. “I love you, you know.” I tell her softly without looking away from the window.
“Mmmm…I love you more than words.” She leans against me, eyes closed, resting. “Let’s stay here tonight, and go home in the morning.” She opens her eyes and tilts her head up so that she can see my face. “If we go home today we only have a couple hours to mess around, and I’d like to mess around more than that.” I give her a squeeze and smile at the idea of just how we could mess around, given time.
“I’d like to mess around some too.” I kiss her head, reaching into my pocket for my cell phone. “I’ll see if we can’t get reservations at the Nani Loa.” The Nani Loa is our usual spot. It’s on the bay front at Coconut Island, right where the Wailuku River empties into Hilo Bay. In the Lobby on weekends a local Hawaiian man plays jazz ballads on a baby grand piano, barefoot. I fell in love with the place the first time I stayed there, and on one rainy day while Kim was taking a nap I spent the whole afternoon listening to the guy play Bill Evans and I wrote a little, just kind of camped out in the overstuffed sofas in the lounge. Kim came looking for me around four and we sat there together watching the rain drip from the eaves, listening to soft jazz ballads and loving each other. The piano player stopped playing turned to us. “I’m gonna take a smoke break- I’ll be right back.” As he passes close by us he slows, looks down at us together, winks and sings “I never seen two people so in love. Mmm-mm.” He laughed a little as he walked by and on through the lobby, singing something to himself.

We pull into the parking lot of the Nani Loa Hotel and since we don’t have any luggage we just walk to the lobby and check in. Kim blushes and smiles a bit when the woman behind the counter calls her Mrs. Gibson. We get our keys and I take Kim’s arm and guide her over past the huge glass windows fronting Hilo Bay. “This way, Mrs. Gibson.” I lean over and kiss her on the cheek, then again on the neck. We head for the elevator.
“Mr. Gibson, you are certainly a test sometimes.” She squeezes my hand and we enter the empty elevator and head for the 12th floor. In the elevator I pull her to me and hold her just a little, and then the bell rings and the door opens and we’re caught. A couple gets on, smiling at us as we untangle ourselves from each other.

There’s a restaurant in the downstairs of the Nani Loa that’s a little above mediocre, but the walk down Banyan drive with all of the banyan trees hanging around you like a big green tunnel makes it worth the stay. We’d spent the balance of the afternoon napping in our room. Rested and restless we decided to take a walk down by the water, and maybe up Banyan drive a ways before dinner.
Kim wants to get something to wear so we stop at a shop in the lobby. She picks out jeans and a blouse, and I get another button up dress shirt. We have our purchases sent up to the room and continue on our walk, along the waters edge. The ocean is calm inside the bay, and the sound of the water lapping on the shore is both soothing and beautiful. There’s a group of kids out on coconut Island, playing some free form game of chase or tag or something, and there’s a pair of little local kids- a boy and a girl, about five years old- chasing birds. A group of parents are off in the distance, sitting around a picnic table talking and laughing, keeping half an eye on the kids. Kim watches the two small children with wonder in her eyes, loving them from afar as they laugh and play. Kim loves children, and has hinted that she’d like to have a family someday. Me, I love kids, but I just don’t know now. It almost would seem like I was out setting up franchises, building a family here and then moving on to build another one there. I think I’d love to have more kids, but honestly I’m not sure, and don’t really know how I feel about it. It’s a big subject, and not one to be taken lightly.

The two children run up to a dozen or so birds, arms in the air, giggling. The birds fly up suddenly and land again thirty feet away, inducing joyous laughter from the pair of kids. This continues on several times as we pass, until one of the parents calls them back and we can hear their laughter behind us as we walk away. “Those kids are adorable.” Kim is misty eyed whenever kids are involved, and I put my arm around her and pull her to me. “The little girl was so cute- she was just beautiful. And the boy was such a little gentleman.” She leans against me as we meander along and talk, arms around each other, no particular place to go.
“Hmmm…You’d be a great mom, I think.” I say, instantly wondering if I should regret saying it, if I should be cautious, if I’ve just started something that I maybe wont want to finish, if I’ve just crossed into dangerous territory.
“Do you think so?” She looks up at me, sincerity and maybe a little hope in her eyes.
“Yeah, I think so.” I turn to face her and pull her to me, holding her close against me. “I think you’re great. I think you’re sweet and kind hearted and warm and beautiful.” I lean forward and kiss her on the forehead. “And I love you.” She smiles at the shower of affection, laying her head against my shoulder. “You’d be a great mom.”
We stand there in the receding daylight, two lovers not wanting the day to end, not wanting the world to change, just content, satisfied in each others arms.
“How about some dinner?” We hang onto each other a second longer and then break free and begin walking back towards the hotel. “I’m so hungry I think I’ll faint.”
She squeezes my hand and I squeeze hers back. “Me too.” She says absentminded, her thoughts a million miles away.

It’s always amazed me how girlish she is when we’re alone and just out messing around. When I first met her I never would have predicted that it’d ever be the way it is. We first met at a business dinner. I’d been invited by well meaning friends in the construction and real estate development industry, because they thought I was alone and that’d be a good thing for me. The truth of the matter is I never fit in around the construction crowd even a little bit- it’s just a funny thing that I’m pretty gifted in the trades, because I really am the odd one of the lot.
The real estate and development crowd really loses me completely, and I was like an alien wandering around this big pretentious event trying to smile and be civil, find the door and be on my way. Somehow I got sort of trapped in a corner in a group of people I knew vaguely, and I end up next to this thin brunette nearly my height who is deep in discussion with a couple realtors about the legalities of something I didn’t much pay attention to. She’s wearing this fantastic black party dress that left her shoulders bare and she looked fantastic. Her auburn hair has this red sheen in this particular light, and it just looks great against the fair skin of her bare shoulders. But the thing that really left an impression was that while she looked fantastic, she also just really seemed to know her stuff when it came to the finer points of the law related to real estate development. I really have never been that excited about that end of the trades, and have dealt with it as little as possible, but I found myself thinking that I’d be a lot more interested if the people I dealt with were anything like this brunette paralegal in front of me tonight. As I had to drive I was just drinking Perrier, and throughout the evening People got tipsy and I became bored of the conversation. While watching this lovely brunette and hoping that maybe she’d notice me had kept me around a little longer than I had planned, it was now nearing the time for me to fade into the crowd and take my leave.
As I started to edge my way out of the crowd I was surprised and pleased to have her break away also, and she smiled at me and said that she’d let me lead the way if I was heading for the door. We looked at the crowd between ourselves and the door and laughed, and we started weaving our way through. Somewhere along the line she tripped over a rug and grabbed my arm to steady herself, and I turned and took her arm for a moment until I was sure she was OK. We looked at each other and it was just all there between us, the stuff of fairytales and love stories.
Outside the front door we said goodnight and parted company, and I was just walking away thinking that maybe I should ask her out, but maybe not. She seemed pretty businesslike, and I’m really a pretty regular guy, a tradesman and a carpenter, for the most part. I could hear her footsteps as her heels clicked on the pavement, and I thought to myself “Gibson, you’d have to be stupid not to try.” And so I turned and called over to her, across the street from my car to hers, no more than thirty feet. “Umm.. hey- excuse me.” I was tongue tied of course, and fumbling fast for a recovery. “Umm…I’m sorry- I didn’t get your name.” I’m kicking myself at this point because I’m sure I sound as awkward as I feel.
She laughs and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve heard in a long time. “My name’s Kim- Kim Peters.” I walk towards her, closing the distance between us.
“I’m Toby Gibson.” We meet in the middle of the street and she puts out her hand and I take it. It’s soft and delicate, and I really like the feel of it in my own rough hand. “Say- I hope this isn’t too forward, but I’m not really that great at this stuff.” I smile at her, and she’s smiling back, waiting. “You wouldn’t want to go to dinner one night, maybe?”
She laughs that beautiful laugh again. “You know, I think maybe I would.” We swap numbers and we’re standing there, now by her car, and I ask if she wouldn’t maybe want to go get coffee or something in town, and before I know it we end up downtown at a little coffee and wine place, and we talk for hours, just going on and on and it’s like we just mesh perfectly, she and I. We’d had to park way at one end of town and walk a ways, so after we were through I walked with her back to her car, and we walked along the sea wall fronting Kailua bay, where the ocean beats against the shore, and we laughed as we had to scramble a little to avoid the spray.
When we finally got to her car I waited until she had her door open and she turns to me and says “Well- this is it.”
I smile back at her and say “Yeah- well- this is it.” And we’re both standing there and I’m kind of grasping for the appropriate. “I’d like to see you again.” I’m by her car door and she’s sitting in the car, looking gorgeous. “Would that be alright with you?”
She flashes me that beautiful smile. “I’d like that.” And the rest is pretty much history.

We began seeing each other after work, and then she came over on the weekend and we spent a day at the beach, then the evening at my house. I went up to her house a couple times, but I think we both liked my house because it’s in town and close to the beach, and so we just spent a lot of time together all over, out and about, at my house- anywhere we could be together. Sometimes she’ll get busy with work and we wont see each other for two or three days, occasionally as much as a week. On those times I’ll hold out as long as I can and then call her just to hear her beautiful voice, and when we finally see each other again we just come back together like we’ve been apart forever, and it’s just a wonderful feeling.
Sometimes we spend a lot of time together, especially on the weekends. During the week sometimes she is at her house, and we phone each other and miss each other. But sometimes she gets busy with work, and I understand. But since we met she doesn’t go up to her place much. It’s up on the hill, and there’s a rented flat downstairs. She lives in the loft above. It has polished concrete floors and lots of windows, open beam ceilings and an open floor plan. She had an old J type jaguar, but has garaged it and now she drives a Saab.
Kim is also pretty independent. I was really surprised when I met her that she was single, mostly because she’s beautiful and witty and sexy and smart, and because she’s successful and in my opinion a really fantastic woman. After I got to know her I figured out that she was just looking for the same things I was- that legend, myth or fable- the greatest rainbow I’ve ever chased- what the poets call True Love. She was just waiting for the real thing, and it’s hard to wait for something and have to guess at what it feels like, because you’ve never felt it before. There had been a few false starts, I think- back in her past. This may have made her more cautious than realistic. I never could imagine what she saw in me, quite a few years her senior and really just a guy that has been winging it all of his life, just doing my best but with no definite future I could ever promise her for sure. But there we were, and thus far here we are.

We had run into friends at a restaurant on the bay front, and we all shared a table, eating fish and shrimp and catching up on what’s new and what’s been happening on the Hilo side. We all had a couple beers and Kim and I left the restaurant in high spirits. She played a bit, grabbing at me from behind, and I had to laugh at how she can sometimes be so businesslike and serious one minute and girlish the next. We walked along towards the parking lot as if we had no destination at all, holding hands and talking and window shopping, loving each other a bit more than anyone ever had a right to.
As we approached the parking lot I scanned the area, an old habit from another time and place that I never really shook. Dusk is approaching and there are lots of shadows, and a lot of people hanging out around the rear entrance to Grenda’s, a bar at the west end of the parking lot. We came up on our car from down the hill to find there were a group of young local kids loitering around it.
“Excuse me guys.” I said cheerfully, still cautious but always giving people the benefit of the doubt. Grenda’s is a hang out for the street fighters, young brawlers out to have a good time and throw down a little. Still I never like to jump to conclusions, and hoped that these guys were just hanging around waiting to go inside.
I pulled the keys from my pocket and unlocked her door, holding it open while she got in. The kids are still leaning against the back of the car. I do a quick survey of the situation- a quick inventory- two pretty small ones against the Acura next to us-gangy hip-hop guys, all ski caps and shaved heads, baggy pants and gold chains. There are two more maybe a little leaner than myself leaning against the back of the car. Two teenage girls are with them- one girl giggles when one of the two at the back of my car looks at me and mutters something rude. I walk around the front of the car and take off my button up shirt, throwing it behind the drivers seat. I’m wearing a white tank top undershirt, and I figure I don’t want to mess up my button up if something bad happens. I open my driver’s side door and look back at the guys. “Hey guys- I hate to bother you, but we’ve gotta get out of here.” I smile that stupid smile I use when I want you to think I’m easy. They all look over at me unimpressed. I can see that they’re a little keyed up- teen guys with girls to impress, maybe a little beer or cocaine for catalyst. A fight was possible- trouble probable. The largest of the guys gives me the nod and says something under his breath, and they all laugh.
I take a deep breath and laugh to myself, inside- on the outside I’m grim faced with just the slightest smile at the corners of my eyes and mouth, “You know- I’m really not looking for any trouble.” I look at the sky for a two count, considering. “But you guys really need to move so I can get out.” The big one pushes himself off of the car and turns to face me, and I think to myself, ‘Okay- here it is. I’ll take the biggest one first and the rest will lose their heart and leave grumbling.’
The one facing me now- the bravest of the lot, I suppose- puts his hands out, palms up, as if asking me if I want something, and to come and try taking it. He mumbles something about me telling him what to do, and maybe he should call his crew. I laughed out loud because he’s mumbling unintelligible rhymes at me, like some kind of gangster rap star. I look at the sky again, smiling, wondering if god is testing me. “Listen up esse.” I smile at him with a toothy smile that I save for grim occasions when I want my real teeth to show. “I’ll give you what you’re begging for, but I gotta tell you- I hope you’re not gonna be all pissed off when we get through, because I’m sure as hell not.” I laugh and look him right in the eye, “Shit, Esse- this is what I do for fun.” I stand my ground, hands at my side, grinning, watching them and waiting. The big kid stands his own ground a long fifteen seconds, looking me in the eye- serious, trying to read me. He shrugs, laughing a little too loud and cussing me, he grabs his jacket off of the back of my car and turns his back to me. The crew falls in behind him as they walk away grumbling, bantering back and forth in that singsong smack pidgen they talk over on the Hilo bay-front, and they shuffled off to look for an easier mark.
I hop in the car and fire the ignition. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that side of you.” Kim gazes at me thoughtfully, I think a little intrigued. “Care to fill me in?”
“Yeah, ummm… things come up sometimes.” I’m a little embarrassed that I let her see me like that, but I figure what the hell- she knows everything else about me, but the bad old days are just that, and I left that kid stuff far behind me a long time ago. I back the car out of the parking place and sit for a second, idling. “I guess you could say I have a bit of a past.” She’s still staring at me, thoughtful, waiting- not quite smiling but I can feel her interest without even turning my head to look.
“Well?” She slaps me playfully on the arm, laughing a little. “Are you going to tell me about it?” Now I know I have her hooked. I look off at the ocean. The sky is beautiful, fading to purple after the setting sun. I smile.
“Maybe some other time.” I gun the engine and spin the tires a bit before they get any traction, and we shoot out of the parking lot and onto the Hilo Bay front Drive. The tires chirp between first and second, and again between second and third. The wind feels fantastic on my face, and it really is great to be alive.
“You are so bad!” She laughs and slaps me again, and I laugh out loud and put my hand on her leg and give it a squeeze.

That night we’re closer than we’d ever been, though I can’t pinpoint why. Could be the excitement, the confrontation in the parking lot- could be us watching the kids, and Kim’s affinity to them. Whatever it was, I guess it really doesn’t matter why- just the fact that we were terribly in love was enough for either of us, and the how and why of it was overshadowed by the who, the where and the here and now of it. We were living so in the present that Sunday evening- there was nothing but she and I, for just a while, and the rest of the world was inconsequential as we held each other close and swayed slowly, dancing, a gentle Hawaiian breeze blowing off of the Pacific and mussing her hair slightly. We were alone by the pool, only the dim lights of the pool and the moon and stars illuminating the two of us together. People would walk by, coming out of the darkness and then see us and veer off, not wanting to intrude, I think, for there was certainly an electricity emanating off of us that was almost tangible, the feelings of intimacy between us were so powerful. We talked quietly or not at all, soft tender words between us under the sound of the wind through the leaves of the coconut trees, a Jazz band in the lounge playing Mile’s Davis covers.
We danced together, barely moving at all, just holding each other and swaying gently until the bar closed and the band went home, and then we even danced a little more to the sound of our two hearts beating, because neither one of us could bear to stop. Some time in the early morning I took her hand and she mine and we walked silently into the hotel together, and onto the elevator and up to our room, stopping many times to hold each other and love each other and just soak each other up. And eventually we slept, and when we did we were together still, me laying on my back with my head on a pillow, my arms around her laying with her head on my chest, and we slept soundly until well after daylight, and awoke to find we were still together, just laying there smiling, loving each other still.

I have this wonderful/terrible knack for dreaming the right dreams at the wrong time. Such dreams are difficult because they seem to most to be inappropriate- but they’re wonderful in their promise.

posted 01-23-2002 10:28 AM            

Chapter 2

I wake from a deep sleep to the sound of the phone ringing, and no matter how I try to block it out of my consciousness it rings on and on incessantly until I finally resign myself to waking. Even as I reach for the receiver I’m checking the clock in a somewhat futile effort to fathom the time and place and day. The clock says 4:15, and daylight streams through my bedroom window.
I mumble out a groggy “Hullo?” now remembering that it’s Sunday afternoon, and I’d surfed all morning- a Southwest swell originating somewhere down by the Aleutians. I’d intended to lie down for just a minute to rest my eyes before sitting up to my desk to perform my daily writing ritual. Apparently I haven’t done it yet.
“Hey gorgeous.” Kim’s voice on the other end, silky smooth- and I instantly panicked just a mite, thinking I’d somehow gotten my times and dates mixed up and forgotten to pick her up from the airport. “Do you miss me?” There’s mischief in her voice. I surmise from her tone that she’s still in Oahu, and my dates and times are probably still pretty OK.
“Yeah- I always miss you, even when you’re here.” I rest my head on my pillow, eyes closed to block out the afternoon sunlight, the moment of panic past. “Where are you?”
“Stuck in a hotel room in Honolulu.” A quick switch from mischief to exasperation. “I thought we might get out of here tonight but it looks like I’m here until at least noon tomorrow.” She lets out a long sigh. “If we got out of here early I really wanted to surprise you- but there was just no way.” There’s a long pause, and then her voice is soft again. “I miss you a lot.”
“Ahh, love- I always miss you.” I smile, my eyes still closed. I get a lot of personal satisfaction from making her feel good, though I can’t really explain that, except to say that I’ve become a bit soft over the years. “I could catch the last flight out and you could pick me up at the airport- we could spend the weekend together- get a hotel room and go shopping or something.”
Her laughter then, quiet and soft- a beautiful sound that brings me a lot of happiness. “It’s a nice thought- you’re a sweet man and I love you.” I can hear her take a deep breath, as if she’s composing herself. “I will be home tomorrow- hopefully around noon. We’ve got some catching up to do.”
“Um-hm.” I reply, eyes closed again, head back on my pillow. “It’s been a little too long, I think.”
“I’ve been gone less than a week.” She laughs at me. “You’re a sweetheart. I’ll call you before I leave for the airport, just to let you know I’m on my way.” I lay there wishing she was beside me, frustrated with the miles and the hours between us. I can feel her warm smile through the phone. “You won’t forget me will you?”
“Ahhh- you know that’ll never happen. Not ever.” I’m still a little sleepy and I’ve got the phone resting on the pillow against my ear. “Kim…I love you, you know.”
“Yeah…I do know.” Her voice is soft and beautiful, just my favorite kind of music. “I love you too, you big softy.” Just the sound of her voice alone makes me want her more. “Hey lover-I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Hmmm…I’ll be waiting for you when you get here.” I don’t hear a click as she sets the receiver into its cradle, and I do the same. I lay there on my bed, the sun making me sweat as it makes it’s decent down beyond the Pacific.

Sitting up on the edge of the bed I think about Kim, and how much I miss her. I seem to miss her more and more these days. We used to spend time apart and I’d just cruise, surfing and writing and doing all kinds of alone stuff. I’ve always enjoyed my alone time, but lately it seems that I miss her sooner each time she’s away, and each time she returns we love each other more fiercely, just never able to get enough of each other. I suppose that makes it worth the time away from each other, just because we get to have that great feeling again and again- but still, sometimes I wake to find the spot beside me empty and I lay there in the darkness wishing I could reach out and feel her next to me, hear her breathing.
I shake my head at what kind of man I’ve become- inside I’m just laughing at myself. I pull on a red pair of trunks and head out the kitchen door to the garage, where I grab a board off of the rack there. I walk down the road towards Lyman’s Bay in the receding daylight, hoping there’ll be a little surf. I get there to find ten guys scattered across the lineup, and not much surf to speak of. I pick my way out onto an outcropping of lava, scrutinizing the water before tossing my board ahead of me and diving in, just clear of the rocks. I pull myself up onto my board and paddle across the bay, North- away from the Lyman’s Bay lineup and up the coast towards Banyans. I figure it’s too nice an afternoon to sit inside, so I just go for a long paddle, stretching out my back and shoulders a little. As I paddle I think about Kim again, just the way she looks when she thinks no one is around, and how I like to sneak up behind her and whisper that I love her, wrapping my arms around her, holding her while I kiss her neck and face and hair.
There’s just so much love between us it become sort of redundant at times, but still we just bask in it. It’s a great feeling, being in love- indescribable- and there’s nothing quite like it. There’s nothing even close. I love making her happy, and telling her that she’s beautiful, and sexy, and sweet- and a lot of other things I love about her that are completely true.
Back when I was in my first marriage, it wasn’t like that at all- and I never could figure out what was missing. My wife was really self-conscious and never could accept that kind of behavior as something normal- it was always forced, never spontaneous- and she’d make a sort of a joke out of it, and that would just take all of the sincerity and sweetness right out of the moment leaving this awkward space where we’d both be thinking “Was that right?” It never really was, and I think over time we both figured that out on our own.

There was a time not long before my divorce when I fell terribly in love with a very good friend. She was a beautiful and sensitive girl- dark haired and small, Irish-Catholic, kind and gentle and sweet. To this day I don’t know exactly how it happened, or even exactly what did happen- but for a time we were two of the sweetest lovers that the world ever laid eyes on.
We would meet for lunch up in the mountains by her work, and sometimes hold hands and walk, window shopping or just talking about nothing, me trying to steer the conversation to “us” and telling her how much I love her- she trying to steer the conversation the other way. I held her close to me a few times, and each time I felt as if it should last forever. She kissed me on the cheek a couple times, and once in a weak moment she told me that she loved me. Otherwise that was about it, except for months and months of anguish and me nursing a terribly broken heart.
We met and talked, and we chatted on the phone three and four and five times a day, for four or five months, I guess- maybe a bit more. The whole time she told me it could never be, but all the while we kept talking and meeting for lunch, holding hands and spending time together- and I never did figure that one out. Then one day she just stopped returning my calls, for the most part. I’d ask her “What’s wrong? What’s come between us? What’s changed?” and she’d just say that nothing’s changed, that everything’s good between us. She told me that she was just busy and didn’t have the time she used to have- though I guess before this point she must have made time, but I don’t really know a whole lot about it. So all of the sudden there wasn’t enough time for her to return my calls, and she didn’t talk to me the way we talked before. There was no more intimacy or sweetness- it was like I’d lost my best friend, and then some. I think maybe I did.
So I stayed right there, waiting, hoping she’d maybe come around and things could be like before- but she just called less and less and I became more and more broken hearted, until I finally was just crushed with the anguish and the heartache. I finally had to just steel myself to the reality of it, and refuse to let myself call her or look for her, and when she did finally get around to calling, and my phone would ring and her number would appear on the screen- I just had to make myself ignore it, not because I was playing some game, but because to talk to her only made me start all over remembering that we would never be together, and the pain was just too much for me to bear. I loved her more than I’ve ever loved anyone before, and here I was letting the phone ring and ring, tears in the corners of my eyes. That was a bad time for me, and it took me a long time to heal from that.
I eventually told my wife that we had to separate, to split up, to divorce. I realized when I fell in love with this friend of mine that my marriage had been over for years and years, I had just refused to admit, and had fooled myself and everyone else for the longest time. But when I felt that feeling, the warmth and tenderness and spontaneity between Deb and I- well, I realized that this was what love was supposed to feel like- all of the spontaneity and chemistry and magnetism, just tenderness and warmth and sweetness- I knew that I’d never felt that before, and that I had to feel it again. Being the man that I am, I just couldn’t go through life pretending to be in love, knowing that a feeling as beautiful as that is out there, somewhere, waiting for me to discover it and nurture it and make it grow into something beautiful. To deny that feeling and stay on in the relationship I was in would have been futile, and eventually would have made me a wistful and bitter man.
Anyhow- where is all of this going? Well, I guess this left me a little bit wary. Maybe I was a little more careful about relationships and marriage and things like that than would be reasonable and prudent for a man of my age. Maybe I should have jumped at the chance to be together with a woman that I’m so deeply in love with, a woman that makes me terribly happy- forever and ever. I couldn’t be sure- I just had to take a chance, and I was afraid to take that chance, to just leap in and commit. But nonetheless, the feelings I had for Kim were making me begin to wonder, and I was doing a lot of thinking and evaluating, comparing and soul-searching, and I knew that soon I’d have to make a decision.

That evening I watched the sun set from a picnic table at the shore of Lyman’s Bay, my board leaning against a big Keawe tree and me just sitting back, talking with some of the people who hang around down there. There’s a regular crew down there, and I know most of them. Mostly layabouts and hardcore surfers, they spend a lot of time hanging around down there, surfing and swimming, talking story and just generally avoiding work. I’m not sure how people like that make ends meet- I suppose it’s a pretty meager existence, but on those beautiful winter days when everything comes together, and the surf and the sky are just perfect- those guys are out there living life, while a lot of us are pushing through our days work and just trying to get by. So maybe there’s a trade there that’s worthwhile.
The sunset was beautiful, and we all talked quietly, watching it with appreciation, and then after, when it was nearly dark some guys started a bonfire and a dozen or so people stood around while two local guys played guitar and sang. There was some beer in a cooler in the back of a truck parked close by, and I had a beer with them and told them I was taking off. Everyone bid me goodbye and see you later, and I took my board under my arm and walked off into the darkness. I could hear them laughing and talking, singing and playing guitar, and a half a block away I stopped and looked back, and it was pitch black except for the glow of the bonfire, illuminating the characters standing around it. It would have made a great photo, capturing the essence of these free spirits that hang around down here, working so hard to avoid working. They’re good people, doing what they love.
I turn back and continue homeward, walking across the lawn in darkness. I’d forgotten to leave any lights on, and I walked cautiously around to the backyard where I set my board on the lawn. I climbed the three steps to the kitchen door and reached inside, turning on the light. The empty house had a lonely feeling without Kim there, and I turned on some Marvin Gaye and took a long, hot shower, leaving the bathroom door open so that Marvin’s soulful style could keep me company.

It had been a long time since I saw Deborah, or even talked to her. When things fell apart between us, I guess she just felt that she needed to be away from me. It hurt me a lot, because I loved her deeply and sincerely, and I only wanted to be with her. It was a tough time for me. For a while I was just devastated, and I’d go into these dark depressions that would stay with me for days. I’d try to go run to take my mind off of her, but I’d think about her the entire time. I’d think about her when I surfed, and while I worked, when I was at the gym. She’d be in my first thought when I awoke, and my last thought before I fell asleep. It was a difficult time.
I guess in a way we avoided each other. I know I avoided a lot of the places we went together, and a lot of places that I thought I might find her. I assume she did the same. The sad thing is that I really wanted to see her in the worst way, but it was just too painful to watch her go home to her family leaving me there to sort out what I think and feel. I would wait for her to call- just hoping every time the phone rang that it would be her. I had already decided that if she called I wouldn’t answer- not any kind of game, but just because hearing her beautiful voice would set me back weeks or even months- but even now I know that if the phone rang I would have picked it up. I had worked really hard to try and keep our friendship alive and then one day she just decided that it would be best if we went our separate ways, I guess. I actually don’t know, because she never really told me. It was like one day she was there with me, laughing and holding hands, telling me to just accept it all- and the next minute I’m wondering where she went and what I’d said to make her want to ever hurt me like she was. So it was just better if I ignored the ringing phone and tried to forget. It was tough.
I always knew that eventually we would run into each other. It’s a small Island, and a small town. We couldn’t avoid each other forever, and I only hoped that it would just be a warm hello and how have you been and I miss you. But I really couldn’t fathom what it would actually be- had no idea what to expect, or when to expect it.

I had some time to kill before I had to pick Kim up at the airport. She had left me a message that she’d catch the noon flight out of Honolulu, and so would land at 12:45. It was 9:45 now, so I decided to kill some time at a bookstore and coffee house. Deb and I used to meet here sometimes and just wander around, touching the books and holding them, talking. We were in the fiction aisle somewhere near Doestoevsky when I asked her if she’d run away with me if I were a millionaire, and she looked me right in the eye and said “If I could, I’d run away with you for nothing at all.” The bookstore was a favorite place for both of us, and I suppose we’d both just been sneaking around it, half hoping to run into each other and half hoping not to. I went inside and back to the coffee house portion of the store.
I got a cup of coffee from the coffee bar. Dominique- the counter girl- was always fun to chat with when I had a spare couple minutes, and we talked a bit about nothing in particular, and had a quick laugh and then she went back to serving her coffee and I wandered over through mystery and science fiction and settled myself down in fiction, my favorite place on the shelves. I wandered along the aisle, a cup of coffee in one hand, running my free hand along the bindings of the books, waiting for one to catch my eye. I got to the end of the aisle and stopped to pull out a book by Haruki Murakami, when Deb walked around the corner and suddenly there we were, face to face.
I looked up from my book,surprised. “Hey beautiful.” I said softly, and it slipped out as naturally as if we were together yesterday. “How’ve you been?” I was still holding my coffee in one hand, and I put the Murakami book back where it came from without really looking.
“I’ve been alright.” She smiled but there was a lot of uncertainty in her face. “How are you?”
“I’m doing Ok.” I shrug, uncertain how I’m doing. “I get by- y’know.”
“I heard you and Lisa finally split up.” I can see she’s waiting for an answer.
“It was inevitable.” I shrug, trying to be matter of fact but sure a little anguish still shows through. “Things weren’t that great for a long time. It was really just a matter of me committing to moving out, and us parting friends before things got really bad.” She reaches up and touches the bindings of the row of books on the bookshelf at eye level in front of her.
“That’s too bad.” Looking into my eyes- maybe my face- searching for something.
“God- you look gorgeous.” I smile at her, and at myself for being so Me. “You still take my breath away, even now- y’know.”
“Toby- stop it.” She smiles just the same, looking down to check her watch. “I’ve got to go. Can I call you?” She’s back-pedaling, and I know she won’t call.
“Would you have a cup of coffee with me?” I smile, remembering how much I miss her. “I promise to be a gentleman.” She laughs now, I suppose because I was never really any kind of threat.
“I’ve really got to go.” She takes a step back, as if to initiate the ‘leaving’ part of the conversation.
“I’ll get you a cocoa.” I wink at her, smiling, and hold my hand out to her. “Please?” She takes my hand a little reluctantly, and we walk away together.

“You know it didn’t get any easier being away from you.” We’re sitting at a table in the coffee house portion of the bookstore. “It took some time. I used to lay awake at night thinking of you, and I’d wonder if you were laying awake thinking of me.” I smile a rye smile at the irony of it all. “I miss you, you know?”
“You seem fine- you look good.” She looks down at her hands in front of her. “I miss you too.” She toys with the ring on her left hand, spinning it round and round her finger, absentminded. “Are you training at all?” They’d trained in the martial arts together for years- that’s how they initially met, though when they last parted company neither knew if they’d continue or not.
“Nah- I just can’t do that anymore. There’re too many memories in the dojo- I’d just sit there and wait for you to show up. I guess you could call it a habit.” He pauses for a moment, taking a sip from his coffee and wiping up the spills with a napkin. “I’ve been surfing a lot. The surf this year has been more consistant than usual and I’ve been just running and working out at the gym, and then surfing whenever there’s any surf. Anything to distract myself, y’know?” He looks deep into her with his penetrating blue eyes- what she’d referred to once as “typically Irish” eyes- unsmiling yet warm, maybe a little wistful. “I met a girl- she reminds me a lot of you, actually.”
Deb laughs at that, because she told me many times that there was a girl out there for me- one that would win my heart and fall in love with me- it was a fairy tale of our own design, and I used to say to her “Yeah, but she’ll never be you.” And Deb would tell me terrible things about herself- that she’s ugly and mean and all kinds of silliness, and I’d laugh and tell her she’s just the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on, and funny and smart and cute and mischievous, and that I loved her.
Deb smiles across the table at me, and I wonder if she’s genuinely glad. “I’m happy for you.” Her face takes on a serious cast, and she leans forward a bit, asking softly, “Do you love her?” She waits, hoping something, though which it is I can’t really tell so I just do what I always do and tell her the honest to god truth.
“I think so.” I smile, trying to grasp at how to put it. “ Maybe? I don’t know. I like her an awful lot, and everything’s great between us, but I’m so careful these days what with my spotty track record and all, as far as love goes.” I look around to see who’s within earshot, leaning forward until our faces are just a foot apart. “You know, I have more than a little trouble forgetting you.” She immediately frowns, not wanting to hear this. I smile at that, because she’s the same old Deb. “I try and forget, and I do pretty well most of the time, but I still dream of you, and a lot of times when the phone rings, I catch myself wishing it was you.”
“Oh- Toby.” She has a way of frowning and smiling all at once that leaves me wondering exactly how I just fared. I never can tell with her, she’s so damn ‘careful’ with herself.
“I never stopped loving you, you know? I don’t suppose I ever even tried- not really. I learned to keep my mouth shut and my head down, to just let things lie for a while, but I never have stopped loving you, even a little.” I reach across and take her hands in mine. “That day in Waimea- the day I went to say goodbye to you- I had tears in my eyes a lot of the way home, just devastated that I’d finally given up, that I’d never have this woman that I love so deeply- I was hurt that you wanted me to stop chasing you.” Drawing a long breath, I smile across the table at her, hoping she understands.
“I knew I had to stop, though- I was after you like some teenage schoolboy, just determined to have you and you- me, but in my heart I know now as I knew then that we were there for each other, perfect matches, a perfect set. I had to stop because I’d make myself crazy- and you too. But I never stopped loving you even for a second. I figured you’d come around maybe, given time to think about it, time alone. I waited longer than I had a right to, I suppose.” A tear formed in her eye, and built, and then made it’s way down her cheek. She left it where it was, her hands held in my own. “The loneliness was what was killing me. I was alone no matter where I went, for the longest time- no matter how many people were around me, when I didn’t have you by my side.” I look down at our hands together before us. “Pitiful, eh? Hopeless?”
“No.” She replies softly. “It’s not pitiful- but you know I couldn’t do anything about it- I can’t even now.” She looks into my blue eyes, imploring, wanting so much for me to understand. “Oh, Toby. I’ll always love you- you know that- and there will always be a special place in my heart that belongs to you. But I couldn’t be with you- not 100%- I have my children to raise and commitments I’ve made that would never have allowed me to do what you wanted.”
I look up at her, smiling. “You know from day one I always said I’d have you and the kids too- I’d have loved to, you know that.” I hold her delicate hands up to my lips, giving each one a loving kiss. “But I understand- it’s only me that was the stubborn one. I never did know how to take defeat. I never learned how to take no for an answer. There’s never been a problem that I couldn’t figure out, up to this.”
“That day when I held you- the day we said goodbye- I felt defeated, the loser.” I try to smile but only manage a wince. “The only thing I ever really wanted, the only thing I’ve ever been passionate about- I finally find it and love slips through my fingers like so much sand.” I take a sip of my coffee, long gone cold. “I felt like I’d lost that day, and he didn’t even know a race had been run. Funny thing that. “ I look at her and smile that ironic smile. “He doesn’t even know how lucky he is to have you- has no idea, I’d say.”
She smiled that beautiful smile that I fall in love with over and over, taking her hands free of mine and wiping the tears from her eyes. “You just have to learn to accept. If you could only accept what you cannot change, you’d be a happier man. There are worse things than loving a friend- you need to learn to be happy with what you have and just forget about the things that are out of reach.”
“ I don’t know- there’s merit to that, I’ll be the first to admit- but I guess first and foremost I wanted what would make me happy, and that was you, in my arms, loving me back forever. That’s just me. I wouldn’t be me if I weren’t determined to a fault. It’ll be the end of me, y’know?” I grinned across the table at her, wishing I could bundle her up and carry her off and keep her forever, but knowing that my window of opportunity eased shut a long time ago, and for me at least things are a lot different today than they were back then.
I had never meant for the conversation to go where it’s gone- it was just going to be chat-mundane, harmless, friends over a cup of coffee. That’s the way it’s always been, though, with the two of us just going where our hearts would take us- that was the beauty of the two of us together. It just worked so perfectly. I gaze across the table at her, giving her that rye smile. “I still love you, Y’know.”
“I know...” She replied quietly, a small, sad smile appearing at the corners of the mouth making her seem even more beautiful than I had thought possible. “and That may be the end of you, Mr. Gibson.” We sit for a long moment, just looking into each other’s eyes as if searching behind the blue of the iris for an answer, but in all actuality we’re just soaking each other up, one last time I suppose- longing for another time and place, another easier, more workable situation.
I smile at her, willing to be the one to break the silence. “You think the two of us are gonna be okay, then?”
She smiles back at me, understanding perfectly. “You mean can we be friends again?” I nod. “Yeah…” She says softly, “I missed you too.” We sit there for a long moment, just enjoying each other’s company for the first time in a long while, not really wanting it to end.
She looks up, a beautiful smile, maybe just remembering the time, possibly realizing how bad this could be for both of us. “I’ve got to go- I’m supposed to pick up the kids at 4:15.” She stands, taking her purse in her hands and putting her sunglasses on her head, smiling down at me fondly. “Are you going to be OK?” She always does worry about me, but I suppose that these days I need to worry a bit about myself.
“Yeah, love. I’ll be all right. You be sure and take care.” He smiles that wry smile and doesn’t get up, letting her turn and walk away. He watches after her long after she’s out of sight.

There was a long time after we’d last spoken that I was all mixed up, just a mess inside, not sure what I was going to do or if I was going to ever be alright. I was heartbroken, and in the middle of my divorce, and I really didn’t know how to feel. The reason I tried to avoid her for so long was that no matter how good I seemed to get, just one soft word or a glimpse of a smile from her and my heart would be just flooded with all of those feelings I worked so hard to forget.
Being left alone the way she left me allowed me a lot of time to consider every little thing that had happened between us and I came to believe that she had just wanted someone to love her, to value her, to tell her that she’s beautiful and funny and smart. Me, I was the wrench in the deal, because I wanted it all, the whole ball of wax. I asked her to marry me many times, just to come and be with me and we’d love each other forever. That may have scared her. Perhaps in the beginning she thought that it was a fun thing, to have the kind of attention I showered her with- but I think the novelty soon wore off, and it wasn’t just some flirting game anymore when I told her that I just ache for a time when I can hold her in my arms and tell her that I love her terribly, and she’d tell me that she loves me too, and we’d just be like that forever.
But I’m a man that follows my heart where it leads me, and I think I take these matters more serious than anyone she’d ever run across. Perhaps I didn’t understand her intentions, and maybe I didn’t let her off the hook as quickly as I could have. I was being naïve, and was thoroughly in love with her. Maybe I’m just an uncommon man, and she’d never run into someone like me. I don’t know. I can only guess at what she thought, because after a time she didn’t confide her feelings in me again.
Despite all of this I loved her still- perhaps because I’m a foolish and sentimental man, possibly because I’ve never loved anyone before like I loved her. Maybe I’m just a stubborn and determined man, as she used to like to laugh and tell me when I would ask her to run off with me. Whatever it was, I know I’d never felt that wonderful feeling in my heart before like I did when I was with her, and I just wanted very badly to recapture the tenderness we’d had between us and keep it going forever.
One thing I did learn from the whole affair is that although I am a streetwise man, and can be very hard when I need to, careful and wary in most facets of my life- when it comes to affairs of the heart I can be quite naïve.
Love has a certain magical quality, the un-quantifiable un-nameable something that appeals to that softer side of me. It’s that magic that makes the hardships of life bearable, and brings a fairytale quality to everything we must endure.
It’s a powerful kind of magic that brings a hard man to his knees, and makes him lost and confused, just a pup where there once was a lion. And it’s a hard kind of lesson that takes a sweet man capable of so much newfound love and tenderness and turns him a little bit bitter and very, very wistful. It’s an overwhelming sort of magic that can only be countered with time and tears.

The sad thing about the whole affair was that I really did think she was in love with me, and I really thought that if I just said the right thing, or held her in the perfect way- that she’d change her mind and stay with me forever. That was very naïve of me, typically Irish in my optimism, naivety and romance. I fell in love with a girl that was inside of this woman somewhere, buried deep inside under a lot of other stuff that had nothing to do with me. That girl had come to the surface for a time and we’d held hands and laughed and played a bit, and she was tender and sincere and told me that I was a sweet man and that she loved me. But then she got scared at my commitment and hid behind the woman that hides what she feels and is scared at what might happen if she let’s her feelings really show. It’s too bad, because I’m afraid I’m still very much in love with her, and I only hope that someday she’ll let her heart take the lead.

Seeing Deb has left me shaken, introspective, confused. I had pretty well resigned myself to the realities of the situation, and the intimacy between Kim and I had made me feel that maybe I could leave all of that behind and I actually felt that maybe Deb was right- that there was someone out there for me, and whatever there had been between us had another purpose entirely, and we just weren’t meant to be. But what about all of the hesitancy I was feeling- my unwillingness to commit to anything permanent with Kim?
Firing the engine I looked at my reflection in the rear view mirror. “Stupid man.” I mutter at myself, chirping the tires as I back the MG out of the parking spot. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”
As I drove North towards the airport my head was filled with questions. What about Deb? Did I see a bit of disappointment carefully concealed behind her purposefully blank expression? Was she really glad I was in a relationship? Did she want to rekindle something between us, or did I really just catch her unawares. Would she even have come over to where I was if she had known beforehand that I was there? What does she still feel? What do I feel?
I think of the beautiful girl I’m picking up at the airport, and I laugh out loud, putting my foot into it until the little convertible is red lined. I shake my head- laughing at myself- I’m either a pretty lucky guy, having trouble deciding which woman I love- or a pretty stupid one.

I park the car out in the pay lot at the edge of the airport. Hot arid gusts blow across the lava fields, whipping up bouganvilla leaves and dust as I cross the parking lot. I make my way into the terminal and stand near the gate. The plane is already taxiing down the runway and its just minutes before the door opens and passengers begin to disembark.
Two people exit the aircraft before Kim steps out, squinting at the bright sun despite her dark sunglasses. Searching the crowd at the gate she spots me and gives a quick wave. She’s wearing a dress and heels, and has her brief case in one hand and a magazine in the other, so it takes her a minute to get down the stairs. I meet her at the bottom of the stairs, reaching to take her hand. “Hey lover.” She smiles, a brief embrace, a kiss on the cheek. She takes my hand and I take her briefcase, and we walk off of the tarmac and into the walled terminal. “You looked kind of sad there at the gate.” She looks over at me. “You looked sort of sad and alone- is everything okay?”
I smile at her “What do you mean?”
“Well, I don’t know- you just had a really dark look on your face- like you were upset or something.” She gives me a concerned glance. “Really the only way I can put it is you looked really sad and alone.”
I look over at her, and it all makes sense in an instance, everything just falls into place by itself. “I was, til I saw you.” I smile at her, loving her and realizing again just how much I missed her this past week.
“Awwww…” She smiles back at me, her hair blowing back across her face in the hot wind.
“Hold it a sec, mister.” She says, stepping out of the rush of people and pulling me along with her. She pushes her glasses up on her head and wraps her arms around my back, leaning up and planting a kiss on my mouth. I reach out and set the briefcase on the rock wall next to us and wrap my arms around her, lifting her into the air a bit. She leans away from me, smiling into my face. “I missed you, you sweet man. Now take me home, would you?”
I chuckle, picking up her valise and taking her hand in mine. “I think I will.” We walk towards the baggage claim together.

posted 08-20-2002 02:10 AM            

This is what happens when I'm sitting in Polynesia and the wind wont even stir up a frigging breeze, there's not any waves, and it's hotter than Hades. This is also what happens when I start out all polynesian and then put on my headphones and blast all that Husker you guys turned me onto, as well as a bunch of other great stuff I have on my hard drive. I may just continue this little saga. Aloha.

The heat is oppressive, and even in the dim evening light of my flat at Kahuluu it weighs on me like a lead sheet. Sitting at my desk typing is a huge effort, my desk tucked like it is back in the darkest, stuffiest corner of my place- but the whole place is only 450 square feet and so there really aren’t too many options as to where what goes. Sweat runs on my face in rivulets, making its way down my neck and into my shirt until the cloth is one big pool of perspiration, enveloping me in such a way that I could never ignore it. I swat at mosquitoes and gnats, moths and flies- flicking wood ants off of my desk and spraying aerosol poison at them against my better judgment, inhaling the sickening smell of canned death while battling the onslaught of ants across my desk and writers block all at once.

It’s been hot this August- maybe the hottest summer that I can remember- and to aggravate tempers worse there’s been almost no surf since May, the typical end of May to mid-June swells missing us completely and the subsequent doldrums lasting longer than usual. Local kids drive up and down the coast like angry ants, scurrying back and forth wreaking havoc, leaving a trail of graffiti and empty beer bottles as they search for the slightest hint of swell, drinking Steinlager beer and smoking Kools or Marlboros, the deafening beat of they’re bass drowning out the sound of them swearing exaggeratedly. By the time nightfall comes they’re frustrated, aggravated- and they drink more and sometimes they fight.

We stand under dim streetlights made even dimmer by the bugs, listening to the throbbing drone of a band playing inside of the nightclub behind us. Brandon and Kainoa stand off to the left of me, towards the street, drinking beer and talking quietly between themselves about something I can’t overhear. Kalani and I stand back against the front wall of the Other Side bar, inside of which is the entrance to the nightclub where the band is playing. We’re outside getting a breather, watching traffic and getting a break from the band, which really was beginning to grate on my nerves.
A Volkswagon Golf enters the parking lot in front of us, cruising slowly by. The driver is a medium sized Polynesian guy, probably half Asian, not big enough to be Tongan or Samoan- not really big enough to instantly pose much of a threat. I can see at least one other guy in the car, in the front passenger seat. There’s possibly two or maybe even three in the back seat, but whatever- we weren’t really expecting trouble. Things have been quiet now for some time, and the edgy feeling that I get when things are tense has faded and been replaced with a certain indefinable calm that comes with peace.
The Golf cruises by us slowly, low and quiet, and the driver swivels his head and fixes what I expect is supposed to be a steely gaze on us, but with that glazed look in his eyes it just comes off as hopped up and a little wild.
“Trouble.” Kalani murmers under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear. He takes a drag off of his cigarette and flicks it into the street behind the Golf, which is now just passed us.
“Whatever.” I say casually, just loud enough for the driver to hear. I take a pull off of my beer and quickly have to think that maybe I’m a little drunk to be fighting, but I suppose it may be a little late to dwell on that just now.
The Golf stops fifty feet or so away, nearly at the end of the small parking lot. There’s a couple other people standing around in front near us, but they’re oblivious to anything that’s gone on, unsuspecting of anything that may yet come.
The drivers side door opens and the medium sized possibly Chinese-Hawaiian steps from the car. I look him over a little and decide that maybe it’s Portuguese-Hawaiian, with perhaps a little Pake thrown in. He walks back towards us a little unsteadily, and I instantly decide that he may just be drunker than I am, but perhaps he could just be hopped up and a little clumsy.
“So What- you like say something or wot?!!” He stands there before us now, apparently calling us all out on his own. “One’uh you like a piece of me eh, c’mon. Less go!” He’s got himself all worked up, and we just stand there where we were, wondering what to do with this little fucker, and how many more there are i9n the car, and how many will come back later tonight if we toss him through the plate glass window behind us.
Kainoa mentally steps up to the plate, standing exactly where he has been, slouched a little casually, beer in hand. “Ho-cuz, nobody here wants any trouble- no one’s looking for a fight. We’re just having a good time tonight.” He smiles at the guy even though inside he can’t stand the fucking little troublemaker. “How about we buy you a beer instead. Eh- we’re all getting along here pretty OK just now.”
“Fuck you Brah- You wanna talk shit and then when I call you out you back down like a fucking little pussy!” He spits on the ground at Kainoa’sfeet. “C’mon you big fuckah, I’ll fuck you up!”
Kalani smiles at him from over by me and stands up a little straighter, hands out as if to shrug. “Nah-nah, no thanks eh- we’re all just having a good time. You win man- we lose. No problem, eh?”
The guy stands there not knowing exactly what to do now, bewildered that the four okay sized guys before him don’t want to take him up on his offer of an ass kicking. He grins again, a nasty looking sneer, and spits on the ground again in all of our general direction. “You fucking pussies- if I see you again I’m gonna fuck you up!” He turns his back to walk away- a stupid mistake in any tense situation, but nearly fatal in this one, as kainoa quickly and quietly takes the two long steps between the two of them and gets him in a choke from behind. Brandon and Kalani quickly grab his feet and I kick him three times solidly in the kidney. Kainoa slams his forearm across the guys face a couple times and growls out “You stupid little fucker- you better hope you don’t see me again!” We carry him swiftly towards the golf, which now has the lone passenger half in and half out, wondering just what the fuck he’s gotten himself into. We pick the troublesome little fucker up and with a quick toss put him through his own rear windshield. It’s frightening, the speed which things escalate sometimes, when we get out of hand.
Brandon and Kainoa reach in and punch him a couple more times in the head and face, and I throw my beer bottle in and clip him in the head. “You made me spill beer on my shirt you fucking little prick.” I wipe at the stain on my shirt in a futile gesture, and Kalani and Kai laugh at me worrying about my shirt. Brandon gestures towards the passenger with a wave of his hand. “Whatta we do with him?” I shrug and look at the guy, sighing. “Do you wanna kick our asses too?”
He nods his head apprehensively, backing away a half step. “No man, we’re cool.” His hands are out before him implying surrender.
“Cool.” I say, turning my back to him and walking back towards the bar. “Get the fuck outa here.” The boys fall in behind me and we head to the entrance together, a crew, the boys, pals. I exhale another long sigh. “Fucking kids…”

posted 12-11-2002 01:48 AM            

We sat in lawn-chairs on the neglected lawn and listened to Black Flag and the Germs, blasting from these huge speakers that Lloyd had found in a yard sale, propped up in the living room window. Gary Vitalis sat on the hood of his Impala wagon, mirrored shades making him look like the quintessential redneck rockabilly. Bid is working on his Falcon, parked just behind Gary. The rest of us sit on the lawn, drinking Miller or Budweiser or some shit that was on sale and we have a ton of it in the fridge and the day may end in disaster but at least we have enough beer. Wally Gator is riding in circles in the street out in front, and Woods and Ronnie Haig provide a lot of comments and advice on Bids progress with his carbeurator. I sit on the side, half buzzed from the couple beers I’ve had and the hot sun, listening to Ruby and Beth bitch about how guys are, and I half agree with them anyhow- I never really liked guys all that much anyhow, and I’m honest enough to admit that I’m a shit when it comes to girls. Just go through em like they’re going out of style, I guess- nothing maliscious- just like em a lot, and cant ever pick just one, I suppose.