eau de gillette.

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dateline: queen's beach

8 august 1996 11:31 p.m.

(oZnote: This is a long one.) Is falling for someone anything like being in a traumatic accident? Two years ago, I dozed off while driving up to Mililani. My mom had just moved there, and I wasn't used to the drive. Unlike a trip to Kailua, where the Pali highway twists up, over and into mountains and valleys, the H-2 freeway is wide and badly lit -- almost a constant uphill ride with lazy curves. The buzz of my wheels on the concrete hypnotized me. I was yanked back into the now by the sound of sticks and leaves whipping against my window. One part of me realized I was drifting onto the brush-covered shoulder and panicked before my smarter half could reasonably say, "Let's just pull carefully back into the lane..." I cranked the wheel, stupidly; it sounded like my tire glanced off something and then suddenly I was headed sharply across the five lanes as if I was just zipping 'cross the freeway at a non-existant cross-street. I skidded the last 30 feet (measurement courtesy HPD) slowing just enough to dump my creaky old Escort into a ditch, nose first. A very anticlimactic, partially-rubbery whump. My state of mind for the next few hours was weirdly peaceful. I can remember it so clearly that I can actually smell my car's exhaust, or hear the sound of the engine still happily humming, or feel how I fumbled for my shoe so I could get out. It was as if, were life a cassette-tape recording, I was briefly experiencing things in crisp, full-digital awareness. My mind was totally clear. Turn off the engine, flick the hazards on, get out and wait a few yards down for someone else to come by. A family in a minivan whipped passed, and I remember its tail lights coming on and the ch-ksh-ch-ksh sound of its fancy anti-lock brakes doing what they're paid to do. Made it to mom's only a few minutes late, calmly called who I had to call, wondered aloud how I'd get home while mom wondered aloud how one would tell if they seriously fucked up their neck (I was fine). So why do I prattle on about ancient history? Because sometimes, like tonight, I again live a few moments on widescreen laserdisc. Almost the intensity of perception caused by certain recreational pharmaseuticals, but better. The phone was ringing when I got in tonight, and all I was thinking was how I wanted to get to the beach. "What's up?" It was Derek. He wanted to know if I wanted to do anything, and I said not really, just gonna relax tonight. I mentioned the beach. He said he'd be right down. I honestly didn't feel like dealing with anyone, but what the heck. I met him outside, he'd even gotten a better parking spot than I did. We walked down to Kalakaua and picked McDonalds for dinner. They're now selling something called the McDouble, so I got that. Smells like an apology for the Arch Deluxe -- basically the same sandwich but without that rancid sauce. We took our McBanquet across the street and sat in one of the brand spanking new sidewalk benches overlooking the beach. A clear, breezy afternoon... we witnessed a couple of tourist jellyfish stingings and tried not to chuckle. The sunset, as always, was nice, though grey clouds way out on the Ewa side blocked a lot of it. We just sat and talked eachother's ears off. It got dark. We still talked. Talked about how Honolulu Weekly just this week declared Waikiki one of the least desirable neighborhoods to live in. Talked about how ridiculous the whole lowrider Honda fad is. We even argued about Frank Fasi and Jeremy Harris (though I think he's afraid to say so, I think he's a Harris lemming). We walked down to Kapahulu, and out onto "The Wall." It's one of the cliche places to just stand and sigh, a concrete walkway stretching out into the water (actually built on top of a major sewer outlet) where kids jump off to surf. That was when it happened. The shift. Everything seemed sharp, comfortable. We sat there and just blinked at the lights, the barely visible silhouette of Diamond Head; listened to the slosh of the waves below. I think we both said, "Hmm..." in a thoughtful, Winnie the Pooh way a few times. A bunch of rowdy kids came thumping up The Wall, and I tensed. I never really think anyone will beat me up or anything, but I still get nervous. I might be a 'local' girl, but not a local local. I can be a tita (read: tough talker) given the right setting, but facing a pack of cursing thugs I keep quiet. I stood up, half figuring to just leave, and Derek did too. Then I figured I'd stand my ground, not act scared (I wasn't scared), and just keep enjoying the view. The kids were swearing up a storm, and I was embarrassed, uncomfortable. I took a few steps off to one side, right to the edge. It had gotten cold, and I wished I had brought a jacket. "I wish I had a jacket," Derek said, then stammering a clarification, "to offer you." Then he stepped up right behind me. Close. Maybe to block me from the kids. Or shield me from the wind. I think my hair got in his face, but he didn't complain. I smelled his freebie deoderant. I was frozen, but warm. Finally I turned to leave, and nearly crashed into him. We laughed, and stumbled back up to Kalakaua, then tried to quietly remember all the lines to "Alice's Restaurant" while we headed back up to my street. We probably seemed a little nuts. I walked him to his car ("Looks like the birds gotcha," I said as I pointed), rushed through a promise to see "Chain Reaction" on Sunday ("For the snide-comment value," said he) and waved goodbye. I'm not even trying to worry about what I'm feeling, not yet. I'm still thinking about the tangible experience. I come in to two messages, one from Queen's -- more delicious 9-to-3 shifts next week -- and one from Jen asking if we can go out tonight (yes, after she gets off; yes, that's at 1 a.m.) because she'd kill right now for a loco moco. Why not (deja vu). It's midnight now, gotta shower. As Mindy would say, Okay-I-love-you-bubbye!