Falling Forward (4 page)

They have a quaint back porch with two green Adirondack chairs facing the ocean. Michelle and Joe would sit out there every morning to watch the sun rise as the waves crest upon what’s left of the beach. Erosion had taken several feet of the beach, and they were left with a six-foot drop off from their property which leads to about 20 feet of beach at low tide. During some parts of the year, they’d go out at night and watch sea turtles build nests in the tall dunes. Later, they’d watch the tiny baby turtles hatch and scurry randomly, somehow finding the ocean. Some would be gobbled up by large birds and big fish, yet enough of them made it to safety so that there would be a whole new generation of nests the next year. We sat down and watched the moonlight dance on the waves. The warm wind and the smell of the ocean permeated my senses. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths. My naturopath thought there was nothing more healing than negative ions and fresh oxygen from the earth’s waves.

Michelle took a potty break. She came back outside after a few minutes and sat down. “Joe’s working on the itinerary. Says the flights are pretty full, but he’s got a couple options. He used to travel a bunch, so he’ll hook us up with something great, don’t worry,” said Michelle, reassuringly. “You just need to chill and rest up. It’s been a tough day.” I smiled and took a sip of what seemed to be the most delicious hot chocolate I had ever tasted, and closed my eyes once again.

“Oooh, almost forgot,” Michelle said suddenly, snapping me out of my relaxed trance. She ran inside for a moment, returning with a small, bright orange gift bag that she tossed on my lap. I asked her if the bag needed batteries. “Shut up and open it already,” she said forcefully. I carefully opened the bag and peeked inside. Inside the bright orange bag was… another smaller brightly colored bag. Joe came out with some papers and saw the bags. “You know, this could go on all night,” said Joe as he smiled warmly and nuzzled up next to Michelle. “Well, what is it? What is it?” asked Michelle, like she was watching a child open a present. I opened the second bag and found another thin, square-ish envelope. Thinking this process could keep going until we were at the atomic scale, I sighed. “That’s it, Olivia! Joe, turn the light on. You’ve got to see this.” Michelle was so excited. I felt the top of my head and was thankful I had remembered my cheaters. I put the reading glasses on to get a closer look at this package. “Flying Wish Paper,” the pretty packing said. I had seen this before on one of the morning shows and had always thought it was a really neat idea. Michelle pulled the table closer and helped me set things up.

In the package, I found a small pencil, a pack of matches, and several of these very thin papers that looked like the kind of papers you’d roll a cigarette with. I had seen something similar at a wedding a few years ago using paper candles. What an amazing thing to see – hundreds of paper candles floating in the night sky. It’s beautiful. But the recent dry spell had made those illegal for fear of starting another wildfire. We had seen some nasty ones recently. They made your eyes and nose burn from the thick smoke in the air as far as 40 miles south of the actual fire. These were small, very thin, square papers that burned up much more quickly. The idea was, you would write a wish on the piece of paper. Any wish you wanted as long as it was a wish that’s short enough to write on a three inch square. Then, you carefully roll it up into a tube, and place it vertically on a special piece of paper. You would then light the top of the cylinder on fire, and it would magically fly into the air, taking your wishes away to the heavens for fulfillment. Maybe they have nothing better to do up there than grant wishes.

“You’ll have to wait for your other presents. I have some plans for you, sister. So, what are you gonna wish for? Huh? Huh? An unlimited supply of running shoes? A steamy night with Bradley Cooper? Or, maybe, a trip to Waikiki with meeee?” Michelle prodded. I wrote something down, ensuring that Michelle or Joe couldn’t read it. I then rolled the paper around my index finger, according to the instructions. It’s kind of windy on the beach, so it blew off the table a few times. Almost lost it to the ocean the last time. Tiring of the chase, we finally went inside and lit it there. Up and away it went, nearly hitting the ceiling, until its charred remains finally fell slowly to the floor. “Well, that’s it. Your wishes are about to come true, girlfriend. Come on in, let’s get you to bed. You’ve got to be exhausted. Big day tomorrow – travel master Joe here got us on some red eyes tomorrow night.”

I thanked Michelle for being such a great friend. I was still in a daze, and completely exhausted both mentally and physically. She tucked me in and kissed me on the forehead. That’s the last I remember of my 42nd birthday.

FOUR: THE HAND OF FATE

Florida to Hawaii is a hellacious trip. It’s three nail-biting flights in most cases, including one that crosses over open ocean for about six hours. And all the while, you’re hoping your bags don’t get lost and your connections are on time. If you’re going to fly overnight, you definitely want to spend the extra money for first class. Unfortunately, the Orlando to Phoenix and Phoenix to Los Angeles legs were all booked, so we would be crammed up in coach. Michelle brought her Kindle and had it loaded with self-help books and most of my favorite songs. She wanted me to forget as much as I could about my old life as I planned my new one.

Fortunately, our trip was uneventful. It was nice to get away from the mundane routine of work and home, my husband’s fake fishing and golf trips, and finding some other woman’s underwear in my husband’s car. I thought I would miss my kitchen, but even that wasn’t a problem. I was looking forward to warm teal water, black sand beaches, endless rainbows, and chilling with my bestie. I hadn’t realized how desperately I needed a vacation.

As her heavy head rested on my left shoulder, I gently brushed her dark hair away from her eyes. I had never noticed she slept with her mouth opened, as I decided to temporarily ignore the drool collecting on her chin to avoid waking her. I quietly wondered how Michelle always knew how to fix everything. I envied her free-spirit, and thought that might be the key to ultimate wisdom. She didn’t seem to take anything as seriously as she used to. Michelle never seemed to stress over car repairs, problems at work, or running into an ex with his new flame, usually several years younger than her. Our town is very small. When faced with an adverse situation, Michelle just handled it. She did what needed to be done, never complained about it, and muddled on. I didn’t have the hutzpah to do that. Maybe being married three times and suffering through all that hell is the education every woman needs. I certainly hoped I wouldn’t need to suffer through three failed marriages to become equally as wise.

Twelve hours later, and six hours jetlagged, we finally arrived in Oahu. My stomach was hurting from the terrible cold sandwich I purchased onboard my last flight. I hoped I didn’t have food poisoning. It was dark outside, but you could see the outlines of the hills or mountains from the street lights in the distance. Spending most of my adult life on or around Florida’s east coast, it was the first time I had ever seen mountains, and mountains just a few miles from the sea is even more wonderfully picturesque. We got off our plane and walked into the terminal. The sun was beginning to rise, and all I could think about was climbing into a comfy bed at our hotel. Our few bags came through fine, as I remembered we hadn’t brought much. That eased my stress level a bit more. I was finally beginning to decompress from the intense stress the events of my birthday had caused. I took a deep breath as I hoped there were shopping malls with the stores I typically get my clothes from. After all, we were in the middle of an ocean. Who knows what’s out here? I playfully imagined I may be relegated to a collection of mu’muu.

Joe had arranged car service to the hotel. Our guy was supposed to be holding one of those signs with our names on it – you know, the ones only the elite typically see. We hadn’t seen him around baggage claim, so we walked outside. I was ready to grab a taxi. And there he was – our short, dark-haired Hispanic driver obviously flirting with some beautiful Hawaiian woman, with our sign hanging down by his leg.
Hispanic
? I didn’t have a problem with that, it’s just that I didn’t expect that. Where were the Hawaiians? Michelle walked over to him and smacked his sign. “Senor, are we gonna stand here all night, or what? Chop chop.” He was a little surprised and probably embarrassed by Michelle’s forward attitude. Michelle then turned to the driver’s victim. “And hello there, pretty Hawaiian princess, I’m Michelle Montalvo. Sorry to interrupt the player over here, but my very important boss here needs to get to the hotel, stat. So swap cell numbers and text each other later.” Michelle walked back to the driver. “Look, amigo, my buddy here is very tired. She’s been through some serious keke, and your gratuity is riding on this. You already failed round one. Where’s my sign, bro? And my thirty dollar leis? Chop chop!” He remembered the sign, and held it up sheepishly. “Yeah. So what do you say we get moving?” He apologized. He took two flower leis and placed one around Michelle’s neck first, then mine. He winked at the princess as he walked by, and took us to our car.

I whispered to Michelle. “What is
kee kee
?” She laughed. “I don’t really know for sure, but I think it means
shit
in Hawaiian. I may have called you a prostitute or something, who knows. I’m always screwing up the translation.” I laughed.

Hawaii is full of beauty and wonder. If you think about it, it’s amazing this place has any life at all. From a relatively recent origin involving a hellish scenario of fiery earth puke, Hawaii has morphed into one of the most beautiful places on earth. For thousands of years before Europeans conquered the lesser-armed world, early immigrants from places we now call the Polynesian Islands, Asia, and New Zealand were able to successfully and continually navigate a large and sometimes turbulent ocean with no power, no GPS, and no communication. They were able to bring seed and integrate foreign flora, fauna and customs to these islands of fertile ash. As its detractors will boast, nothing is really native to Hawaii. It’s in the middle of the ocean for goodness sakes. Maybe some hardy plants could have somehow floated for weeks. Perhaps a wayward bird managed to drift on this oasis, bringing seed in its defecation. Who really knows. Hawaii’s beauty remains readily evident and certainly unique.

And then there’s Oahu. Oahu, literally translated as “The Gathering Place”, is the third largest of the Hawaiian Islands land-wise and by far the single most populous with just under a million souls. Home of several military bases and Hawaii’s state capitol, this busy island still has some charm on the windward side (the easternmost coast) of its mountains. Unfortunately, much of Oahu succumbed to quick and dirty twentieth century capitalism. Think obese Elvis, not the cute one. Many of its stark concrete buildings were constructed with reckless disregard for the natural inhabitants and scenery of this island. A view from any non-oceanfront hotel in Waikiki will quickly spoil a virgin traveler’s image of any supposed paradise. Row and rows of unchecked growth have led to decades of now dilapidated buildings, and well-worn streets and sidewalks. I had remarked to a coffee barrister in Waikiki that their busy city reminds me of Los Angeles. She thought about it for a moment, looked out her narrow window, and nodded her head in agreement as she mixed an extra shot of expresso into my latte. “You need to go to Big Island. It’s better there. Not so many tourists there. Or even Molokai. More like paradise. There are no big hotels on Molokai. That’s where you find the true Hawaii.” She smiled at me, as if she knew something she wasn’t going to share. I wondered if I had something in my teeth.

Thirty minutes later, after being shown some typical tourist faire, such as the Kapiolani Maternity and Gynecological Hospital, where Barack Obama was born, and the apartment complex in which he supposedly lived with his grandmother when he was a young child. I didn’t know his parents separated shortly after little Obama’s birth, and he and his mother quickly moved to Seattle. Apparently, we had something in common – neither of us knew our real fathers. We arrived at our hotel. The Waikiki Marriott has two entrances – one for tour busses, and the other for taxis and valet. Our driver pulled up on the tour side, saying it would be faster than waiting out the taxi line on the other side. He jumped out of the car and placed our bags on the driveway and ran to get a bellman from the other side of the hotel. Michelle and I stood by the concrete benches by the sliding door.

That was when it happened. One of those moments that out of nowhere shocks your senses and leaves you completely bewildered. It’s a fork in the road, and you’re forced to take a path you might not have chosen to take otherwise. That path is dark. The journey is scary, especially for me, the planner. I rarely deviated from anything. Work, school, my marriage – it was all one completely safe and straight line, well, until recently. Regardless, I knew, in my soul, that this was one of those moments that would change my life forever.

A white van came speeding out of nowhere, tires chirping and engine revving loudly. The van pulled around our car, and slammed right into our small bags, sending them flying at least 10 feet in front of us. Thank goodness there was no one standing in front of them. Michelle and I stood there, dumbfounded and speechless. Believe me, that’s rare for both of us, and especially for Michelle. Michelle’s bag was crushed. My bag broke open, and there was a mess everywhere. Toothbrushes, pads, my deodorant, perfume, flat iron, brushes… everything was scattered all over the pavement. And then the cutest Hawaiian guy I had ever seen got out of the van and apologized profusely, as he attempted to collect all our dispersed belongings. I was a little embarrassed when he picked up my pads, hoping he was a typical man and didn’t have a clue what a pad was for. His faded hot pink board shorts might have been illegal where I’m from, but they beautifully complimented his dark tanned skin. He had one of those black diving tops on, the ones that outline every curve on your chest and torso – the good and bad ones alike. I thought for a moment he was wearing one of those fake plastic chests you get in those cheesy Halloween stores, but this his build was probably real. I was still in an exhausted funk, so part of me thought I might be dreaming. But I didn’t want this dream to stop. I think Michelle knew exactly what I was thinking, postulating that she couldn’t have possibly engineered this scenario any better even if she had tried.

“I am so sorry. There aren’t supposed to be bags on this side,” he said calmly, with what I would swear was a twinkle in his light brown, almost golden eyes. His pupils were very small, as if they had hidden themselves on purpose to accentuate the unique color of his iris. Now it seemed yellowish orange, as he moved his head slightly towards the hotel door. What a unique color, I thought. His eyes were completely mesmerizing. “It’s dangerous to drop people off on this side. I don’t know why they keep doing that. Lazy drivers.” His biceps bulged as he packed as much as he could back into our bags, not knowing which was which. Michelle was laughing as she began to separate our stuff, prominently holding up the pad this guy mistakenly put in her bag as I smacked it out of her hand. “Listen, I’ll make it up to you. I have to run – I’ve got a lesson on the North Shore in 30 minutes and it takes 45 to get there, especially with traffic, so I really got to go.”

He neatly brushed his mid-length very wavy jet-black hair from his eyes as he fumbled through a sad excuse for a pocket in his hot pink board shorts for something. I have to admit, although pink has always been my least favorite color, the faded pink of his shorts was growing on me. I decided I was going to work on my own tan – skin cancer bedamned. I was way too pasty for a tropical island. He pulled out a blue nylon wallet. Nestled in the small unkempt wallet, he found a tattered business card. He handed it to me. “Here. Here’s my number. I’ll be back later today. Call me, and we’ll meet up, right around here I guess, and I’ll take care of your luggage. If you want, I’ll throw in a couple free surf lessons too. I am so sorry. I gotta run. Mahalo.” Another guy finished loading something into the back of his van and closed the door, patting the door with his hand as a signal that he was all done. He smiled at me as he climbed back into his van, and sped off. Nice teeth.

Michelle waved her hands in front of my eyes, still fixated on the van as it pulled away, but more so on the dish who was driving it. “Hey – hello? Earth to Olivia… holy shit, Liv! We’ve been here for five minutes and you’re already in heat!” She snatched the business card out of my hand. I still hadn’t looked at it. “Kalani Kaleo,” she read aloud, “Oooh, Surf Instructor. Well, imagine that. Someone who gets paid to surf. I reserve all judgment until we see what he does about my Louis Vuitton bag. What the fuck?” She handed the card back to me. “C’mon, Liv, let’s head up.”

The bellman finally arrived with our driver. After seeing the mess, the bellman scolded the driver. “I told you not to pull up around this side. See what happens? Do you see what happens?” The bellman turned to us. “I am so sorry, ladies. We’ll take care of all this. Aloha and Mahalo. I’ll meet you by the front desk.”

I have to admit, after reading some of the reviews of this hotel on websites while tooling through Phoenix and LA, I was worried this place would be old, run down, and generally miserable. And after our suitcase crushing experienced, I was even more concerned. Some paradise. But having spent many nights at many Marriotts during seminars and conferences, I knew in my heart all the negativity I saw on the reviews couldn’t possibly be true. A lot of travelers who actually have the time to write reviews are like spoiled children. I know for a fact that people will write a bad review as a way to “get back” at someone. Sitting just across Kalakaua Avenue, which is directly across a small one-way street from world famous Waikiki Beach. The hotel’s outside shell is nowhere as majestic as the Florida resorts we’re used to, but there’s really no room for curb appeal in Waikiki. An impressive open-air lobby overlooking the hustle and bustle of the busy Waikiki strip was my first clue that this place was going to be good. The front desk manager took down some information about our bags and gave us a free upgrade for our troubles. We walked down a long hallway filled with stores and darted by the over-eager timeshare salesperson outside the elevators as we approached our new home away from home.