Hawaii '93 part 3

It is Honolulu at the beginning of summer. The heat is constant. All day long, billows of mist waft down from the highlands, the rainy side of the island claiming a bit more than its usual territory. The mist does little more than humidify the air which makes it heavy and viscous. Shade is the only acceptable outdoor location. Days are spent lounging at the beach in the shade adjusting the resting place every now and then to avoid the sun's march across the sky. The town is full of bargain hunters like us, taking advantage of low-season rates.

The bars were pretty dead overall, though there was ONE place to go on the night we were there. We decided to all check it out out en masse. That's how we ended up going to a straight club where I was forbidden to enter because I was wearing a tank top. (Next to Waikiki Beach, in Honolulu, Hawaii. I thought that bore repeating.) Men were not allowed to enter "sleeveless" whereas women seemed to be able to enter naked. The bouncer refused to see my logic with "if women are allowed to enter sleeveless, so should men be" so I went down the block and bought a garish tourist tshirt for $5 and gained entry. This was my first brush with wild drunken straight vacationers at a club. It was horrid. Packed with wide eyed young men commenting on the bodies of women writhing around them. I was embarrassed for the women whose garments were shed in congruence with rising blood alcohol levels. An alarmingly attractive girl approached me, took my hands and placed them on her breasts and said, "Wanna dance?" I was saved by my workmate who said something about her being a dog and me being the wrong tree. I couldn't wait to get out of there so I bid my friends farewell and told the gay guys to meet me over at the other place later if they wanted. Oh right, it was called "Hulas". In the end, the way the universe plays such things, the gay guys never came to rejoin me.

I went in and it was totally dead. A few old men at the bar staring at a tv, and a few smokers out back on the patio. I noticed Jeff, at least I thought it was, at the service bar and went to sit down outside and smoke. Even though only ten days had passed, so much had happened on vacation that I didn't even have a clear memory of what he looked like. That he was short, I remember, and then he appeared, just like that as I was trying to visualize him. He smiled broadly and said, "You came back. I didn't think you would." I ordered a beer and then he brought a coworker over to say, "This is the one I was telling you about." He tried way too hard to be macho, a common ailment of the short, but I found it charming the way he almost pulled it off. It was established early on that this was my last night in Honolulu and we played a little game of what if. What if we went to my place and ate a late candlelight supper and talked until dawn? What if you're married and have three kids? What if you're rich but not telling me? What if you were THE ONE and we only had tonight to find out? On and on like that and it was quite simply, thrilling. He worked the sparse tables as I sipped beer and waited for him to finish. It was delicious, the banter and the silent spaces to ponder the banter, each of us knowing somewhat how this evening was going to end. Can you fall for someone in an evening? I don't know, I don't think I did, but it was really not logical to contemplate a Hawaii-California relationship. A vacation romp, that's all it was to be in my head.

When he got off (work, ahem), we went to his place, a very small closet dressed up like a bachelor apartment, drank wine, ate pizza with candlelight, and slowly, trying to savor everything, devoured each other. It's got to be one of the top five nights in my life. We slept little and when we did, it was all spooned up on the single bed. In the morning he made breakfast and we exchanged phone numbers and addresses. Turned out he was from San Diego and planned to return there. He hadn't mentioned this before because "he didn't know me yet." Can you know someone in an evening? I don't know, I don't think he did but he carried on anyway starting up the what if game again. What if we bought a house with a white picket fence and got a dog? What if we opened our own bar and made it fabulous? What if we only have to wait six weeks to see each other? I kept it light but was troubled by how exciting the prospect was making my heart race. That afternoon, we left to come home. The gang was pissed off at me for having disappeared the night before and the gay guy who had a crush on me was sharpening his bitch claws, indignant that I would sleep with such a "lowlife" who worked in a bar. "He does that every night, you know."

For two weeks I didn't contact him. Phone calls were expensive and what?, it was all about sex anyway, let's just see what happens, maybe that San Diego thing was just pie in the sky. Then I received a very nice card and letter and a picture inside so "I wouldn't forget him." Trying to look all manly again. It was cute, here I'll show you the one souvenir I have, and so I called him and we had a long talk about his upcoming plan to go to San Diego. He was returning to college and we'd be two hours drive apart. He wouldn't have a car. No job, no car? Where will you live? Oh yes, at mommy's. And then it sounded rather dreary and complicated so I started to feel a bit lackluster about having a real relationship. Sure I wanted to see him, and I knew we would, but then what? I took a wait and see attitude. Two weeks later I went to Hong Kong unexpectedly for a six-week work assignment. I made no contact with him while I was there. Unfortunately for him, I met Serge the second day in Hong Kong and as you know, we've been forever since.

When I returned from Hong Kong, he called me and chewed me out on the phone for being incommunicado. He was here in Southern California, and he wanted to know when could we get together. Feeling rather cornered, I told him what had happened, that I had met a guy in Hong Kong, that he was moving here to be with me, that it just happened out of the blue and that's why I hadn't contacted him. "I changed my whole life for you! To come back to California, I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't met you!" He cried angry tears, but I remained aloof and just, "Sorry, I didn't plan it this way, you're a great guy and you'll find someone, and you never know, if this thing with Serge doesn't work out..." He seemed really heart-broken and I felt bad for him but I was too in love, fresh off the whirlwind weeks of romance with Serge and after all, he and I had only had one night together. Can you fall in love with someone in one night? I don't know, but I think he may have.