All artists draw from experiences in life. Not that we must have them in order to be good storytellers, but, like dirty nuggets of gold, they help create space in our minds and allow our emotions and creative and insightful thoughts come to us. And sometimes, outside of any artistic endeavor, it reminds me of what's important to me in life.
Sitting at the Island Vintage Coffee in my third day living in Hawaii, for a month anyway, my first day filled me with events that went beyond my expectation.
Downtown Honolulu has a first Friday art walk, and it was something I wanted to do, loving the Oakland First Fridays Arts Festival. Think massive street party filled with live street bands, performers, galleries, chains of food trucks, and merchandise only found locally. It's like ten blocks of fantastic experience with alleyways intermingled.
Honolulu's paled in comparison--one live band, two blocks of stuff, and a smattering of artists struggling to find their place in their world. I had met up with a group of people to go on this walk, none of them had ever experienced Oakland's, and my failing to explain to them the grandness of it all, despite Oaktown's murderous reputation, didn't do the other city by the bay nuthin'.
I did meet this beautiful woman with depth and sensed a connection. So we walked and talked and people watched. We slowly got to know each other and things seemed to go well. Then I found out she was leaving the H.I. in the morning following the next day. To make things a little worse, her ride wanted to leave and so she had to as well.
While sitting alone in a restaurant, I witnessed someone throwing a bottle at another man's face for reasons unbeknown to me, then watched a Capoeira demonstration, which was awesome, saw a homeless woman drop someteen dollars, pointed at her then her money and she raised her hang loose hand and stared at me, and stared at me, and stared at me for a lot longer than I felt comfortable with, then went back to the hostel to find my young roommates hollering' it up, preventing the sandman from calling. That was my first day in the Hawaiian Islands.
Oh, did I mention the hookers stalking the streets? Yeah, I found them while walking off the main strip of Waikiki. Yes, Hawaiian women are naturally beautiful, so...yeah...and no I did not.
Next morning, I looked at my phone and that woman from the night before asked if she could tag along with me to the North Shore. We drove the perimeter of Oahu, saw a sleeping sea turtle, and she treated me to a Polynesian Fire God hamburger, which was as spicy as it sounds, tried the famed Fumis Fresh Shrimp truck, then drove about a quarter of a mile to find another famed Fumis Fresh Shrimp truck, only to find another farther down the highway. "Shady" she yelled, and we both laughed.
We decided to settle down at a beach and catch some Hawaiian sun and entered Waimea Bay. The winds were whisking up the waves to the point where the current was able to swallow unskilled swimmers into the Pacific Ocean, us, and the lifeguard had to announce a warning. He suggested to us that we hit Turtle Bay Resort, which has sort of an alcove, hint: you two don't belong in here's torrential waves. Good thing we did cuz it was exactly what we wanted. For the next few hours, we talked about life, love, kids, passions, what hers were, told her about my soul search that lead me to writing, and then I found out that she was going to stay for a few more days, but had to leave for personal reasons.
Hmm. Puzzle. Let's see if I can gain her trust enough to reveal what that is.
We continued to talk about our experiences with Hawaii, well my love for it, my heartbreaking point of having to cancel my home purchase to stay with my ailing mom (sympathy card, gentlemen), and she blurted out something about a boyfriend.
Sucker punch in the nuts. My nuts. Not hers. Wait. She don't have none. Wait! She doesn't have none--any.
Her trip to Hawaii was a response to his inability to commit. I'll go as far as that.
Doing what I do as a former mentor of children, I told her that she should just end it with this guy, move up to Nor Cal, and date me.
Right. Remember, I have no balls cuz she sucker punched them, flat. Not that I consoled her, but more listened and offered advise when the conversation seemed to point to it. In the end, she left earlier than scheduled to be with him, and that's sweet.
After I dropped her off, there was a feeling of lost connection because I realized something. I wasn't hoping that we would somehow get together, she lives many, many hours away from me, but that I value the connection between a man and a woman. Especially from my point of view, I cherished feeling connected to her, or any woman of depth. Whether she felt that way too, I don't know. Maybe, she was one of those angels, like friends who stay for only a day, to remind me that connection, that being with someone who I want to share life with is important. I mean, isn't that what we all want? Which is a line one of my favorite characters in my book uses.
This connection is probably why I want to write my fantasies so much. For whatever reason, I feel connected to these stories, and I can't help but tell them.
Wherever you are, I hope you find what you're looking for, and I thank you for making my trip here all the better. Ciao Bella.