Falling Forward (10 page)

“They do look good, but I don’t think ribs would be a great idea,” I said, looking down at my dress, motioning with my hands.

“No worries. I can have the chef take the meat off the rib.” I was amazed at how in tune Kalani was. He seemed to know exactly what I was thinking. I smiled at his compassion.

The waiter returned with two frilly Mai Tais, complete with flowers and fresh fruit accompaniments. Kalani took a sip. His hand shook a bit, like he was nervous, and he winced. “Too strong for you?” I chided. “Yeah, wow, I don’t really drink.” I thought this might be a problem. I hardly knew this man. I don’t typically get stupid when I have a few, but I would be at a physical disadvantage if he were sober and I wasn’t.
Old
Olivia would have never allowed herself to fall into a compromising situation. But the all new
Liv
didn’t seem to have any reservations. Kalani flagged down the waiter and asked for a virgin. The waiter smiled condescendingly, took his non-virgin away, and walked towards the bar. I took another sip of my non-virgin. I thought it was delicious.

Kalani was looking off into what was now a lovely sunset. Living on the island, I’m sure he’s watched thousands of perfect sunsets. But he looked calm and at peace. I have to admit, I was slightly jealous I had to compete with something so stunningly beautiful. I hated to interrupt his moment, but the Mai Tai was starting to kick in, and I was intrigued. “So, who is Kalani? Tell me about yourself. Like, what does Kalani mean?”

Kalani smiled. “Well, it’s a funny story.” I took another sip of my drink and leaned back in my chair, like a child who was settling in for a wonderfully entertaining bedtime story. “My mom was hoping for a girl. She wanted to have some help around the house with gardening, cooking and cleaning, like her mother had. The way she carried me in her belly, the cravings she had, and a few old spooky Hawaiian superstitions all pointed to her carrying a girl. So,
Kalani
is typically a
girl’s
name. She hadn’t really thought of anything for a boy, and she’s not the type to get some ultrasound to see what sex her kid is.
Kalani
supposedly means
the heavens
,” he said as he pointed and looked upwards towards the sky. He laughed. “That’s me, I guess… a heavenly child. Not so much. I was probably from the wrong heaven.” Kalani sighed. “Poor mom. I guess she got over it.” Kalani paused and looked off again. His virgin arrived. He thanked the waiter, then took a sip. “Eventually, mom did have a girl. And she kind of swept me away. I can’t say I blame her – that’s kind of what happens around here. It’s dads with sons, and daughters with mothers. It’s a tradition thing.”

I felt sorry for Kalani. I hoped his relationship with his father was strong enough to keep him happy. It was hard to tell, and Kalani didn’t look like he wanted to talk about it. Just then, I thought maybe my own story might make him feel better. “That’s ironic. I heard my biological parents wanted a boy. I know for sure they didn’t want me. I was adopted. I never got to meet my real parents,” I said, not quite sure why I was being so uncharacteristically cynical. “It wasn’t all bad. They were a wonderful older couple who couldn’t have children of their own. They picked my name. I’m not really sure what my name means,” I replied. “I’d Google it, but my phone is broken.”

Kalani looked very serious as he approached my face with his. “No, I’m really sorry, Liv. But no matter how you look at it, I am definitely the most wounded child at this table. Nice try, though.” We both laughed hysterically. It was so pleasant to laugh with someone who had what appeared to be a noble wit. I became a bit sad when I recalled Richard had always laughed
at
people. I remember he would laugh at me whenever I would trip, misspeak, or make any sort of mistake.

“Did you ever look for your real parents?” he asked, after he finally caught his breath. “I’m sorry, I guess that came out wrong. I meant
biological
parents.”

I never talked about my personal life with my patients, vendors, or co-workers. I rarely discussed it with my friends. It’s not that I didn’t trust them; it’s that I’ve always thought it to be awkward, as if I were begging for sympathy. But that was never the case. For some reason, I trusted Kalani. I believed he might understand and truly empathize. For the first time in a long time, I spilled my guts. “Thought about it quite a few times after my parents passed. That’s my adoptive parents. I poked around the internet a bit, but no, I never really pursued my biologicals in a serious way. I suppose I didn’t want to make things uncomfortable for them. I’m sure someone could have found me on some social networking thing or another website if they really wanted to. But I have still never heard from anyone in 42 years. That’s probably a sign they’re not interested. That is, if they’re still alive.”

I thought that was a subtle way to drop the age bomb on him. I watched him carefully to determine if that mattered. I had to be at least a decade older than him, and I’m sure people around us were thinking I was a cougar. But there was no raised eyebrow or wrinkled face on Kalani. That was a relief. Maybe he didn’t care. Of course, he may have missed my little hint altogether. I was hoping he would tell me how old he was. But he didn’t bite.

“Hey, I’m sorry, Liv. I didn’t know. I hope… I hope I didn’t upset you. I don’t know how anyone could possibly give up a child that God gave to you. That’s crazy. I mean, mom kept me, even though I wasn’t a girl. And I didn’t turn out so bad. At least I don’t think so.” Kalani smiled. We talked about parents, and I described my very pleasant childhood the best I could remember, “So, where are you from?”

“I was born just outside of Philadelphia. A suburb to the north called Bucks County. It’s a pretty place with lots of farms and trees and rolling hills.” I thought back to the day when I discovered the true beauty of nature. I must have been 11 or 12. I remember the autumn days when the temperature broke and began to usher in sweater weather. I always got a funny excited feeling every fall, as if it were my own personal spring. I always knew something really special was going to happen, and something usually did. “Bucks was really pretty, especially when the temperatures dropped, and the trees turned color in October and November. Now, a lot of those trees are gone. There are housing developments and strip malls and office parks all over the place. Right before I started high school, my parents moved us to Florida. They were a little older and didn’t like cold weather. We moved to an east coast city called Melbourne, not too far from Cocoa Beach. No one has ever heard of Melbourne.”

“I’ve heard of Melbourne! I’ve actually been to Cocoa Beach a couple of times. I entered some surf contest there a bunch of years ago. Lost to some guy named Slaughter or something. He was pretty amazing. Still is, from what I hear. I’ve been out of the game for a while.” Kalani paused, looked off to his left, and smiled ear to ear. I guessed he was reminiscing about his youth. Once again, I was captivated by his warm island smile, and wonderfully white teeth. I’ve always had a thing about nice teeth. “Man, we had a lot of fun back in the day. Some crazy parties. Those guys were nuts. You ever go to a surf competition over there, in Cocoa Beach?”

“You know, I actually did! My friends and I would go during high school. It was a big thing on the beach. We’re talking, I don’t know, twenty some years ago. When were you there?” I tried to figure out his age once again. I think Kelly Slater was in his early 40s at the time. Based on the lines on his face and this fresh clue, he had to be somewhere around his mid to late 30s.

“Wow, that had to be close to 15, maybe even 20 years ago. You know, wouldn’t it be funny if we were there at the same time? You might have watched me surf! I hope you were rooting for me. But the Slaughter guy, or whatever his name was, was the local kid, so everyone was pumped for him,” Kalani exclaimed, just like an excited teenaged kid himself. I could easily envision him as some teenaged surf punk. I thought that was really cute. His eyes perked up as he changed the subject. “So, Life Saver, you’re a doctor, huh? That’s pretty heavy. What kind of doctor are you?”

I really, really,
really
hate talking about myself. I always have. Especially in interviews with those silly self-touting local medical magazines you’ll find in doctors’ offices that no one ever reads. You know, the ones you have to pay before they’ll interview you. They’re pure advertising, and everyone who’s anyone knows it – but the patients like it. They eat that stuff up. It’s like you’re an instant celebrity once someone sees your name and picture in print. I suppose it does help your standing – people will listen to you and agree with you much more easily if they think you’re some big deal physician. What I never liked was the interviewer always made me feel the need to justify
why
I am who and where I am. It wasn’t that they were digging for skeletons, it’s just that they wanted to write a more thrilling advertisement that would be so effective for a month or two, and you’d be included to come back and buy an annual advertising package. I never fell for it, but everyone else in the office did. Those damn journalists. Luckily, I had rehearsed my story several times. I took a drink, a deep breath, and then I laid it on him.

“My adoptive parents were pretty well off. They told me I could be whatever I wanted. When I was in high school, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. I wanted to somehow save her life so badly, but I was helpless. I needed to know more. Her eventual passing hit me pretty hard. Then, a few years later, my father died too -- cancer again. Here I was, in college acing pre-med, but I couldn’t begin to understand how to save the people I loved. I was planning on becoming a surgeon. I had to find out what this disease was. How it worked. How it spread. And how to stop it. Cutting it out only prolonged the inevitable, because you can never cut it all out. Burning it with radiation wasn’t a cure either. And I had seen the side effects of chemotherapy first hand with both of my parents. There had to be a better way to attack or reverse the processes that produced the malignant cells. I switched gears and became an oncologist. I intended to work in a laboratory to help find a cure. I was naively determined to find a cure myself. I did that for a few years. But the funding was paltry. The facilities were dated. Strangely enough, labs didn’t seem to be interested in
curing
the disease. It seemed their only interest was
prolonging
it. The entire medical profession was making billions of dollars sustaining cancer. Apparently, there’s no money in curing a disease. My funding dried up. I was told I had a terrific bedside manner, and an out-of-the box personality that’s rare in medicine. So I became an oncologist, or a cancer doctor.”

I went on for another minute or two. I suppose it was more of a rant than a description. The medical magazines had always edited out the good stuff, so I was pleased that at least someone heard the entire story. Kalani smiled and turned his head, staring off into the impending sunset. I was worried that maybe I had struck a chord, but I was thankful I hadn’t put him to sleep. Maybe his mother or father or someone close to him had died from cancer. He seemed to be in a trance. I waited for a long moment before I reached out to him. “Kalani? Hey, Kalani? Are you OK?” I asked softly, slowly putting my right hand on his broad left shoulder.

He quickly snapped out of his self-induced trance. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” He took another sip, then turned back towards me. “I’m good, Liv. Real good right now. So you save people’s lives
all
the time. That’s awesome, Liv. Really awesome. You are a pretty amazing woman. What you did with Carol, it was awesome. People are talking about you all over the island. Some of them are saying you might be some sort of angel or something. You know, I’m beginning to agree with them. Hey, are you real?” Kalani moved my hand from his shoulder to his bare forearm. “Pinch me and show me I’m not dreaming…”

I smiled as I wondered if this was nothing more than a cheesy line. And one of the oldest lines in the book, at that. I shuddered to think what was coming next.
Don’t blow it, please don’t blow this
… I begged with my inner voice, hoping this man wasn’t just another typical guy. I didn’t think so, but I have obviously been fooled before. Maybe, just maybe, he actually meant it. After more than 15 years of being ignored, I was surprised to find that I was starved for any attention I could get. I had never recognized that need. I suppose I was just too busy to realize I wasn’t happy.

The band had started to play. Then I remembered they thought I was Miss Hawaii, and began to breathe faster and
shallower as I realized I might be having a slight panic attack thinking the host might invite me on stage. I can’t sing or dance! Shoot, I can barely walk. I took another sip, which was probably much more like a gulp. My glass was down to nothing but ice. I hoped the waiter would see this and fix that situation quickly. This could be very embarrassing. The guitar player kept looking at me and smiling, as if he had plans for me. I turned to Kalani. I think he could tell I was mildly worried. “Hey, with this Miss Hawaii thing, they’re not going to embarrass me or anything, are they?”

Kalani laughed. “No, no worries, Liv. Miss Hawaii is about to come out. She performs right before every sunset.” He turned towards the restaurant area. “Look, see the woman in the pink dress, standing in front of the bar? That’s Miss Hawaii, probably one of them from the 1980s or maybe 90s, I think. There are three, four, maybe even five that switch off here, depending on the night of the week and what’s going on. She’s waiting for her cue.”