Sisterchicks Do the Hula (20 page)

Laurie tapped me on the leg. We surfaced and removed our snorkels.

“This is amazing!” she said. “Did you see those bright yellow ones with the tall fin and the black stripes?”

“They’re beautiful! All I can hope is that they didn’t hear you talking about you-know-what before we got in the water.”

Laurie laughed, and we went back under.

The gentle rhythm of the tide in this large lagoon rocked me as I easily floated along. I was captured, drawn into this liquid fairyland where fronds of green seaweed rose in forestlike clumps and swayed back and forth to music my mortal ear couldn’t hear.

In and out of the dancing forest, the eager fish swam. My favorites were the schools of iridescent silver and blue fish that were about the size of a large safety pin, only more narrow and sleek. They zipped to and fro as a group. Each time they banked to the right or left, my eye caught a glimmer of the luminous rainbow colors hidden in their silvery scales.

A young girl came up beside us in our gigantic aquarium and released a handful of green peas into the water. From every direction the fish came toward her, gobbling the peas in one bite.

I let out a squeal through the snorkel. The girl released another handful, and the fish rushed toward her again.

“Did you see that?” I asked, as Laurie and I simultaneously surfaced.

She said something unintelligible because she hadn’t taken the snorkel out of her mouth. She laughed, took it out, and repeated, “Feeding frenzy! Did you see how they came from all directions? And for green peas, too. My kids never came running for peas.”

“You didn’t have boys,” I said. “All I have to do is say
food
, and they come storming in, just like those fish.”

“Do you miss them?” Laurie asked, as we treaded water.

“A little.”

“I miss mine a little, too.”

We looked at each other, looked at the shore where the elderly couple sat watching our gear, and looked at the water as if we had choreographed the move.

“But I don’t wish they were here,” Laurie said.

“Me, neither.”

“This would be a different trip with husbands or children.”

“Definitely.”

“I like it just the way it is.”

“Me, too. A little head soaking is good for the soul.”

Laurie laughed before saying one simple word, “More.” With that, we went back under into the alternate universe of motion and color and calm.

For a long time, Laurie and I paddled side by side just
below the surface of the water, taking steady breaths in and out of our snorkels on our journey into the submerged universe of tiny miracles. My dearest objective was to get one of the little fish to come to me, but every tactic I tried with my outstretched hand failed. If we went snorkeling again, I’d definitely bring some peas.

The sun on my back felt hot. Too hot. I knew it would be wise to go back and apply more sunscreen on my pale skin. But I didn’t want to ever leave this other world. I didn’t want the gentle, rocking sensation that was soothing something deep within me to cease. I was sure Laurie was experiencing the same comfort.

As we stretched out across the saltwater sky of this sequestered universe, I told God I thought He was amazing. From His imagination came all this intriguing variety. Such color and graceful movement. Such exotic terrain.

You spoke and all this came to be
.

When we finally floated our way to shore, we couldn’t stop effusing about the world we had just peeked into. The older couple beside us seemed entertained by our descriptions.

“Where’s our sushi, then?” the man teased.

“They were too small,” Laurie said.

“No, they were too amazing,” I said. “If you go out there and meet them face-to-face, you’ll see what I’m talking about. You could never find it in your being to eat one of those little creatures.”

“What do you think, Rosie?” the man asked his wife.

“Should we rent some of those masks and visit the fish?”

“Why not?”

“Here.” Laurie held out her mask. “You can borrow ours. I’m sure they have a way of sanitizing the snorkels at the rental shack.”

“Oh, I don’t think I could manage that gizmo,” the woman said. “I’ll just try the goggles.”

As the white-haired couple tottered to the water, I patted my face and arms dry and lowered my dripping body onto my towel. I couldn’t stop talking about the fish.

“I loved the ones that were about the size of my hand.”

“Which ones?” Laurie asked.

“The really bright ones that looked like they were painted by a group of Brownies who were trying to outdo each other for their fun-with-color merit badge.”

“Hope.”

“What? What are you smiling about?”

“You, Hope. You are so full of life. Everything is amazing to you. I love it. I love being around you.”

“The feeling is mutual, you know.”

B
y the time we got back on the road, it was nearly five o’clock and we were both starving. We drove up along the coast and stopped at the first drive-through we spotted. Eagerly we ordered big burgers with no onions and thick milk shakes. I was a happy mama.

“I was looking at the tour book on the beach earlier,” Laurie said, as she steered with one hand and held her vanilla shake with the other. “I thought we could drive around the whole island today, but it’s getting pretty late, and the sun will be going down soon. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t mind getting the sand out of my bathing suit before I sit much longer.”

“Do you want to turn around and go back the way we came?” I asked.

“Isn’t there a highway that goes over the hill and back into Honolulu?”

I had a look at the map. “It’s the Pali Highway. We can cut over to Honolulu on that, and it should save us some time.”

“And,” Laurie said with a sparkle in her voice, “it will get us on a road that has some personality.”

I soon found out what Laurie meant by “personality.” The Pali Highway was by no means a country road, but as soon as it turned uphill, the terrain changed. The air cooled. The light began to fade. This was a rain forest. Shades of lush green dominated the scene.

“You would think we were on a different planet all of a sudden,” Laurie said. “And where are all these people going?”

“Home from the beach?” I suggested.

“I can’t believe there’s so much traffic on this island. Hope, what do you think of keeping the car another day and driving up to the North Shore tomorrow?”

“Fine with me. You want to find a place to drive without traffic, don’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“Just a wild guess.”

“I’m ready to put the top back up.” Laurie pulled off to the side of the road. We were both in our damp bathing suits and wrapped in wet, sandy towels. The heater was on, but all it was doing was frying the tops of our bare feet. Laurie pushed a button, and when the top connected with the windshield, we snapped a few levers.

“Too easy,” she said, turning on her blinker and making a jet-blast merge back into the flow of traffic. We rumbled our
way along the beautiful Pali Highway as the day closed its eyes. We were being sent into that place of mystery and imagination where every movement in the shadows is as murky as the shapes one perceives on the inside of the eyelids when trying to fall asleep in the middle of the day.

“This island has many different moods, don’t you think?”

Laurie agreed.

Coming down the other side of Pali, we were stunned by the millions of night-lights that had come on all over Honolulu. The one night-light that reduced all the others to firefly flickers was the lopsided moon. It hung from the heavens on invisible wires like a backward, tipsy letter
C
. We hadn’t really noticed it before tonight; apparently much of its robust beauty had been hidden by the tall buildings that rose out of the volcanic foundation and defined the Honolulu skyline.

“La bella luna,”
Laurie exclaimed with a smooth Italian accent. “Look at that beautiful moon!”

I grinned, aware that Laurie was now the one who was amazed and filled with appreciation for God’s incredible creation.

“Look at the faint colors in the sky,” she said.

The sun had set, yet the sky maintained a periwinkle blue tint that separated the sky blue from the turquoise blue of the vast ocean. A thin vanilla haze shrouded the moon, as if the shy keeper of the night was veiled in gossamer to hide its face from the glory of all that lay stretched out before us.

“This is a gorgeous island. I don’t care what anyone says.

It’s beautiful. I can see why so many people live here.” Laurie paused, and then glancing at me, she added, “Maybe Gabe and I should move here.”

I couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. Just in case she was, I added, “If you do, I promise I’ll come visit you often.”

S
unday, Laurie and I agreed, had been a stellar day in every way. As we turned the car keys over to the bellman at the entrance of our hotel, we discussed how we couldn’t have planned a more perfect day.

Then we walked into the lobby, and the tide turned.

Our hotel was filled with people. All of them wore bright yellow laminated name tags. A reception was in full swing out at the pool with live music echoing through the hotel. We wove our way through clusters of conventioneers and waited for the elevator. A particularly loud pair of men joined us, holding plastic drink cups and laughing over a less than honorable joke.

“Pardon me,” another man said, stepping toward us. “Are these gentlemen bothering you young ladies?”

Laurie ignored him.

I offered a slight nod because, at first, I thought he was
with hotel security. Then I noticed he was holding a plastic cup. The faint scent of tiki punch wafted in the air.

One of the guys said to the other, “These hotshots from Division Twelve think they can come here and kick some serious—”

Just then the elevator door opened, and Laurie and I hurried inside, claiming the front corner by the control buttons.

“We’re gonna dominate this year!” Tiki man called out, as the doors closed with Laurie and me in the elevator with the two guys.

“So, what division are you two in?” one of the men asked us. It sounded about as skanky as if he had said, “So, ya come here often?”

Laurie ignored them.

I was about to state firmly that we were not with their convention, whatever their convention was, and therefore we had no interest in divisions of any sort. But the elevator stopped unexpectedly on the second floor. It wasn’t our floor, but Laurie gave me a stern look and stepped out. I followed her.

“See you girls later,” one of the guys called out as the door closed.

“Come on.” Laurie took my beach bag from me so that my hands were free. “We’re taking the stairs. I didn’t want them to know which floor we’re staying on.”

“Oh, right, like they were trying to pick us up.”

“Hope, it’s not worth trying to reason with an inebriated
person. I’ve been to enough art-world dinners with Gabe to know that. Come on.”

I followed her to the stairwell and took the steps, feeling as if I had fifty-pound weights tied to each ankle. Laurie scooted up the stairs as if she were trying out for an exercise video.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” I called out.

I made it all the way to the eighth floor. Breathing hard, I stopped outside the stairwell door. “Isn’t it the big bad wolves who are supposed to do all the huffing and puffing?”

“In fairy tales, I suppose.”

“Next time, we take the elevator and make the wolves take the stairs.”

“I hope there isn’t a next time.” Laurie led the way down the hall to our room.

She showered while I went out on the lanai to cool off. I called Darren, planning to tell him about Juliette’s grave and the Hawaiian hymn that went inside me and the zippy little silvery fish that I tried to touch while snorkeling.

However, Darren started the conversation with, “We stayed home from church today. Blake has a cough, and the other two said they felt like they were coming down with something. It snowed six inches last night; did I tell you that?”

Snow. What a foreign concept. The only white stuff I could relate to was the six inches of white sand granules that still lined the inside of my bathing suit.