i saw the lights and i was on my way.

< back | up | next >

last seen: drip drying

2 january 1996 1:27 a.m.

There was no countdown where we stood, in a parking lot at the edge of an empty pier. The rain, which fell off and on during the last five hours of 1996, seemed to hold its breath with Derek and I, as we silently listened to Honolulu hurdle over a thousand different midnights. I didn't have a watch, and he'd left his precision "Marvin the Martian" timepiece at home. We weren't sure whose clock was right. Car horns blared, firecrackers erupted from all corners of the city, and hollers and cheers drifted across from Aloha Tower Marketplace. We were waiting for the big fireworks show, but meanwhile everyone else was shouting, singing, kissing. "Our turn?" he asked. I turned around, the two of us still sharing his jacket where I'd taken refuge from the cold. I gave him a hug that would have snapped a lesser man's spine, then buried my head under his chin. I was so nervous, I was ecstatic. "I think so," I said... Seconds -- maybe decades later -- the sky erupted into a dozen screaming colors. I think I liked the blues and purples best. What can I say about "First Night"? It was half the size of last year's festival, it kept raining, I was briefly surrounded by the Macarena, and I had to wait fifteen minutes in line for a lukewarm bowl of instant saimin. And I still had a great time. It was Derek's first "First Night," but as the seasoned guide for the evening I didn't do too great. I made him park downtown, figuring that's where the action has always been, but when I unfolded the map to figure where to start, it turned out we were about five blocks away from everything. Most of the folks we walked past on the way to Iolani Palace were headed the other way, to the Marketplace, where drunken revelry of the sort I've supposedly outgrown was undoubtedly taking place. "Suppose they know where the real party's at?" I asked. "Wherever you are," he said. (All together now: Aaaaawwwww...) I bumped into a bunch of guys from work, all happy to see me... and I couldn't remember the names of most of them. I introduced Derek, but had to wade through an awkward silence to make perfectly clear I was not going to be introducing them. I'm pretty sure they knew. Squirming is most definitely a sport for spectators. We stood in the rain and listened to a Hawaiian band at the Palace, then I humored Derek for maybe five minutes at the belly-dancing show before we set off in search of food. Even in the rain, there wasn't a line with less than twenty people in it. We picked the saimin line, and met a talkative guy with an Italian accent who wanted to teach us the meringue. By the time we got our styrofoam buckets o' fun, we'd heard his whole life story. He retired last year from hotel security, which was a stressful career of many injuries. Before that, he was a dance instructor and writer who rubbed shoulders with a hundred famous performers in a dozen exotic countries. He shared his thoughts on "young music" and assorted nightspots in town, explained how all women are beautiful (using me as a visual aide) and explained his life philosophy and how it compared to that of "most silly Americans." Now, here was a man who surely has had a rich and colorful life, and an worldview that consists of nothing but mirth and joy. He's probably seen more in half a lifetime than either Derek or I could in four. And yet the only coherent sentence I'd managed to say to him was, "Could you please pass the shoyu?" Eventually he bowed with a flourish and waltzed away down Punchbowl, humming to himself. For a moment Derek and I just stared at eachother in stunned wonder. Throughout dinner I had a hard time not laughing noodles out my nose. We wandered through the Christmas tree exhibit at Honolulu Hale (City Hall), and gawked at the two-story tall plastic Santa Claus making a shaka sign. Suddenly it was Christmas again... but why not? The "Twelve Days of Christmas" technically start on Dec. 25, which gives us 'til Monday to get all the yuletide spirit out of our systems. "Isn't that your ex?" Derek asked. "What?" "I think it's Greg. He's leaning on some guy." Sure was. And he certainly wasn't being very discreet (not that he should be, of course). I finally got to see the new boyfriend he'd been soul-searching over in his diary. Though he'd never mentioned he was cute. We joined them in waiting for the Celtic band, catching up. I complained about work, he bragged about his a summer web job in Austin. And we traded complimentary remarks about eachother's boyfriends (Derek was flattered... eventually). I told Greg I knew his new love interest had to be significant, since I hadn't heard a thing from him since the day he first mentioned him -- not even one HTML nag. In a way, I'm surprised he hooked up with this guy. He was very quiet, and very soft-spoken. Rather, about the opposite of the Greg I know. Still, I can't deny they were cute together (and conveniently, both tall). Eventually the band came on -- a contagious brand of Irish with a country aftertaste -- and Derek and I danced a bit. When they took a break and someone put on the Macarena, however, we took off running. We wandered all over, our path dictated more by the presence of cover from the rain than the actual merit of assorted exhibits, but the weather soon lightened to a faint drizzle and we did manage to get to St. Andrews for the bell ringing and pipe organ performance. It was awesome. We walked in right as Bach's "Tocatta and Fugue in D Minor" began, and I swear I could've fainted. For "First Night," they set up the organ so that the audience can see the whole setup -- four keyboards (including one played with the feet), fifty or so buttons, about two hundred knobs and one guy. Some of the positions he had to rotate through to hit all the notes would have made a gymnast wince. Convinced that I had just enjoyed the best part of the entire evening, we joined a flood of people crossing the street to the state Capitol to watch a Taiko drum performance. It was even more awesome. I've always loved Taiko drumming, but for this performance they set up the biggest Taiko drum I've ever seen. Five feet across, at least, made from a tree more than 400 years old. Though I was stirred by the opening pieces, which were played on the conventional sets of five and seven regular drums, I was anxious for them to use the big one. When they finally struck it, I thought my heart stopped. I don't think I'll ever forget that sound. The intensity and the majesty of the performers were hypnotic. Even the youngest drummer, a boy of maybe seven years old, expressed a degree of power that left me breathless. As much as I may smirk at those who say drums touch a deeper, ancestral part of our soul, when I witness something like that, I believe. By the end of the first "half," it was 11:30, so reluctantly we wove our way out of the crowd. We got back to City Hall just as it was closing -- allowing me to avoid the Port-a-Potty nightmare -- then walked, huddled close, toward the harbor. Eventually we turned against the surging tide of people flocking to Aloha Tower Marketplace and headed further along the waterfront, staking out a private place for ourselves behind a cruise ship ticket booth. And there we waited for the new year to wash over us. Word of the Day: "rain" ua (oo- ah) Nui ka ua i keia la. "There is much rain today." (Much the rain [dative marker] this day.) The moments just after midnight, barely inside the threshold of the new year, feel like magic. The whole city is snuggled under a thick blanket of white smoke. Street lights look like stars. The moon's halo is rich and wide. Roads and buildings disappear into a haze. Driving out of downtown, Derek and I were both silent. I opened the windows so we could smell the smoke and hear the distant and dwindling smatterings of fireworks. It was cold. But a crisp, rejuvenating cold. Inside, and still even now, I felt very very warm. Very much like the split second before you wake up from the mother of all afternoon naps. I cannot remember a New Year's where I've felt so at peace. Excited about the future, but not nervous. Very much unlike me. If first impressions mean anything, I'm confident I'll like 1997. Heck, typographically, it even looks more robust and ambitious. You know, I always thought "1996" looked a little funny. My first movie of the year? "Evita." In short, it was fabulous. Madonna can act, and how. Antonio Banderas, wonder of wonders, can sing. But you can read all about it in my review... when I write it. Right now, I desperately need some sleep.