Remembrance...

When I was in high school, I had a primer-grey 1969 Volkswagen Bug. I tricked it out as best I could with a super low budget. It was an Honolulu Police Department magnet. I couldn’t pass a patrol car or three-wheel Cushman, make eye contact, and not have the officer make a U-Turn and pull me over with blue lights flashing. It seemed like the eye contact precipitated the traffic stops. It was always the same story, “Driver’s license, registration, safety check, insurance card, and reconstruction permit.” Then it would be, “It looks like you changed your steering wheel, but it’s not on your Recon permit. I’m going to have to cite you.” I always envisioned taking off at high speed, a messy pursuit, shots fired…but somehow I always sat there and woefully and apologetically accepted my tickets.

To make matters worse, although I lived in Makakilo, I worked at the Discovery Bay McDonald’s in Waikiki. Twenty miles away. I basically worked for gas money. Whenever classmates from my high school came, especially girls, I would get off of cashier duty and feign having to use the restroom, or quickly  volunteer to work the grill in the back to hide out. As we grilled, we used to surreptitiously flip pickles with our thumbs up onto the ceiling. The manager would come through, see new additions of green circular artwork on the white ceiling tiles, and berate the whole crew. As carefully as they watched us, they could never figure out how so many pickles ended up on the ceiling during our shift. At the end of the night shift, we would break out in war shooting the Big Mac Sauce and Tartar Sauce guns, which operated like caulking guns. I knew the Tartar sauce shot further than the Big Mac Sauce gun, so that was always my choice. Tartar Uzi’s and Big Mac 11’s.

One night, at about 11:30p.m., I was headed home. Exhausted, smelling like raw hamburger, Crisco lard and other exotic essences, I was in a sleepy daze as I drove my Bug on H-1. When I reached Waipahu, I entered the long dark 4-mile stretch from the Waipahu off-ramp to the Makakilo off ramp. At some point, I glanced down at my speedometer, and noticed a red warning light on. I then looked into my rearview mirror, and to my horror, all the lanes behind me were covered in bright white smoke billowing from my engine compartment. No sooner had I spotted the plume of smoke, my engine started sputtering. I threw the car into neutral and the engine shut off. I coasted for about a quarter of a mile as I slowly veered off the road and onto the shoulder.

When my car finally stopped, I got out and the engine compartment was still billowing smoke, but it was black now. The whole engine had melted down. I guess my fan belt broke, and I failed to notice the warning light until it was too late. My air-cooled motor heated up until the oil boiled and burned, and the engine melted until it locked up. I couldn’t open the engine compartment because it was making all kinds of hideous clicking, knocking and other sounds. The heat emanating  from it was intense.

Only one or two cars sped past. It was so dark, that by the time they saw me in their headlights, they blew past, and probably tried to comprehend what they had just seen. Cell-phones were a rarity, mostly in high-end cars back then, and the size of a brick. I had no way to call anyone.

The thought of leaving my VW on the side of that dark road, meant it would be stripped by the time I could walk home and get help to drive back. I decided I was going to walk home, but take my car with me. So I rolled down the driver’s window, and in my McDonald’s uniform, started the momentum to get the car rolling, and then grabbed the steering wheel, and pushed the car while steering with one hand.

A few cars blew past and one even stepped on the brake lights for a moment, giving me a sense of hope, then continued on into the dark distance, dashing any hope for a rescue. I must have pushed the car about a quarter of a mile, and for about fifteen minutes, when this old beat up station wagon barrels past, steps on the brakes, and pulls off onto the shoulder. Then I see the reverse lights come on, and the wagon starts to back up towards me. I continued pushing until both cars almost touched, with an excitement in my heart. Two Hawaiian bruddahs got out of the car. I could smell the alcohol as soon as they exited the wagon. The driver said, “Eh my bruddah! What happen? You going push your car all the way home? Where you live?” I said, “Oh man, I live Makakilo. My engine wen melt…”

They both laughed out loud. “You no can push ‘em to Makakilo, bruddah” he said, “Too far…” I broke out in laughter, and the two bruddahs when buss out laughing again.  “We go tow you…we get rope…” I said, “Oh my God, you are lifesavers…”

They opened the back of the wagon, and a long rope emerged. They tied it onto the back of their wagon where they had a trailer hitch. I watched them, as they were a little unsteady on their feet. They were sauced.

They looked at my little nerf bar bumpers and said, “No can tie ‘em to those, unless you like hemo them.” I laughed…and we secured the rope under the forward trunk to the carriage. They asked where I live, and I said, “Once we go up the off-ramp, turn right, then your first left. That is Palailai Street. I’ll tell you when we hit my house.” They said, “Shoots!” and got into their car, as I got into mine. I made sure I was in neutral and turned my flashers on.

They started their engine, and took off. I had to keep my foot on the brake to slow my car down, so I wouldn’t crash into the back of their car as they accelerated and then suddenly slowed down, over and over, jerking me back and forth.  On top of that fun, they were weaving in and out of their lane. I was suddenly alarmed as the thought of being towed by two drunks in a vehicle, and now having no control over the path of my own vehicle, hit home. The image of getting hit from behind and bursting into a ball of flames also crossed my mind.

It seemed like forever to get to the Makakilo off-ramp, and we made it, turned up Makakilo Drive, and then left onto Palailai Street. They pulled me up Palailai, still weaving, and somewhat erratic causing my car to lurch forward, and then jerk back. When we passed my house, I beeped my horn and yelled out the window. It was almost one in the morning, but I didn’t care. They pulled to the side and unhooked me. I was so grateful…to be alive. I was also grateful for these two bruddahs, as toasted as they were, to pull over and save me where so many others cars blitzed past on that dark scary portion of H-1.

I wrote down their names and their address in Wai’anae with all the intent of bringing them a couple of cases of beer for their efforts. As usual, most of my good intentions never come to fruition, and I never made it out to their house with my gift. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to support their drinking habit. I did give them handshakes and hugs. We parted and I said a prayer for them that they make it home safe.

I had my engine rebuilt, burning through any semblance of savings I had from my job, and got my car back up and running. The kindness of these two Hawaiians has stayed with me, for over thirty-years.

Recently, a friend of mine, ran into a new owner of land in Waipi’o Valley, next to a parcel my ‘ohana owns. He spoke to the neighbor, told me his name, and said that this new neighbor of ours knew of our family. He asked how my Father was, and said that he knew me especially. He said, “Oh man, Kai, he totally saved my Life one night when my car was broken down on Highway 11 in Ka’u. He stopped in the blackness to help me, a total stranger. I thought I was done.” I chuckled when I heard this, and asked my friend, “Are you serious.” He said, “Yeah, he totally knew of you…and wanted me to thank you again.” I asked his name again, and for the Life of me, I couldn’t place him. I vaguely remembered assisting different people on Hawai’i island with car trouble over the decades, but couldn’t remember the details of this particular incident, as it must have happened over twenty-years ago.

I started to worry that my memory may be fading, like my Father. My friend and I laughed, and I said, “Oh well…that is nice…that makes me happy...even though I can’t really remember rescuing him.” We both laughed again. I said, “When I do meet him, I will see if he can tell me the story and jog my memory, without me letting him know that I don’t really remember it.” We both laughed again.

In the end, apparently, this man still remembers. Much like how I remember the two inebriated Angels, who helped a hamburger-grease smelling McDonald’s crew member get his car home, over thirty years ago. As much as I may have been endangered by the tow, they actually might have kept me from getting hit from behind, or clipped by a passing vehicle, getting killed, as I pushed my car in the darkness. I also experienced what it was like to be a “drunk driver” without drinking an ounce of alcohol. It was frightening, to experience the loss of control of your own vehicle, having your safety in the hands of a sauced driver.

Such are the stories of my youth. I am grateful for the experience, and humbly grateful to be alive. In the darkness of despair, Light has always presented itself in a myriad of ways. When I look back, each experience, good or bad, had important lessons for me and my Soul’s growth. If I truly Love where I am today, there is not one experience, decision or choice I have made in the past, beautiful or horrific, of which I regret today. For each crossroads and fork, has led me down the path on a Journey where I am today, in this moment in Space in Time. I absolutely Love my shared Journey with so many Beautiful Souls, and the incredible multitude of Blessings of this incredible amazing Life. Mahalo Ke Akua…for none of this would have occurred without You. With Humility and Gratitude…Love, one of your little people crawling around this Planet…