I’d go by myself, or bring my mom or a best friend. I’d share the beauty and friends I’d found with them and let them see the islandsin a way that they’d never otherwise get to see them. But mostly I went alone, unseen, unphotographed, healing, finding a peace that had eluded me so far in my life.
For a while I was hanging out with—you know what I mean (fucking)—a boy on Maui. He was half Filipino, half Hawaiian, and had a sense of humor unlike anyone I knew on the mainland, and I worked in comedy. Ours was an easy, pure relationship, the kind those islands, and my happiness and lack of complication while there, made possible.
Thursday, April 1, 1993
The clouds may tear upon my face
But the sun is in my soul
The boy’s fingertips have healed the wound
For now.
Still I am stale
Still I scramble
Not seeing what is right or wrong
… he lurks about my universe
Stabbing when I close my eyes
And spitting when I speak.
His hands are cold around my throat.
I cannot breathe.
I once brought an L.A. boyfriend to the islands, but my Hawaiian “lovah” wasn’t happy about it. One time, we all headed to a club on Front Street—a club that has since burned down, to the agony ofmy heart and the hearts of so many on Maui—and while we all partied and danced, I was amused to see a woman walk past my L.A. boyfriend and playfully pinch his butt.
I was laughing, and my girlfriend, a beautiful nineteen-year-old Samoan woman, asked me what I found funny.
“Oh, nothing,” I said, pointing vaguely at the dance floor. “It’s just that chick, over there. She just pinched my boyfriend’s butt.”
Big mistake on my part. Without a word, my friend strode over to where the pincher was standing and hauled off and punched her, right in the face. Next thing I knew, we were all in the parking lot and this whole damn kerfuffle was ablaze, dust rising, fists flying, hair pulling—the whole nine yards.
At one point, there was a break in the action, and my friend came over to me. I must have looked completely horrified.
“What’s wrong?” she said, out of breath.
“Honey,” I said, “small problem. That wasn’t her. Wrong chick. You literally punched the wrong person.”
After a comic pause during which we both realized the ridiculous stupidity of what had just happened—and thankfully no one got seriously hurt—we burst out in hysterical laughter and ran to my car as fast as we could to get the hell out of there.
We’ve talked about that story a lot in the intervening years. My friend is older now—I hate how time does that—and she doesn’t love that story as much these days. She’s matured and doesn’t live in that world anymore.
And that boyfriend with the pinched ass? Didn’t last, of course, but hey, to quote my mother, “I never met a junkie I didn’t like.”
As much as I wanted it not to, real life still had a way of asserting itself on Maui.
April 18, 1995, Maui
It’s funny that the only time I feel inspired to write is when I am here. The only time I can reflect… My mom has cancer. She was diagnosed about 5 months ago. It’s only temporary, I know that. I have to. She is going through chemotherapy now and it has been so hard on her and me. But there is such a great lesson to be learned here about life. Just how important it is to be happy. It sure isn’t easy to acquire. I know that. I’m so disillusioned as to what it really is, though. I think it might be the sense ofnow. As simple as that may seem. Now isn’t so bad as long as you are truly in it. Life is a gift. It’s unfortunate that we all take life so for granted.
My mom had breast cancer back in 1980, but this time, fifteen years later, it was ovarian. I was pissed off that she had cancer a second time—your mother’s not supposed to have cancer; she’s not supposed to not be able to take care of you. I resented it, in a way. I couldn’t take it. I hated every second of it. She faced two years of chemo and ten surgeries, one of which removed half of her intestines.
She lost all her hair and became so fragile, immunocompromised, and sick. It was scary as fuck. I couldn’t bear to see her like that. It crushes me that my own child is going through this now, in her own way.
