An ambulance arrived, as did the police. A Detective Lieutenant David Chan and Detective Robert Stillman took our statements. Finally, everyone cleared out. Margie managed to finish my haircut and I went home.
Just off the plane, really, I had neither a car nor a place to live. A high-school friend, Jerry, who lived in a condominium on Beretania across from Central Union Church, was letting me sleep on his couch until I could find a place. I rode the bus there.
Sometimes when we push things farther and farther away, they eventually lose context for us. As the image of my father, foggy at best to begin with, drifted away over the years, my thoughts of him dimmed to the point of complete darkness. In odd moments, always after many beers, the idea that my mother had experienced some kind of immaculate conception would flash through my mind, and I would get a good laugh.
Exhausted, I had a beer and went to bed early. I did get to sleep, despite all the hubbub, and almost immediately I dreamt of the bleeding man, his eyes flashing open, then his hand grabbing my throat. I awoke crying out, gasping. My friend, came out of his room.
“Are you all right, Lan?”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry. This thing that happened tonight, it got to me, I guess. Sorry.”
I told Jerry the story. He was amazed by the whole thing.
“Wow, Lan, sounds like a pretty surreal scene. How often is anyone gonna run into someone who’s maybe dying in that way.”
Jerry, who’d majored in Theater at UCLA, was a budding filmmaker.
“You think it’s the kind of thing that would make for a good movie?” I asked.
“Well, yeah, I do. Or at least a solid TV show. I tell you, Lan, there’s definitely room for some kind of crime series made in Hawai‘i. It’ll happen any day now. And it’ll be really popular. Why? Because they’ll either have visited or lived here and they’ll want to relive their memories, or they’ll have always wanted to come here so they’ll watch to see their dream destination. I would love to be in on making that TV show.”
Just as I managed to get back to sleep, the phone rang. I was closer, so I answered. I’ve always felt fearful about phone calls in the middle of the night. You know, someone is in trouble, someone has died. Things you really don’t want to hear, especially in the black darkness of night.
It was Lieutenant Chan.
“Mr. Lee, that man from Sheena’s, he’s regained consciousness, and, well, for some reason he’s asking to see you.”
“Me? Really? What for?”
* * * * *
Aloha #WriterWednesday, I hope you are safe and well, wherever you may be in the world. Today’s #writingPrompt is
Use it to inspire a piece of writing and then post that piece as a comment below. I would love to read it : )