Back in high school, Yoshi and I did everything together. No, not that kind of everything. But you get the idea, right? We were thisclose.
We would bowl together, mostly at Kalākaua Bowl; go roller-skating at Rainbow Rollerland; shoot pool together, mostly at Riverside Cue; go to Islander baseball games at the old Honolulu Stadium “Termite Palace”; watch movies at Wai‘alae Drive-In, or sometimes Kailua; maybe even eat a whole Yum Yum Tree Dutch apple pie together.
All these activities, I should say, were preceded by the thing we liked to do together most of all: drinking beer, mostly Primo, and smoking dope.
I was the beer connection. My cousin Raymond would buy me beer anytime I asked. He was my favorite cousin.
Yoshi was the pakalolo connection. Who that connection was, I never knew, but I would picture Yoshi in Chinatown, or the Waikīkī Jungle, wearing his favorite mirrored aviator shades, negotiating with some hippy stoner, or maybe a sketchy syndicate psycho.
However he got the deal done, fortunately, he never got killed. And for that, I was truly thankful. I could never have lived with that.
Next to getting drunk and stoned, our favorite activity was going snorkeling. You name the place on O‘ahu, we would dive there. No fear.
The main reason for our bravado, of course, was that every dive was preceded by Primo and “primo.”
Above all other spots, however, Hanauma Bay ruled. Once you got into deep water, out past the reef, the marine wonders abounded.
One day, trusty Pan Am bag of beer and joints aplenty, we went there. It was a stunningly sunny, clear, windless day. We walked out around the right side, all the way to the end. It seemed like you could see the bottom, although it was too deep there to do that, even on days when the water was like crystal.
We sat down behind our favorite boulders and proceeded to get hammered. Warm-ups, we termed this. There was no food involved, so no 30-minute waiting period for us. When the beer was gone – Yoshi always had so many joints we could never run out of those – we walked to the edge and sat, put on our masks, snorkels, and fins, and pushed up and out over the edge.
The surface was glassy, and, just as suspected, the water was so clear it seemed – when you’re wasted – that it wasn’t even there. Like how you can’t see air.
We believed in the buddy system – we weren’t idiots – so we always tried hard to stay within sight of each other. Every once in a while, when we surfaced for air, we’d wait for the other one to surface as well.
Both of us had multiple saltwater fish tanks at home. Our appreciation of marine life was serious.
That day, as minutes passed, I had a strong suspicion that wherever Yoshi had scored the pakalolo, it had been a new source. Or an old source with some new, next-gear kickassedness. This weed high seemed never to plateau. It kept sneaking me up a notch, and then another notch, and then another.
The fish looked amazing. The coral heads looked amazing. A giant lobster under one of the coral heads looked amazing. So did an octopus under another one.
I surfaced for air. A moment later, so did Yoshi. He was maybe 25 yards to the left and behind me. We waved to each other, then dove again.
The water that had seemed clear before now seemed clearer than that. I could see the proverbial mile under there. And I could hold my breath longer than I ever had in my life. Amazing.
And the sharks, they looked amazing, too. I counted three of them. They weren’t extremely close, but I’d never seen sharks that nearby in open water. They were weaving, in what felt like slow motion, back and forth. Every second, I could see them better and better. They looked like reef sharks.
I scanned around, wondering if Yoshi had seen them, too. If he hadn’t, I wanted to point them out.
For a moment, I panicked. No Yoshi. I did a 360, squinting hard to locate him. Where was he?
I came up for air after what had to have been my longest-held breath ever. I started another 360 sweep, but stopped. I could see Yoshi standing on the reef at the outside edge of Hanauma’s signature coral key.
“Yosh,” I called, “why’re over there?”
“Lan, you frickin’ idiot,” he yelled, “Get the hell outta the water. Get frickin’ sharks!”
This I knew. I’d not been afraid while I watched them swimming. But now, adrenaline kicking in, and the alcohol and marijuana haze evaporating instantly, I knew the situation might be considered one where I’d have to swim for my life.
Fortunately, I was a good swimmer. Without looking back, I stroked my way like a gold-medalist to the reef.
Up on the reef, I finally did look back. The sharks didn’t appear to have followed me. I was panting like crazy.
“What the fuck?” said Yoshi. “You nevah heard me screaming for you for swim in with me?”
“No, man, I swear. This stuff you bought is way powerful. It was like I could hold my breath forever.”
“Well, Lan,” he said, slapping me on the back, “you almost did, brah, for permanent.”
He thought that was funnier than I did.
We walked back in along the little channel to the edge of the key, where all the adults and children were happily splashing about. No fear.
While we walked out and headed around the side to pick up our bag and towels, I kept watching the water, wondering if their dorsal fins might break the surface. My heart raced a bit each time I thought about how close they’d been to me.
I didn’t see any fins. Wondering if at high tide sharks could swim through the channel into the key, I turned back to look at all the people in the water who knew nothing of the potential danger out there, just beyond the reef.
Lanning Lee 