the black-framed rayban wayfarers, myself, a knapsack and about eight of the twenty dollars that i had when i left atlanta, landed in the middle of the pacific ocean. my brother welcomed me guardedly.
i don’t even know how they found him. i wasn’t even sure if he lived there. i wasn’t sure of much at this point in my life.
there must’ve been a bunch of phone calls made between my passing the three-question EMS finals, while i slept after getting home and the one-way-ticket to paradise that was waiting for me when i awoke.
i was out of that loop. i would be out of all loops for about three months. i would get a job painting a house on the north shore of oahu, a block from sunset beach. i would live in a tent a few days a week and the rest of the time in a house in Aiea that was on top of mountain that overlooked pearl harbor. after a couple of weeks, in order to bring a sense of balance back into my life, i would cycle from aiea to honolulu almost every day that i was there. i would try to read or write on the beach, but i couldn’t hold onto the string of words i was writing or make sense of the words i was reading. at this point in my history i didn’t know what about computers, but if i did, i would’ve said my hard-drive may have been due for a “reformatting.”
all of this beauty and i’m unable to verbalize or appreciate it. who’d have thought my darkest days would be in the sunniest place on earth.
this is where one might say that there were some gaffaws in my math of utmost yahooish-ness.
the black rayban wayfarers would pass into history without incident somewhere outside of honolulu.
sunglasses, like cigarette lighters and umbrellas, could travel the world for years and years especially if they’re highly-regarded.
six months later, i would be walking past a new “sunglasses hut” store on broadway.
i thought, “a sunglasses store? what the hell is that?” but walked in and saw the tortoise raybans and paid something like thirty dollars for them.
thirty dollars. imagine that…..