| dewy decimal |
2003-10-10 - 6:21 a.m.
On Fridays, it is a custom to eat lunch with my Mom and I have to meet her in Fort Street Mall in about 15 minutes. I stick a cigarette in the grip of a lip pucker and send a gust through the door, lighting up with one foot still in the office.
I jog past the Hawaiian kids who are fishing for tilapia in the seep of Nuuanu�s rocky stream, past a jogger who looks bemusingly at the cigarette still bolstered in my mouth, then at the staccato jog of my moving feet. Going in the oppositte direction.
I run into Willy and his Incan tattoos, formidable handshake, and plush smile until I push through with my sheer momentum, yelling back to him, �Say hi to your daughter for me!�
Whizzing down Fort Street and its� clusters of college students, magazine stands and Vietnamese caf�s and I see Loren possessed by a quick pace, looming over crouched derelicts like a Tim Burton character, neck ache-tall and imminent. Kiss, kiss on the cheek, tilted heads in motion, maternal intonations and we split in with the speed and angle of ricocheted bullets.
I find my mom in a yellow shirt and jeans, a white sweater tied politely around her waist, by the heavy waterfalls and gigantic Chinese Lion statues on Hotel and Bethel. We decide on Thai food and with 45 minutes left we hustle to a hole in the wall Thai Caf� that is open for only two hours of the day.
The caf� is really more like an alley with a single file line 20 people deep. We affix ourselves to the tail and try to steal glances at the poorly placed menu through the swaying heads of office workers who are trying to do the same. The line moves quickly and the prohibitive number of choices sends our glances into panic-stricken dashes across the length of the counter.
We take our meals to the concrete, grass, and waterfalls of Tamarind Park and hastily eat our spicy peanut chicken dishes, and pour down the hot water crest soups.
I see Mo Digliani and Maybel strolling in the direction of the courthouse and we toss nimble greetings as they turn a cemented corner.
I thank my Mom and give her a hug that has lost part of its meaning through the awareness of constraining time schedules.
Back through Fort Street Mall, where I see Scott in collegiate wear. Tonsillitis stricken, he gives summarized statements. The bounce of his curly hair is detained by a baseball cap worn to the back. I�d love to stay and chat, and do him in the bathroom but I have 5 minutes left I wind through the people like a strong, watery meander, then jog for 4 block with another stogie in mouth for my smoke-worshipped lungs.
I ascend the stairs, push through the door, and settle myself at the computer, Mei Mei and Yong Sang come crashing into my lap, then bouncing on my fatigued legs, �Giddy up Horsey, Giddy up!�
I look at the clock and the fucker reads �You�re 10 minutes too late, Douchebag. Stop taking your sweet ass time.�