Tuesday, March 20, 2012


He moved away from Georgia to be irresponsible and free. He’s one of those guys you hear about back in high school thrown out of senior class for locker room vandalism. You often catch him running down the hall in an all-black hoodie laughing at the chubby high school security tripping over their toes behind him. He sneers and flashes a hoodwinked smile when he gets caught and scolded, laughing all the way to detention, and he winks at you when he’s walking by, and you always wonder his name…
On the beach on Kona side down makai, I met Evan at Hookena Sands. He was charming and good looking with wild blonde curly hair and no shirt on, most of the time. He sang his heart into guitar with a sexy swagger and embodied surf spirit, experiencing life just like his rides into the reef. I would jump in his orange truck as he reached behind his seat, grabbed a PBR, and bolted for the sea. We ran wild. He drove recklessly. We crashed waves, parties, camping spots. We worked on coffee farms, harvesting beans for 80 cents a pound, and selling mushrooms to hippies at the nude beach. We never knew how we were going to make money, but he somehow always had a beer to drink.
Satiated days began with a joint slapped to my fingers as he blew beer and weed into the waves of the ocean with intoxication. Sunshine swooned moments with Evan, as we fumbled through the hours of dusk and into the strange and mysterious nights. But then, truth came into the shadows and I realized this was yet again a path that would not yield certainty. A concourse in my life goes as follows:
1. Indulge irresponsible romance
2. Only come a bit shy of an ultimate orgasm
He adored me, and I him, more than we both could handle. .
I had to meet Evan because he is the most careless person I have ever known. Every day I seemed to kill him a little bit more when I stared deep into his bloodshot eyes. I wanted to see his eyes, soft and clear like the ocean. I found myself wishing for things that weren’t there. We were just having fun, but somehow my presence seemed to reflect the man that he wasn’t ready to be. We were on drunk-punk love, and intimacy only went as far as our immaturities, but even so, we still undressed ourselves enough to see what was underneath.
With Evan, I experienced both freedom and shackles. I ran free with him and opened my heart to being sexy and reckless. In hindsight, what I really needed was a partner to be masculine and secure and dive first into the waves. Evan’s fresh approach to each moment was beautiful, I certainly was never bored, but he also revealed to me a truth in careless love. He reflected my obsessions and mirrored them back to me through a path of disregard. We never had any money, and I was always curious as to what decisions he would make, and whether they would be for just him, or for us.

I kept on telling myself that it wasn’t going to get bad. I convinced myself that I could just put dab some peroxide and it would go away. I looked into the eyes of my lover and realized there was nothing he could do.
 My pride got in my way. And, I almost died. I was unwilling to admit I came down with a terrible staff infection. It seemed dirty and unnatural, a reflection of maybe the lifestyle I had chosen to live.
 I began to imagine my life again, without Hawaii, without reef, and beer, and Evan. I remembered how it was when I had a clean shower and a proper bed. I longed for a stable moment. I waited days to tell Evan, because I felt in my heart that this would be our demise. One day, he pointed it out and showed me how the red area was surrounding my entire thigh. It was on the back of my leg, a bite I scratched, and turned into a volcano of a terrible wound. I came down with a fever and my skin started to turn green. Staff infections enter the body through an open wound, and send bacteria in and throughout the bloodstream eventually resulting in a fatal response. It could take as short as one week for the disease to spread. On the sixth day of being sick, Evan volunteered to go down to the nude beach to sell some mushrooms so he could help me pay for anti-biotics. He came back with two beers, a bag of guava fruit, and 17 dollars. The next day I called Sukothai, one of the only restaurants in Pahoa, HI and asked Jean for a job. Coincidently she had a huge lunch party coming in that day and could use my help. I made 80 dollars and went straight to the doctor’s office afterward. He shot me with an IV, and told me it was a good thing I came in. Things would have been real bad if I had waited any longer.
As I returned to health, I knew I could finally leave Evan. At first, the infection on my leg made me feel like I had no way to run. The situation seemed like a complete manifestation of our relationship. But I had to get away from him, if I wanted to live. I loved him, but my spirit was hurting from grappling with all the dark spirits that dwell in our life of volatility. I couldn’t continue to live with him, curious about how he was ever going to grow up, not knowing if something were to happen to me that he could be there to alleviate my pain.

He’s still hurling his body into the waves,
Taking his life in lazy strides,
Abstinent from the work hour days,
Governing his peace by the ocean tides.

1 comment:

  1. I just had a similar experience with a staph infection and my relationship - really.