Weather | Sports | Forums | Comics | Classifieds | Calendar | Movies
By LaVERNE HAMMOND
© St. Petersburg Times, published July 22, 2001
Friends who pass in the night
Tourists are seldom bothered by rain in Hawaii, but a fabulous trip I took there with my husband decades ago was dampened by a turn of events that has haunted me ever since.
Our plane landed without incident at the Honolulu International Airport in Oahu. After we stepped off the Wiki-Wiki bus that carried us from the plane to the main terminal, our tour group, wearing identifying labels, was met by Hawaiian hula girls. They came forward and draped fresh leis over our shoulders. With the traditional greeting came broad smiles and an "Aloha!"
At our orientation and get-acquainted breakfast, where we watched slides and signed up for various side trips, we sat next to a pleasant couple from Canada. I asked them their itinerary and found that it matched ours exactly. With enthusiasm, I suggested that we travel together. I sensed a reluctance at first, as they glanced at one another questioningly. However, as the days went on, that initial hesitancy was quickly forgotten.
We walked together on Waikiki Beach, where my husband, who had spent his R&R during World War II there, pointed out how much the pretentious hotels fronting the water now ruined the natural beauty he once enjoyed. Frequently we stopped for breaks to have tea with our newfound Canadian friends. Every night we met for dinner -- always at my suggestion.
Often the two men paired off and could be seen deep in discussion. Elizabeth and I talked about our lives. Harry had taken early retirement, she explained. They kept a small flat in New Brunswick. They were traveling indefinitely around the world, returning only briefly between trips to their New Brunswick place. Their next stop was Japan.
I sensed a certain sadness about Elizabeth. She didn't open up much. She mentioned a bachelor brother in Toronto, but never spoke of any other family. I assumed she was childless.
One of our side trips was to Pearl Harbor. It was awesome to stand on the floating cement bridge and look down on the ghostly, sunken battleship the U.S.S. Arizona, marking the graves of the Navy men whose bodies are still on board. It had a sobering effect on all of us, and our usual jovial mood temporarily disappeared as we quietly left the memorial.
Happily, the next day's plans included a luau. Dressed in colorful skirts and wearing flowers in our hair (the guys bought Hawaiian shirts), we sang spiritedly on the ride out to Paradise Cove, an old beachfront estate. After the Polynesian show, I took a picture of the sunset over the Pacific. It turned out so well that I used it for my holiday cards the following Christmas.
Nearing the end of our trip, after almost two weeks of sightseeing, we all took a sunset dinner cruise. It was my birthday, and my husband had decided to do something special for me. When we walked into the dining room of the ship that evening, Harry and Elizabeth were already there. On the table was a beautiful bouquet of flowers with a card from the two of them. The musicians played Happy Birthday on Hawaiian guitars, and I got to blow out a candle and make a wish.
At the end of the evening, when the four of us stood on the deck admiring the twinkling shore lights, I thanked all three of them for making my birthday so special. Then as the ship docked, Elizabeth turned to me and said abruptly, "We leave on an early flight in the morning, so we will say goodbye now."
Taken aback because I thought we had another day together, I sputtered, "But we don't even have your home address and. . . ."
Elizabeth, however, interrupted me and stated flatly, "Let's just part here because our paths will continue in different directions. In that way, what we come to love will never die."
Harry gripped Paul's hand and said earnestly, "It was a pleasure. You have given us peace and happiness these weeks." Then he turned to his wife and said firmly, "Now, pet, you were going to be strong, and there you go again."
Puzzled, I looked at her grim but tearful face as she turned away silently and walked down the gangplank without even a backward glance. I was devasted, but Paul said quietly, "Harry told me everything."
There had been a fire, Harry had explained to Paul, and their home in Toronto had burned to the ground, taking their three children and Elizabeth's parents. They had lost everything, even their pictures. Now Elizabeth just wanted to keep traveling, he said. She was afraid of ties. She didn't want to love anybody or anything anymore.
Strangers come into our lives daily. Some become our friends. A few eventually become a name to whom we send a card during the holidays. Then some of those whom we haven't seen in decades get dropped from our mailing lists. At least Elizabeth won't ever have to cross us off hers.
- LaVerne Hammond, who divides her time between Wisconsin and Florida, is an octogenarian at work on her memoirs.