100 Ghost Stories Counting Down To Halloween 2021 #9

We cried. We held hands. We walked. We stopped. We hugged. We cried more. We blamed one another and then blamed ourselves. Mostly, we walked and said nothing, which was the more logical and often sobering thing to do. We hated one another, casting aspersions. We apologized and kissed passionately until we slipped between a great space of a giant banyan tree in Kapiolani Park, where we made hurried, quick love. Then, we'd start over and do the whole thing again, walking the length of Waikiki Beach from the Hilton lagoon to Kaimana Beach and back. We'd stop for food somewhere, feeding our heartbreak. We'd pop in for a bathroom break and continue our aimless walk. At one point, we found ourselves at Rainbow Drive-Inn having the mixed plate and a green river drink. When we were mid-way through the meal, we realized we were sitting at the very spot where we both met. 

She was in line at least 3 places ahead of me and went somewhere to find a seat. When I got my mixed plate and drink and wandered over to grab a spot, EVERY SEAT WAS TAKEN. That's when I heard someone trying to get my attention. It was her waving me over and pointing at the only space there, which happened to be where she was sitting.

 "Come! You can sit next to me! Might as well; it's the only spot open! If you shy, you starve!"

A year later, we were married. Three years later, we're here, walking, talking, yelling, shouting, blaming. We realized we had to come to this agreement, whether or not we liked it. No matter how badly it hurt us, we had to agree. We also promised that once we decided, we would not go back on our decision. There were no hugs then, no expression of affection or sorrow. Just a soothing breeze and silence. The drive was shorter than the walks she and I had taken the night before. Yet, here it was, noon the following day. When we arrived, we held on to one another more for support than love or how married couples should. We took a pause before we walked through that door. We knew they were on the other side waiting for us and that there was no way to avoid giving them what they needed. They put their heads down when they saw us and did not look at us directly. 

"We'll give you a moment,"

I understood that statement all too well—much more clearly than I cared to. I knew what it meant and what my wife and I had to do. Nearly a month ago, I pulled into the Aloha Gas N Go off Kapahulu late one night after coming from a movie.

While I got out to fill up the car, my wife Kara got out of the car to get some musubi and drinks. Our daughter got out from the back seat, and as she opened her door and stepped out, a young college girl who was dorming at UH Manoa was on her moped. She was drunk and impatient and didn't want to wait for the left turn signal at the green light, so she cut through the gas station at a full clip. She hit Kara, my daughter, head-on and had just missed my wife, Cee Cee, by inches.

Kara had been in a coma ever since, and for each day that passed, she hadn't gotten better. Finally, the doctors told us that Kara was never going to recover. So, here we were, Cee Cee and I, saying our last goodbyes before the doctor and his team returned and removed Kara from life support. We held Kara close to us and whispered again and again into her ears just how much we loved her and how grateful we were that she chose us as her parents in this lifetime. I could see it in Cee Cee's eyes that she was beginning to reminisce. I grabbed her arm and squeezed tightly. She looked at me, and I shook my head, telling her not to take herself down that rabbit hole. I had to do it too. I had to stay in this moment. She was still warm, still full of life, still our Kara. We hadn't even heard the doctors come in before they gently placed their hands on our shoulders. They'd also come to care for Kara, which meant much to us. It helped to make this transition somewhat more manageable. 

~

We stayed Cee Cee and me. We watched until they disconnected Kara. We watched her breathe on her own until she couldn't anymore. Then, we sat with Kara, numb, red-eyed, and swollen from crying. We sat with her until they came to get her and take her away. I don't recall much after that. I don't remember driving or getting home. I don't recall standing in the shower for hours. Cee Cee was there, too, just numb in the corner of the shower. We eventually sold the house and donated Kara's things to charity. It was too hard to stay. We knew that. Then, one day, Cee Cee told me she was going to her parent's house just to see how they were doing. They didn't handle themselves well at Kara's services, and it got to the point where they openly blamed me for what happened to my daughter in front of everyone. It didn't help that I decked my father-in-law and that a big brawl broke out. My wife never came back. Shortly after that, we were divorced. One night, I was coming back from a dinner with my friends, and I pulled into the Aloha Gas N Go to fill up. I got out of my car and walked around to take off the gas cap when something pulled me backward so hard that I hit my head on the glass of the rear door window. A moped rider whizzed right past me, nearly hitting me full-on. No one was there when I turned around to see who was yanking me out of the way. 

~

Because of what happened to Kara, police officers began parking near that gas station in Waikiki, watching for illegal moped riders who cut through the station. If caught, they'd get a ticket on top of heavy fines and have their moped impounded. I greatly appreciated that, but I'd trade it all to have my daughter back. 

It'd be worth it.