Turns 2022

I, for one, pride myself on always following the advice of my parents and my elders.

Especially when it came to superstitions. Don't walk under a ladder; never step on a crack. No sweeping in the house at night and no whistling after hours. Indeed, do not open an umbrella indoors; under no circumstances are you to repeat the name of bloody mary three times while gazing at a mirror in the dark. The one superstition I follow that I am most proud of is the one about giving the old Hawaiian woman walking alongside the road late at night by herself a ride to whichever destination she chooses. But, of course, by the time she is in your car, and you are driving toward the said destination, the old Hawaiian woman sitting in the back seat of your car has disappeared. Mission accomplished! I have done this several times, and the old Hawaiian woman has faded into a fine mist when my vehicle pulls back on the road and heads out into the night. Tonight, however, I am vexed and disappointed. Traversing along the Nu'uanu Pali drive to find a quiet spot where I can eat my drive-thru meal, I am nearly frightened to death as the form of an old Hawaiian woman with a faded white sheet wrapped around her body. Her white hair was matted and wet, and she shivered as she walked past. The further up she walked I could see she was barefoot. How horrible I felt that someone let their aged grandmother come to this. I tossed my food out the window, started my car, put it into gear, and slowly pulled up alongside the old Hawaiian woman. I drove ahead of her, put the car in park, and got out to approach her.

"Mama, where you going? You must be so cold; come, come, I'll take you wherever you're going," she did not resist but came willingly. I placed her in the back seat, went to my trunk, removed the blanket I usually used for the beach, and placed it around her shoulders. "Mama, where's your house so I can take you home," I asked.

"Just make a u-turn from here," she pointed randomly. "I live back there; I forgot to take my medication."

"Ok," I nodded. "I'll take you; just let me know when we're close ok?"

"It's not that far," she said. "Just make sure you do a u-turn from right here; it's the only way back," she insisted.

U-turn I did, and the second I made that u-turn, the old Hawaiian woman began to cackle in a high pitch like something uproariously funny just happened. It filled the car with a sound like a mob of people were cackling simultaneously. Finally, I saw a large 18-wheeler was barreling down the road toward us; the driver's face showed me that he was young and inexperienced, and I realized he'd taken a wrong turn coming down the Nu'uanu Pali drive. In the back seat, the old Hawaiian woman continued to joyously cackle with glee at my impending demise.

"Not every old Hawaiian woman walking on the side of a lonely road needs a ride," She laughed until the massive truck obliterated my car into a bloody mess of twisted metal and flesh. The driver managed to bring the 18-wheeler to a screeching halt further down the road. Every household in the area heard the sound of the massive crash and would soon come running out to see what happened. The young driver would be horrified at what he witnessed, but what would prove most disconcerting to him would be the site of an old Hawaiian woman wearing a faded white sheet wrapped around her body, hobbling down the road with her hair matted wet, and nothing on her feet.

 "Tūtū! Oh my god, tūtū! You shouldnʻt be out here; it's not safe! Come sit in my truck and wait for me, I'll give you a ride, but I have to call the police first!"

Credit: 4 WOAI