I remember particular moments from my past through a romanticized lens, conveniently forgetting the reality of those situations.
There was a summer after high school when my friends Craig, Sam, and I paled around doing everything and nothing together. Craig was transitioning from freshman to sophomore. Sam was going to begin his senior year once the summer was up. I had a job parking rent-a-cars for Hertz while Sam worked in the electronics department at the old Holiday Mart. Craig got paid weekly for his chores in and around the house. Otherwise, we drove around in Sam's Datsun, eating the best greasy french fries from Leeward Drive-In and sipping from a shared bottle of Thunderbird.One night at Castle Park, the three of us were in the company of a girl from Moanalua High School who tripped and fell over one of her untied shoestrings. She took a hard tumble, and it took the three of us to help her up because of how much her body hurt. Her name was Leanne Sagun. She was a bit taller than we were, and it didn't help that her long black hair made her seem simultaneously beautiful and imposing. As. If we'd known each other all our lives, we became fast friends with Leanne. Everything was easy and effortless. There was positivity in encouraging each other and speaking firmly to one another rather than putting each other down with insults. The thought of any of us being more to Leanne never crossed our minds because she was one of us.
Our regular hang-out was either in Leeanne's garage or at Craig's house. I live in one half of a duplex, which was too small. Sam's place had too many of his mother's antiques, so therefore it was risky to hang out at his place. If we weren't at the movies together, we were eating out somewhere or just driving around in Sam's Datsun. Leeanne's father was a charming middle-aged Filipino gentleman, like a real one. Leanne's mom was Haole, so she cracked the whip. Our parents also knew one another, so the four of us hanging out wasn't any cause for concern. The soundtrack on Sam's cassette deck varied according to how much we contributed to money for gas. If there wasn't enough, Sam played Cheap Trick. If he had a full tank, it was Led Zeppelin. However, Sam always gave in if Leeanne wanted to hear one of her girly songs. This morning, it was Lotta Love by Nicolette Larson.
We were headed to the beach not so much to swim but to hang out. We ended up at a trashy place near Barber's Point. The water seemed brisk and uncaring, unlike what I was typically used to on the west side. I had a strange stirring in my stomach when I looked at Sam and Craig frolicking with Leeanne in the waves. I felt sad as if this were some kind of goodbye. There was no good reason to feel that way, but there it was, that lingering sensation of trepidation. I hung out around the car while the three walked down to the end of the beach until they eventually went off into the forested area. I hated parking rental cars at Hertz. This couldn't be the course of my life just out of high school; there had to be more. Leeanne was great at handing out bento boxes at Shirokiya, and nobody could sell a boom box the way Sam did. Craig got a job slinging hash at Zippy's, so why should I complain? Things were changing, and I wanted to be there to change with it, and parking cars didn't seem to be the way to do it. I was reaching into the small cooler in the back seat to grab an RC Cola from the back seat when I saw Leeanne running towards me at top speed.
"Hurry!" She said, nearly out of breath and half hysterical.
"What happened?" I never got a chance to open the pop-top and take at least a sip.
"It's Sam and Craig!" she said, returning to the forested area. "They're fighting! You have to make them stop!"
When we got there, Sam and Craig had each other by the hair, swinging wide punches, uppercuts, and short jabbing kicks. I struggled to get them apart, but when I did, Craig hurried off toward the main road. Sam and Leeanne walked back to the car, leaving me behind. Sam sat on the car's hood while Leeanne applied alcohol swabs to his scratches. "Stop moving," she cautioned.
"It stings!" He protested.
"Of course it stings; it's alcohol," she scolded.
"What was that shit all about?" I asked.
"Craig found out about me and Leeanne," Sam began. "He wasn't happy about it,"
"What?" I screeched.
"Craig said he liked Leeanne first, so he was upset when he saw the two of us try to sneak a quick kiss," Sam continued. "That's how the fight started."
"Craig's a freshman, and the two of us are seniors," Leeanne shrugged.
"Still, Craig's feelings are genuine," I began. "You guys should have said something, at least."
We couldn't go to Craig's house because of how pissed he was, so we went to hang out in Leeanne's garage. On the way there, Eric Burden pleaded on the cassette player with whoever would listen to spill the wine and get that girl. We agreed to give Craig a day or two to cool off before we went to see him and talk it out. We never got the chance because, within those two days, Craig never made it home. His parents called us to find out where he went. Telling his folks that he walked home from the beach didn't help either because we should not have let that happen. The guilt we carried was unimaginable when his body was found two days later near the tracks at the Hawai'i Raceway Park. He'd been stabbed several times and bled out. His wallet with a month's pay was in it, so he wasn't robbed. He was just randomly murdered for the hell of it.
I share this story with you because I saw Sam and Leeanne walking by just the other day in the downtown area. We made eye contact, and they took a minute to recognize me. The memory of what transpired that day during the summer of 1980 played on their faces, as well as the tragedy of Craig's murder. My face was expressionless, bearing no emotion. They saw this and averted their eyes as they kept walking. They were beat up by life those two; you could see on their faces and the way they walked. I'm sure I was the last person they expected to see on an evening like that. It was the same for me.
Romanticizing high school memories like a John Hughs movie is one thing. It's the drudgery of the mundane parts, aside from the highlights, that make those memories more realistic. Movies have an end until the next time. Life as a whole has only one end; sometimes, that end comes later for us but much sooner for others, like Craig.
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