From the lanai where I sat with my coffee, the newspaper and the cat, the ocean looked glassy and I looked forward to surfing when the tide dropped.
Suddenly my husband, Don, who had just left for the market, returned with news of an incoming ballistic missile.
We grabbed flashlights, phones, chargers and laptops and went into the kitchen pantry, our only windowless space.
We called our son in New York — no answer — and our neighbor Francois, who laughed with Gallic sang-froid when we asked if he was taking shelter.
“No! It’s pointless. If a nuclear warhead detonates above us, we’re all goners!”
As we hunkered in darkness, Don made a video on his phone.
“Here we are in our homemade bomb shelter,” he said cheerfully, and I broke into laughter.
“What have we got?” he asked.
I switched on the flashlight.
“We’ve got water, two cases of beer — that’s good!” he said. “What else?”
The light panned over canned salmon, tuna, tomatoes, pumpkin, evaporated milk, and cat food in pop-top cans; did we have a can opener for the people food? Mais non!
Next the spotlight revealed piles of rat droppings, at which we burst into profanities and the video stopped. Thankfully, it was not our last testament.
AFTER THE alert was revealed to be a boneheaded error, I walked down through a hushed neighborhood to the nearly empty beach.
As I placed my surfboard in the water, a swimmer with long dark hair waded to shore. Our eyes met, reminding me of the aftermath of the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist strikes in New York City, where we were living at the time, when strangers gazed into one another’s eyes on the street on just such a sunny, windless day.
“Quite a morning,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, “I was driving to the beach when I got the text and I decided to keep going. I couldn’t think of anywhere to hide or anywhere else I wanted to be.”
There were only a couple of other surfers out at Suis. We enjoyed some little off-season waves, leftover energy wrapping around to our southerly shore from the big swell hitting to the west and north.
A man in a baseball cap paddled out on a longboard.
“When we got the text, my wife and I decided to make another cup of coffee,” he said.
As I sat on my board, a big brown-and-yellow turtle rose up under my feet and glided through the lineup.
When I paddled in, the beach had filled with locals and tourists; parents watched children who played close by. The scene was reflective and subdued. I thought of Passover and the slaughter of innocents.
A COUPLE days later, on a windy, choppy morning out at Suis, a pod of dolphins passed by, leaping fully out of the water in glistening, black javelin shapes. It felt like a sign of blessing.
Suis regular Captain Cal hailed me.
“My friend’s a lifeguard in Waikiki, and he told me when they got the alert, some guy ran up and grabbed their rescue board and paddled away with it. Can you believe it?”
I called the City & County of Honolulu Lifeguard Services line to confirm.
“It did happen,” said Shayne Enright, spokeswoman for the Honolulu Emergency Services Department. “The report was, the gentleman took the board and paddled out, and as soon as the all-clear was given it was returned, no questions asked.”
Everyone understood how he felt, she said.
“Under the circumstances, I don’t blame the guy. I mean, nobody knew what to do.”
The lifeguards had been busy informing beachgoers.
“They went on the P.A. and let people know they should shelter in the hotels.”
Some people opted to stay on the beach, however, Enright said.
WHY HAD we sought shelter, I asked Don, after having long agreed we wanted to die in the ocean, catching waves?
“It’s because we were there for 9-11,” he said.
That surprised me for a moment. Then I got it. Having witnessed all that horror and hope, we were not about to give up.
“In the Lineup” features Hawaii’s oceangoers and their regular hangouts, from the beach to the deep blue sea. Reach Mindy Pennybacker at mpennybacker@staradvertiser.com or call 529-4772.
