A curious thing has happened since I moved to Hawaii last March: I am falling back into my southern accent far more often than I did in Los Angeles. I think this is because I feel so comfortable here. The people are just nice. "Nice" is truly a wuss word, but seriously, I have never been anywhere outside of the south where people are so friendly and open. On the road, drivers are polite, they let others into the flow of traffic as if it were the most natural thing to do in the world. You might think that it was part of the driver's test, that you couldn't pass if you didn't let two or three people into traffic in front of you every 30 minutes or you didn't pass. It amazes me. And I love it. I'm now doing it myself as often as I can. Occasionally I find myself rushing up in order to keep someone from getting onto the road in front of me and I have to pull back and say, "Hamp, you're not in L.A. anymore; this is not important." And then I just relax and suddenly I'm the version of myself that grew up in Hazlehurst and Lake Charles. And my accent just flows forth like Bowie Creek as it sang and danced its way beneath that old wooden bridge on the way to Big Mama's house.
They ruined it when the blacktopped the road, the bridge disappeared, the creek went underground and that little stretch of road that was once so magical and mysterious was banished forever. It happened right about the time I hit puberty and I used to wonder if I had just imagined that place. Was Bowie Creek as insubstantial as my dreams of emerging from my chubby little prepubescent boy body into something far more beautiful, talented, exotic and desirable? The butterfly, not the moth? Maybe.
But back to life here. There is so much to love; it's beautiful, the air is so clean, the people so friendly, the tranquility, the simplicity. But then there's the bugs. I mean it. There are so many bugs here. The damn things are everywhere. Roaches the size of which I hadn't seen since the monsters that would come crawling out from beneath our boathouse on the Calcasieu River. Last night I found one in bed with me. I almost had to check into a hotel.
Now I am unafraid of almost all of the creatures God put on this planet. Spiders, snakes, 50 lb alligator snapping turtles don't phase me. But roaches send me into paroxyms comprised of equal parts disgust and terror. Lately I've seen white ones, little albino dregs of disgusting matter that I know are plotting with those giant winged monstrosities that are trying to drive me from my bed. Roaches are probably the only living beings whose extinction I would celebrate.
Then there these nasty little gnats that appear out of nowhere. And I keep discovering these weird little slow-moving oddities with large pointed probiscuses (probisci?) and big eyes that just appear on my ceiling. I use the vacuum cleaner to scoop the little bastards up, or down as the case may be, into the bag where hopefully they suffocate. I hope they die in there. I'd hate to think the damn things were breeding inside my vacuum cleaner waiting for me to change the bag when they'll burst forth by the thousands and suck the flesh, muscle and fat from my bones. I should leave my anti-cholesterol pill bottles open since they'll definitely need them once they've finished me off.
But on the plus side there are all these beautiful mirthful little birds that sing from almost every branch on the island. They come in all colors and sizes and varieties and there are no crows. The roosters are rather annoying. If you've ever been to Kauai you'll know what I mean. There are chickens everywhere. They're worse than the pigeons in Trafalger Square. The chicks are adorable, of course. Just like baby everythings. But then like the adorable toddler who grows up to mug you in an alley these cute little baby chicks become loud and obnoxious and should be driven into the ocean and fed to lamprey eels and squid and such.
The only thing I truly miss about Los Angeles is the art. Looking back, I hate myself for all the things I missed because I was too tired or lazy or depressed or whatever. Oh, I long to see some ridiculous existential post post modern contemporary installation that is absolutely incomprehensible and will make me feel stupid because I just don't get it. But that's a whole post in and of itself.
So here we are. I love it here. I feel at home and relaxed and welcome. I could use a job so that I'm not perpetually on the verge of starving but other than that I could be happy here for eternity. But this is the place. And truthfully, the love of my life is here. Little Mr. Gabriel Hart Simmons is here. The litte boy for whom I would crawl over broken glass, wade through liquid fire and stomp over billions of roaches both great and small is here on this island and for that reason alone I will stay here until it's time to move on.
No comments:
Post a Comment