Page 83 of Finish Line

“What do you want to do?” Luke rinses off his bowl.

“Let’s go see Pearl Harbor!” I exclaim excitedly.

We split up into two cars to drive over to Waikiki, where we purchase tickets for the USS Arizona Memorial and the USS Missouri Battleship tour. The day is perfect with clear skies and a nice breeze.

The tours are so interesting.

As we stand on the memorial’s dock, I gaze out across the water. In a way, I understand what those sailors felt like, trapped in that ship’s darkness. I shake off the despair because I won’t let it take over my life.

I release those thoughts and enjoy the memorial.

Family members of the ship’s fallen heroes and other tourists meander through the site. A small child tosses a lei into the water, and I silently thank the ghosts left behind.

Later, we head over to the luau Paige booked.

We’re given a fragrant lei before being led to a private table—my mouth waters from the smoky scents from the pit where the kalua pig is roasting.

The evening begins with kahiko dancing. Then, the food is brought out to this enormous buffet. I grab some of everything: kalua pig, poi, poke, lomi salmon, purple sweet potatoes, and so much more. It’s delicious.

As we eat, the performances continue.

Several men come out carrying sticks they light on fire. They spin them around, tossing them to each other, and use them to battle each other.

The fire dance mesmerizes me.

Next, a kind older lady and a few others in hula dress come out. “I need some volunteers.”

She walks along the tables, grabbing a small boy, a teenage girl, and an older couple.

Mav bounces in his seat.

I laugh. “Mav, calm down.”

She reaches our table and glances over our group before her eyes land on Mav, and she points at him. “You.”

He stands and runs past the teacher to the stage. She chuckles as her skirt flutters in the breeze Mav created as he blew by her.

Cam pulls out his phone. “I got to record this.”

He makes his way closer to the dancers.

The instructor discusses hand and hip movements and how each move tells a story. She and the others demonstrate a few moves before they have the volunteers repeat them.

“Perfect,” she says. “Now, you must look the part.”

The instructor’s assistants come back out carrying a pile of outfits. The male assistants strap the grass calf socks to the little boy’s legs, covering them from his thighs to the ground. They do the same for the older gentleman. Then, the ladies give a hula skirt to the older lady and teenage girl. Mav watches, then frowns.

“Hmm, we don’t have enough lavalavas,” she says. “Oh well, this will work.”

She straps a hula skirt around Mav’s waist and a fake coconut bra around his chest, which is not traditional, making it even more hilarious. She finishes his ensemble by plopping a crown of flowers on his head.

As Mav sticks out his chest and prances around, I laugh so hard tears roll down my cheeks. Cam gasps for air and holds his stomach from his laughter. I’m sure we’ll become seasick watching the video.

Luke falls off his chair when Mav scowls over at us before he shrugs and continues.

Instead of performing the male part of the hula, Mav tries the ladies’ part. He exaggerates every sway of his hip and flip of his hand, and the instructor can’t take it as she laughs.

When the dance ends, she walks over to Mav, brushes a kiss on his cheek, and says something in Hawaiian before repeating it in English.

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