2/18/10: High Ground

Sirens sounded through the Hawaiian hills this morning, screaming the note that warms fear beneath a person's navel. We ate breakfast in silence, moving slowly, listening to the words on our only radio station, somewhere between static. The regular sound of ukuleles and silly falsetto had been commandeered by officials speaking about the tsunami. Then the emergency broadcast signal began, droning about something deep and fast many miles away.

Well, I had all intentions of hitting the beach that morning, well before the tsunami forecast hit. But from the scattered panic on the radio waves, it was clear all low roads had been seized and shut down. Only the sky was still bright and quiet, and nothing had changed with the air. Only the forecast of something two hours away lingered. I thought I would cleverly escape to a glorious overlook. I piloted through roads and through town on my bicycle, climbing the high road that winds through green cattle fields. I climbed past the cemetery and past the last buildings, up the slope and past the trees, until I was alone on a thinning road, high above the shore.

The road was built by the old sugar can corporation that ruled this land long ago. It was the intended overland route, skirting city and coast. From the top one can see a panoramic coastline, three quarters of a full horizon, and white surf on the deep blue water like icing. I brought a book, and read until the forecasted apocalypse.

Soon cars began pulling to the side of the road, above and below me. Passengers poured out, and with crossed arms and sunglasses on turned to the same coastline, leaning against their cars and casually waiting for the ocean to spill. Some had video cameras that they swung across the line of sight. The time of arrival- 11:04AM- came, and we squinted harder at the ebbing shore. Minutes passed in eager silence. Sometimes a person though he or she saw dark water, then said nevermind. After half an hour, some folks climbed back into cars, closing hungry video cameras. I knew the wave would not hit, and got back on my bike, riding past people with crestfallen faces, to another day in paradise.