Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Martha's Beach Horror Experience

When I was young...maybe six or seven years family went on a Hawaii vacation over Christmas break.

Here is what I remember.

Like any horror movie, we open on a beautiful scene.

We stayed with my mom's friend, a beautiful Vietnamese woman. Her family owned hotel properties on the island, and she invited us to her gorgeous beach-side home where the ocean's waves were practically a welcome mat.

She had a son named Paul who was about my age, and while my parents insisted we would get married when we were older, all I remember is that I wanted to kick his ass at everything. If he dove off a diving board, I dove off a higher one.

She took us to luaus and other celebrations where I was constantly singled out to go on stage or hula. At the time, I thought this was because I was unbearably cute. While this may have been true, I now realize it's because I was with the boss.

Like any horror movie, there was a turn.

The shenanigans became too much.

My brothers held me over an open volcano pit, threatening to drop me inside.

I went for a swim in the ocean and a strange woman encouraged me the race a wave. I was tossed around and unable to break the surface. I took gulp after gulp of salt water which stung my lungs until the wave finally tossed me onto shore and I choked it out.

I was buried in the sand up to my neck, unable to move, and while movies had made this seem fun really it was cold and kind of sucked and hey did I mention there are bugs in the sand?

Hawaii was beginning to lose its shine.

Like any horror movie, we soon realize the true horror is not what we expected.

We left cookies out the night before Christmas, but two things struck me was incredibly wrong. For one, how was Santa going to find us. For two, there was no friggin' chimney in this place. Was Santa supposed to use the door?

I worried about it all night. I couldn't sleep. I finally decided I needed to leave the cookies outside on the doorstep. I slipped out of my room (in what I imagine to be an adorable nightie) and saw the unthinkable.

My parents and their friends in the dining room eating Santa's cookies.

Now I wasn't an idiot.

I'd had my doubts about Santa. But now they were confirmed.

What I hadn't known is that my parents were in on it.

I left Hawaii knowing two things for certain.

1. Nature could kill you. Like really, totally kill you.

2. Parents are deceitful liars.

So while I like a good beach, Hawaii can suck it.


L.G.C. Smith said...

Amen. Only one good thing ever happened to me on a Hawaiian beach. I found a twenty dollar bill on the ground while waiting in line for the bathroom. My mom let me keep it because there was no way to figure out who it belonged to. Other than that, there have been two or three life-threatening incidents and a lot of discomfort. Pretty, yes. Safe, no.

Juliet Blackwell said...

Wow, Martha. Downer of a vacation! And that thing with the parents...? As a parent, I always worried what would happen when my son found out I was the Santa, Easter Bunny, AND Tooth Fairy. I'm convinced it's part of his hard edge of cynicism.

Sophie Littlefield said...

ha haaaa i can totally picture itty bitty martha in a rictus of horror at the santa discovery. channel that rage, baby! and a hug for your long-ago self (though i'm sure you would have kicked and screamed at the notion) (which makes it all the better)

Mysti said...

Dudette! Lots of tourists die in Hawaii, something they don't advertise a lot. Drownings, especially around December when the surf can be killer.

We discovered that while staying in a Mauai cabin in the middle of the jungle is truly beautiful and amazing, you have to scrube the sink clean every time you use it or icky visitors inch up the pipes and into your sink.

So the cookie thing could have been worse.

Can't believe you had this AND bed bugs happen to you!!!!

Martha Flynn said...

I'm so glad to hear everyone knows Hawaii is evil!!!!!

Oh Mysti, this just scratches the surface of my travel drama.

Lisa Hughey said...

You crack me up!!! My third grade teacher asked us in class when we realized Santa wasn't real. My mother was PISSED and I was devastated.

Rachael Herron said...

I didn't know there wasn't really a Santa until I was 12. Thus, perhaps, the difference between you and me.

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