Who loves believes the impossible. – Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Okay, so I have a boyfriend. I know, I know—it’s shocking for me,
too. But although he is a wonderful man and I happy, I’m having a hard
time coming to terms with making it public to my friends.
I think I’d gotten so used to being “free and single”—hell, I’ve
damn near made a living at it—as well as everyone’s expectations that
the barrage of debauched tales would never end. And I do hate to
But hey, don’t sell me short just yet. I still have that den of iniquity. It just now features “His” and “Her” bath towels.
So the dilemma came up again, as I tried in vain to head across the
street to Cafe Marc Aurel for some alone time away from the office to
review my notes for a big story. It was there I ran into a friend I
hadn’t seen in awhile—James, the drummer from last year’s
disbanded/this year’s regrouped reggae-funk-rockers, The Easy.
After asking me about my trip to New York, and whether or not I
tried a “hoagie” (I didn’t), James filled me in on the new lineup of
his band—still him on drums and Thomas on vox and ‘uke, but now with
Adam Bowen on bass—and how former guitarist “Cotton” is living in
Brooklyn and not really digging it.
Apparently, the former social butterfly and sometime Maui playboy
has been going everywhere alone in NYC and not making any friends.
James told Cotton that maybe he should try talking to people.
“I think he’s gonna head back to L.A.,” James said. “But he did just meet a girl—at least for the night—so maybe not.”
“Yeah, that’ll buy him another week,” I said.
Soon former Easy bassist Noah came in, fresh from a local dive bar,
where he saw a patron on oxygen smoking a cigarette. He shook his head.
“I kept looking at my pack of smokes and going, ‘Damn!’” Noah said.
“Hey, that reminds me—you know what you guys should do a story about?”
“Gosh, I was waiting for somebody to ask me that today…” I said.
Noah continued. “You know how Christians are always saying, ‘The
apocalypse is coming! The apocalypse is coming!’ They’ve been saying
that shit for 2,000 years! Well, there’s this radio program on 1110 AM
where this Christian guy in Kihei is preaching that the world isn’t
actually coming to an end.”
And then, it happened. Noah looked straight at me, smirking.
“So how’s your love life?” Noah asked. I took a sip of my iced coffee, trying hard not to give myself away.
“It’s fine,” I said, nonchalantly.
“Yeah, right!” he scoffed. Then both boys laughed. And I let them.
“I have commitment issues,” Noah said. “The universe keeps throwing
me the perfect women, too, like the kind I would’ve gotten down on my
knees and prayed for. But I’m like, nah…”
“It’s all about timing,” I said. “You know, you guys really need a
love song in your repertoire—throw in a couple Hawaiian words or
“We’ll call it ‘Aloha, I Love You,’” Noah said.
“Right! It’d be an instant hit,” I said.
“Yeah, I was in a relationship for a year—she was perfect,” James said. “But… “
“Well, what is it?” I asked. “Did you feel like you were missing out on something?”
“I didn’t feel,” James said. “I knew!”
“Variety is the spice of life,” Noah said. “It’s what it’s all about.”
“Oh, c’mon,” I said. “Being single is not all good.”
“No, but it’s like Chris Rock said—‘You’re either married and bored, or single and lonely.’”
“You can’t win either way,” James said.
Why was I so reluctant to divulge my current “attached” status? Have
I joined the Other Side? Was I afraid I’d lost street cred? Or maybe I
didn’t feel like offering an explanation, only to be scorned and
ridiculed by friends who’ll now think I’m one of the ignorantly
blissful masses and, therefore, not worthy of their confidences.
At least, that’s how I would’ve been when I was one of them.
“Maybe next time you want to be alone and work,” my ever-helpful
editor said, “you should go to McDonald’s. You can’t possibly run into
anyone you know there.”
Okay, great. So now I’m in a relationship, I drive a lowered
racecar, and I work at McDonald’s. Is this what was supposed to happen
while I was busy making other plans?
I hardly know me anymore.
Samantha Campos hopes to never, ever be told the true ingredients of nougat. MTW