Chasing Dolphins

It was the first day of our honeymoon in Hanalei Bay, Kauai. As we pull up to the rental house people  are coming out of houses excitedly pointing to the bay. It was evident that something was going on.
Unloading the Jeep I hear Chelsea say, "Oh MY it's dolphins! There are dolphins!"

There was a pod of fins circling in the near blue.
Next thing I knew Chelsea was in a bathing suit running down the beach.

When the car was unloaded I put on a suit, grabbed my goggles, the old kick board leaning against the side of the house, and jogged down.
People entered the water on sail and surf boards in a celebratory spirit but there was also confusion.
Some were trying to get the others to come out of the water, concerned for the wildlife.
One person said, "The Navy is doing tests and the whales are trying to escape the sonar."
Whales? I thought Chelsea was chasing dolphins.
Others were worried the whales were going to beach themselves and were shooing them away.
The Pilot whales swim away and the throng of people out in the water and on the beach watch them leave the bay.
To some this is good news for they aren't beaching themselves.
To others it is bad news that the whales have been chased away.
I don't know what it is I only know that I see my wife of only one day a couple hundred yards out treading water. Chelsea isn't a swimmer.
I spent 4 years on swim team in high-school so I pull my goggles down from my forehead and dive in. After a few minutes I'm treading water next to her.
The bay cleared out by this point as we bob there alone.
She has a huge grin on her face, "I saw them. They were so cool!"
She's elated.
"Let's go back in," I say nodding to the beach.
"Okay."
I give her the kick-board and swim along side for a bit before I realize we aren't making progress.
She's clinging to this tiny faded red thing, kicking her legs but isn't getting anywhere.
"Go ahead without me, I'll catch up."
I bark out a laugh, "There is no way I'm leaving my wife this far out in the ocean by herself on our first day of marriage."
I tell her to hold onto the board and extend her legs. I get behind her, grab her feet and frog kick back all the while talking about water safety and respecting the power of the ocean.
I should know, I've almost drowned three times.
The first time I was 11 and both my hamstrings cramped one hot summer day while I was in the middle of a lake. My buddy was close by with and inner-tube so I survived.
Once on that Lynnwood Royal swim team I saw a kid from another team try to swim 50 yards underwater without coming up.
We practiced underwater swims to expand our lung capacity. Normally though we'd only go 25 yards. He got about 10 feet from the wall when he stopped moving. The team dove in fished him out and gave him CPR.
I watched this entire thing and thought, Huh, I wonder if I can swim 50 yards under water? 
Turns out I could. I did start to blackout as I touched the wall and I needed help getting out of the water though.
The third time involved making a poor decision on a long river float and getting banged up pretty badly by river boulders.
Through hundreds of hours in the water I have developed a deep respect for it.
The whole way back to land this was the conversation.
We make it to the beach and head back in the house. I'm a little tired and thirsty so I head in the kitchen and get something to drink. There is a commotion outside and I hear voices.
"They are back!" I hear someone shout.
People are coming back out of their houses and pointing to the bay.
I look out to see Chelsea running toward the water, kick-board in hand.
You gotta be kidding me. This is DAY ONE?
I do have a smile in the corner of my mouth though as I trudge back down the beach pulling my goggles from my forehead.
When we get out there Chelsea is in full bliss mode swimming near these amazing creatures but she's missed out on part of the experience. This whole time her head has been above water.
"Put your head in the water."
"What?" She says a little confused.
"You gotta hear this!" I say with a grin and dip down below the surface.
The sound was incredible.
Pops and clicks and squeels and whirs.
I could hear them talking to each other and it was life altering.
She lowers her ears below the water and her face bursts with joy.
Shortly after that they swim away again.
Chelsea extends her legs as I grab onto her feet and frog kick her back to land...smiling all the while.
Day one.

Blackout

We were in rehearsal for Irish Rep's "The Streets of New York" in Chelsea, NYC when the lights went out.
We didn't think much about it.
After thirty minutes Charlotte Moore called off rehearsal.
One of my cast mates needed cash for a cab so I pulled out the $20 from my wallet and gave it to her.
"Pay me back tomorrow."
I left the building excited.
Chelsea was coming into the city to hang out with me after rehearsal.
Rehearsal was out early so I headed to Marlowe.
I tried to call her on my phone.
"All circuits are busy."
I walked up to a payphone.
It was dead.
I looked up at streets crammed with confused people.
I pivoted right and saw for the first time that this wasn't just our building and it wasn't a power outage on this block.
It was a power outage as far as the eye could see.
Shit, I thought.
ATM was out.
I try to call Chelsea.
"All circuits are busy."
Oh no, I thought.
She can't come here.
Now I'm nervous.
I have no cash.
No communication.
It's 90 degrees out.
I'm stuck.
Alright, I'll walk to where we are supposed to meet.
People continued to pour out of the buildings.
Everyone staring at their phones in disbelief.
The system had shut down.
I pass Port Authority on my way to Marlowe.
It was a scene out of a movie: a throng of people amassed.
Shut down.
That was not expected.
Try my phone again.
Same. Damn.Thing.
Now I'm hot and sweaty and praying my fiance isn't on her way here.
We're supposed to meet at Marlowe so on I go.
When I get there it's dark inside.
The windows are open.
Marlowe sits below the street so it's cool and feels nice.
The bartender leans in.
"What can I get you?"
"I don't have any money."
"Pay us back next time."
"I'll have a Sam Adams."
The beer tastes good.
Try my phone again.
Nope.
A loud voice declares, "Dude, can you believe it?"
It's Doug Storm, Les Miserables alum from the late 90's.
I like Doug Storm. He's a fun guy.
I'm happy to see a friend but I'm anxious about Chelsea and getting off this island.
"Another beer?"
"One more."
Still no Chelsea.
She's not coming.
I feel a desperate urge to get home.
Like, I'm a strong swimmer I could probably swim across the Hudson, type of urge.
"I think I'm going to go check Port Authority out again."
"DUDE! Are you insane? Nothing is getting out of there. Don't waste your time," says Doug Storm and I think he's right.
I'm going anyway.
So, I thank the bartender, give Doug a bro hug and head back out into the hot jungle of powerless New York City.
Trudging back down 8th Avenue the streets are strewn with sweaty stressed out citizens.
Port Authority looks like something out of The Stand, by Stephen King.
Everyone is trying to get home and nothing is moving.
My shoulders slump.
When my head lifts I see a familiar bus across the street.
A Decamp 66 sits there with a driver inside.
I jay-walk straight to it and knock on the driver's window.
His eyes slide to the right and he nods.
The door "pssshhh" opens and I'm greeted with deliciously cool air.
It's empty.
Soon the bus is jammed and people keep cramming on and when it is full beyond capacity and more the door closes.
In a rich and calm voice the young driver says, "I'm going to take you ALL home,"and we roll.
It took hours.
He went on every Decamp route.
He did it.
To this day I am grateful to the man who took us home.
All of us.

Photo credit Duncan Rawlinson.