Day 273: Big Island Vacation

I might turn this into a full piece someday.  Several years ago, my grandparents went with us to the Big Island for vacation.  It was quite eventful.

When someone mentions “Hawaii,” what does your mind conjure up?  Clear blue skies over brilliant blue shimmering waters?  A scantily clad woman in a coconut shell top and green grass bottom dancing the hula on white sandy beaches to an ukele?  Perhaps throw in a few surfers and a pig roasting over a pit.  I bet a trip to the emergency room wouldn’t be expected in that picture.

“Look at all the blood!” my mom screamed.

“Oh, Dale, you have to get that looked at.”

“You’re bleeding all over the place.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t cut your whole finger off,” my grandfather said with a chuckle.

“Dad, it’s not funny.  Honey, do you want me to drive you to the emergency room?”

Living on Oahu for a year, miles away from any ocean, I didn’t think of Hawaii like that.  Hawaii was my home, with perpetual summer, plumerias littering the road leading up to my house, and living thousands of miles away from my grandparents in the North.  I was so excited that they were coming to visit.  We all thought that since we would be going on a vacation, we might as well make the most of it.  We would go to the Big Island for our family trip.

“Dad, there is no way we are fitting seven people in that car.” My mom asserted as she stared at the rental car my grandfather had procured.

“They’ll be room.  You, Dale, and Neal can sit in the back.  And the two girls can sit up front with us.  The cupholders in the front lift up to reveal another seat.”

“But that’s only six.”  My mom was trying to remain calm.

“Katie and Brit are so little that I can share a seat with them.”  My grandmother was short to begin with, only about 5’2 or 5’3.  My grandmother always used nicknames.  I hated how ugly it sounded. 

“Momma named me 'Brittany,' I'd think to myself.  "If she wanted me called 'Brit,' she would have named me that.”

“Trust me."  My grandfather looked over at me and nudged my arm.  “We’ll fit, right?”

“Right,” I half-grinned.  I wasn’t sure how we could manage, but I knew we would somehow.

“Don’t worry we all love each other.  We’ll just squeeze in tight.”  My grandmother said as we started clambering into the sardine can.

Kaitlyn was excited to be going on a trip, so she went in the middle seat.  My grandmother made sure she was buckled up and then put the seat belt around the two of us after we got in.

“Excuse me, excuse me,” she joked as she stretched her arm across me to reach the buckle on the other side of me.  “Okay, we’re all set.  You guys okay back there?”

I turned around to look at my little brother and parents huddled snugly in the three seats.  My mother mustered a smile.  “We’re good.”

“Let’s go!”

In reference to the first scene, my dad was trying to cut into a loaf of hard bread, and the knife slipped and cut his finger.  He had to get four or so stitches.  I joked he had a Frankenstein's monster's finger.