The One That Got Away

Unless you've been penniless in Honolulu, slept in Ala Moana Park and worked day labor at a tuna factory you probably won't understand how six dollars could mean so much. I had finally found a regular job, two jobs, actually. I made smoothies in the mall during the day and at night I worked at the Jack-in-the-Box on Kalakaua Avenue. I was saving every nickel for a plane ticket off the island. I'd been there four months and had been flat broke for three and a half.

One day a beautiful girl ordered a smoothie from me and smiled so big and flirted over the counter with me and asked me if I was going to the Rod Stewart concert. I said maybe I would and she winked and said she'd meet me there. I didn't know whether she'd show or not but I scraped together six dollars and waited there by the gate for her. Six bucks was a lot of money to me, believe it or not. Then she came walking up to me, smiling big. "You made it!" she said. "Got your ticket?"

At that moment, I knew that I couldn't be with her and be broke. It wasn't that she was really out of my league, but at that point in time, she was just definitely out of my league. I winced back a smile and said, "No, I don't have a ticket." Her smile fell away. "Too bad," she said. The crowd was moving toward the gate. She smiled once more and said, "Oh well," as she joined the flow of people into the coliseum. She looked back once and said, "Bye."

I watched her disappear and felt so stupid. I have never felt so stupid. I hung around outside and listened to the concert. When Every Picture Tells a Story played, I finally walked away, six lonely dollars closer to the mainland.