Battleship

KUHIO BEACH, LATER THAT EVENING

The throbbing in Hopper’s shoulder had more or less faded to nothing as he sat on the beach next to Sam, the water gently lapping against the shore. Kuhio Beach was adjacent to Kapi’olani Beach Park, and this late at night, the beach was largely deserted. The Pacific Ocean was smooth as glass, and the full moon reflected down upon it, making it seem as if a giant yellow eye was staring up at them from the depths of the waters.

Sam was holding a bottle of wine and was sipping from it. A blanket was spread out beneath them and a gentle breeze was causing her long hair to flutter. They had forgone glasses from which to drink the wine and instead were simply passing the bottle back and forth.

Handing the bottle to Hopper, Sam said, “So… big day tomorrow.”

Slowly he lowered it and tried to smile. Unfortunately, all he could manage was a grimace. Sam noticed it and her expression darkened. “Hopper… are you ready for this? I mean, are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“I’m ready,” he said, a little faster than he really needed to. As a result he didn’t sound quite as confident as she would have liked and he would have wanted.

She rested her hand on his shoulder and the concern upon her face was palpable. “You suuuure?”

Hopper heard the challenge in her voice. She wanted the truth, and he had to take a long, hard look into himself. As it turned out, he liked what he saw. More specifically, he liked it in relation to her. “Never more sure,” he said with growing confidence.

She studied him, not looking totally convinced. “What are you going to say?”

There was a long pause as his mind raced. Truthfully he didn’t have the faintest idea. The fact was that he had been trying to put off the conversation even in his mind, opting for that oldest of strategies: if you ignore something, it will go away.

It didn’t seem to be working this time. Instead Sam was becoming increasingly annoyed. It was clear she was having serious doubts that he was intending to follow through on what they’d discussed. Well, she discussed it, for the most part. You just listened. Finally he said, “I’m just gonna ask him. Man to man.”

“With what words?”

“My words: ‘Sir, I love your daughter. More than anything in this world, and I’m asking you for your permission…’” Then his voice sputtered and died, like a deflating balloon running out of air.

Sam prompted him to continue. “Permission…?”

“He’s gonna knock me out.” Oh yeah. Man to man. That sounded… manly.

“Permission…?” she said again.

“Can we go swimming?”

She was relentless, though. At least she gave him the next word. “Permission to…?”

Hopper desperately wanted to be anywhere else than where he was at that moment. He was wearing a light shirt and his bathing trunks, and Sam had on her bikini beneath a loose T-shirt and shorts. Why were they sitting here, dwelling on a dead-end conversation, when the ocean was beckoning? “Please can we go swimming?”

“Finish the question. Then we can go swimming.”

Clearly she wasn’t about to let up and—his back against the metaphorical wall—he was forced to admit what was truly on his mind. Very softly, so much so that she could scarcely hear him, Hopper looked down at the blanket on which he was sitting. “I think he’s gonna say no.”

“Hopper.” She sounded so disappointed in him. “Don’t you think he wants me to be happy?”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure he’s not gonna give a crap about my happiness.”

“He’s going to have to, because you’re what makes me happy.”

He took that in, and even though there was a cool breeze coming off the Pacific, he still felt suffused with warmth. He stared fixedly forward, as if her father were standing directly in front of them and, with a formal tilt of his head, said, “May I please have permission to marry your daughter. The most beautiful and the best thing to ever happen to me.” He turned back to her, waiting for approval, hoping it would be forthcoming.

She took his chin in her hand and kissed him. “I love you.”

“Can we please go swimming?”

As an answer, she jumped to her feet and started shedding her clothing, stripping down to her bikini. She then sprinted into the ocean, with Hopper bounding in right behind her.

He’s gonna kill me. That certain conviction went through Hopper’s mind, taking some of the fun out of splashing about in the water with his intended, the love of his life, the woman he’d nearly wound up in jail for. From that day to this one, he’d never been able to look at a chicken burrito again. But what did burritos matter when he had a beautiful woman like this in his arms?

Besides which, there were always tacos. And enchiladas.

They swam and kissed under the full moon, and concerns about her father departed from his mind to become problems for another day.

“Hopper.” It was Sam’s voice, and there was a shaking. She was shaking him. He didn’t want to be shaken. He wanted to sleep some more. “Hopper!” she said, more insistently this time, shoving him around so violently that he felt as if there was an earthquake underneath the sand…

The sand? We’re still on the beach? If we’re on the beach, why is it so bright out…?

That was when his mind began to piece together the truth. They had fallen asleep on the beach, wrapped in the overlarge blanket. Night was gone and the sun was much higher in the morning sky than it had any right to be, considering he was supposed to be elsewhere at this very moment.

“This is bad,” he said.

Instantly they scrambled to their feet, gathering their belongings, stumbling in the sand as they did so. At one point Hopper lost his footing, tumbled against Sam, and they both wound up falling down onto the sand again.

“You better get it together, Hopper!”

He nodded in hurried agreement as he pulled on his shirt. Sam was hastening to get into her shorts and succeeded in shoving both of her legs into the same pants leg, cursing like—appropriately enough—a sailor as she extracted her left leg and started over, bouncing on her right foot as she endeavored to maintain her balance.

With all this frantic hurrying and the fact that he was probably going to be late as a result, Hopper had to think that perhaps the timing of the intended request for the hand of the admiral’s daughter might leave something to be desired. “Maybe we should put it off till next month?” he ventured.

He didn’t have to explain to her which “it” he meant. “No way,” she said. By this point she had managed to get all her body parts into the proper sections of her clothing and was sprinting toward the Jeep they’d driven out there. He caught up with her and then passed her effortlessly. Hopper leaped into the driver’s seat, yanked out his keys, fumbled for a moment with them before shoving the right key into the ignition and turning it. For a moment the engine failed to catch. Dead, dead, I am so dead. Then it miraculously turned over. He gunned it, tearing out of the parking lot so quickly he nearly left Sam behind. As it was she barely had time to leap into the passenger’s side before the Jeep took off.

Just another day in Paradise, he thought.