I was living in Hawaii for a period of time from March to October 1983. I turned 18 while I was there and for a graduation present my very good friends mother sent her to me for a month-long visit. We had a blast together. It was the Flash Dance era and we soaked up as much of that feeling as we could. We spent time on the beach in the day and at the bars at night.

The drinking age was 18 and we took full advantage of it. I was still working, but less as time went on. On my friends last night on the island, we made it an all nighter. At 18 years old, when your drunk time doesn’t exist anyway. We didn’t want it to end .

We tired eventually and parked on a hill overlooking Diamond Head and Honolulu. We were sobering up as the sky was beginning to lighten. It meant everything to me to have a friend that was the same age and who knew my story. I felt like my life wasn’t a complete and total lie to everyone as long as at least one person knew.

The color of the sky was turning from black to dark blue to a burnt orange and then bright red. It was in indescribable, it created a hush that felt like it could silence the world. In my many travels I have seen beautiful sunrises show their spectacular colors and moments, but this was somehow different. There weren’t two words shared between us as the change in sky was happening. It was as if something created the moment especially for us.

The silence and stillness gave me the same feeling as I get  when there is a turning point coming. It was the end of something. I just didn’t know what it was at that moment. B left that day and I missed her company. I was alone again and tried to turn myself back to work, but that wasn’t happening.

One important thing I learned about Hawaii is when its your time to leave its your time and the island will show you the door without hesitation. That is what it did, but not without the incredible memory burned in my brain. That morning the sunrise gave me the gift of that memory and I cherish it still to this day. It is my best sunrise ever.