“I hardly ever listen to music anymore.” I said backing out of my driveway on Kula Kulea place and then rolling down through the treacherously steep and narrow mountainside neighborhood street made even more so by all the cars and large pickup trucks parked aggressively on both sides.

Luckily I catch a green light and slip across the Likelike so I can take Kalihi street down to School street and then zig zag a bit through Kuakini and go round the back of Punchbowl. From there I can zip behind Makiki on Nehoa street to then pass in front of Punahou school on Wilder avenue and eventually UH Manoa on Dole street effectively bypassing the freeway altogether on our way to pick up our friend up in the back of Palolo and make it to noodles before the restaurant gets busy.

My usual route at this time of day.

“That’s so sad.”
“Yea, well… ”

He turned and stared through the passenger side window and waited for me to finish my halfhearted attempt at rationalizing such a ridiculous thing for me to say in the first place and then strategically changed the subject.

“I want you to play a blues solo at the Wards Rafters show next weekend.” He said.
“Really? I…
I can’t even….“
“I know I know. But this is exactly what you need to do right now.
Trust me”
“Okay”

We drove the rest of the way without mentioning it again. Instead, I chattered incessantly about points of reference along my route as he placated my frightened ego by being absolutely astonished with my professional skills at navigating the back roads of Honolulu.

Later, driving more directly back to where he’d parked his car near my squalid little room in the five bedroom house I shared with no one I care to ever talk about again, my new guitar teacher and friend was the one going on and on. Only now it was about the noodles we’d just eaten.

“Dude! That was the best damn ramen I’ve ever had. Let’s go there every time”
“Number one”
“Yep, number one ramen.”

“Awesome”

m(___)m

——