“No. No way.
There’s no way that actually just
happened,” I groaned inwardly. The feelings I felt and warnings I received were
real, some innate ability I never knew I possessed. The almost supernatural
siren inside followed by abhorrent disgust were feelings I would not soon
forget that night—or ever, for that matter.
The
winter of 2004 was chilly, so a few days of February spent in Hawaii were the
perfect chance for my family to take a trip and warm up a bit. Through some of
his friends, my dad managed to get some tickets for us to go see the Pro Bowl
that year, so the entire family flew over the Pacific Ocean to visit Hawaii for
the first time. I had the chance to visit some incredible places in nature, the
LDS temple, and many other sights and experiences Hawaii had to offer. During
our stay, however, I could never have anticipated what we would really
experience and what sort of souvenirs and stories would come home with us.
One evening, my family and I were
walking the busy streets of a shopping district near our hotel. The night was
starting to get dark, as it was still winter, but the warm, muggy air made
walking outside and perusing the shops comfortable and enjoyable. On one
particular street, my mother decided to step into a shop to look at clothing,
something my eleven-year-old self was not about to sacrifice his dignity over.
My dad and grandparents continued on to another store, so my siblings and I sat
down to wait for Mom to have her fill and move on. I plopped down on the
sidewalk near the store entrance, whipped my GameBoy out of its trusty pouch on
my belt, and fired up the game I was currently working on. As soon as the
screen lit up, I became completely oblivious to the world around me. As I sat
there for a few minutes with the light of the screen reflecting off my glasses
and illuminating my face, a voice called out in our general direction.
“Hey,
man,” the voice barked, “get off the GameBoy. You’re on vacation!” The sudden
command shattered the fantasy world I was in and startled me. My eyes quickly
scanned the surrounding street, trying to identify the source of the call, when
I spotted him. A man who looked like a boulder on the beach rumbled out of the
darkness and began filling my view. He had a massive frame with tough, dark
skin that had been beaten for many years by the waves of the sea and light from
the Hawaiian sun. His stony face was marked with age and moss-like patches of
hair. He looked unkempt dressed in a faded, flowery, button-up shirt and worn,
well-used board shorts. The smell of sea-salt and sweat began to cloud my
senses. He casually lumbered up to me in his flip-flops as I noticed that he
was in the company of two exotic-looking birds. He carried a smaller, bright
green parrot in his hand and a massive red parrot on his shoulder, as if the
birds found a place to rest on a boulder as it picked itself up out of the sand
and trudged toward the mainland. As I met eyes with the larger parrot, we
immediately struck up a mutual dislike for each other. The man loomed over my
comfortable spot on the sidewalk, and I felt shame for being called out by such
a large, unexpected, and unusual stranger.
“What
are you doing playin’ games, man?” he reiterated, “You’re in Hawaii! You should
enjoy it!” As he moved closer, his birds shot judging glares at me, and fear
started to boil inside me. I wished my mom would leave the store and rescue her
helpless child from his plight. I looked to each of my siblings for help, but
they avoided the gaze of the man and allowed him to harass my innocent moment
of play. I felt alone and began to feel the itch of my natural instincts to
flee well up inside, yet I remained frozen in place by a fledgling fear of
birds that seemed to flutter down and perch on my shoulders. As I began to
flush with embarrassment, my mother left the store only to find herself on the
verge of the scene at hand.
Her
look was initially puzzled as she moved towards us but changed to curiosity when
she noticed the birds the man held. “What’s going on? Wow! Are those your
birds?” she asked.
The
mischievous grin the man wore instantly changed to a harmless, jolly smile as
he turned to my mother and said, “Yeah! Would you like to take some pictures of
your kids with my birds?”
My
mom began pulling out her camera, and a sudden realization electrocuted my
senses: if I were to be forced to take pictures with these birds, I would have
to get close to them or, even worse, hold
them. Alarms silently screamed in my head as I began pleading with my
mother to take us away and thereby halt the nagging warning siren in my head. I
approached my mother and told her I didn’t want to take any pictures with this
man or the parrots. Something inside me was crying out, a quick jolt warning me
of some unknown danger the nature of which I couldn’t make out. Still, I knew
something wasn’t right; something was going to happen. Upon asking me why I
didn’t want to take pictures, I expressed to my mom my gut feeling and deepest
fears concerning the birds.
“Mom,
I don’t want those things on me,” I protested in low tones, pausing as I worked
up the courage to confide in her, “They’re going to…poop on me!”
My
mother’s face cracked open in smile as my siblings and the abhorrent man
overheard my fears and laughed. “You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, man.
This bird ain’t gonna poop on nobody,” the man chuckled as he placed one parrot
on my older sister’s shoulder and one in her hand. With her picture taken in a
flash and with no incident, I was trapped. Nowhere to run. No one to save me.
The man retrieved the bird from my sister’s shoulder and placed it on mine. Even
though it was the first time a bird had ever perched on me, I felt like it dug
its claws into my shoulder for balance with more force than necessary, purely
out of spite. With the pictures snapped, I immediately called out, “Okay, I’m
done! Get this thing off me now!”
The
man, realizing the uncomfortable position I was placed in, said, “Nah man, why
don’t we take a picture now with this guy on top of your head!” He grinned as
he moved the beast off my shoulder and set it on top of my head. I wanted to
run but was frozen in place by my predicament and his insistence. As the
behemoth was placed on my head, I felt the dreadful claws grasping for support,
tugging at my hair and digging into my scalp, causing my eyes to water. I tried
to balance the large weight on my head but struggled as I felt it shift around.
The bird turned around to the left, almost 180 degrees, and tilted its head and
body forward as I tried posing for this picture. In an instant, my uneasiness
turned to fear as I noticed the expressions on the faces of my family.
Everyone’s faces dropped from smiles to horror as they looked at me; even the
large man’s grin shrunk to a look of surprise. I looked down to see a large
white streak, speckled black, running down the front of my shirt and
splattering my GameBoy pouch. My fears, realized in full, rushed out of me as
my eleven-year-old self roared in horror and disgust. The man sheepishly
grabbed his birds, muttered some apology to no one in particular, and was gone
before tears of anger spilled out of my eyes. The evening was getting late, so
we made our way back to the hotel for me to clean up.
Thoughts
of revenge upon the man filled my thoughts as I inwardly raged at the injustice
wrought upon me. While I wiped away the tears from my face and the residue from
my shirt and pouch, anger bubbled up inside. “I was right the whole time! I
knew it, I knew it, I KNEW IT,” I grumbled to myself. The laughter from my dad
and grandparents as they later heard the retelling of my misfortune from my
siblings only added to my shame. This shock would cause me to be miserable for
the next day or so, but recovery was bound to happen in such a fun place like
Hawaii.
I
decided that night to never again let a gut feeling go unheeded. There was
something distinct about what I felt, something beyond my everyday human
faculties. A simple trip to Hawaii gave me insight into my own abilities. I
cannot recall all the events of our trip, but this event and what I gained from
it has stood out to me and remains fresh in my memory. The powers of intuition
I discovered would prove themselves from time to time in the future as I would
frequently have the same feeling just as an animal was about to relieve its
bowels. Sometimes I think of it as a special ability, other times a gift, but I
have come to understand that it is a responsibility, a very special and
specific form of clairvoyance that would serve to help catch a mess before it
ever happens.
 |
| Here's the proof. |
