In the twilight hours of a balmy evening, the setting was almost serene. Perched on the library steps, I observed the usual group of homeless individuals settling in for the night. As the clock struck seven, the majestic church bells from Kawaiaha’o rang out, signaling the hour. The birds perched on the wrought iron gate fronting the Lunalilo tomb scattered, their flight seemingly guided by the chimes as if an invisible hand had urged them away.
It was at this precise moment that a peculiar figure emerged from the lane between the palace and the library. Dressed in a trench coat over a t-shirt and slacks, he silently approached and seated himself on the steps across the hand railing from me. His boots caught my attention—identical to those I wore during my reckless youth, a time filled with late-night brawls and poor decisions. The memories of those days flashed briefly before my eyes.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I asked, more out of habit than genuine curiosity.
“I’m good,” he responded. “You waiting for your people?”
“Yeah, they called and said they’d be a bit late. Are you with them?” I inquired.
“I’m with one of them,” he nodded.
I extended my hand under the railing. “I’m Lopaka,” I introduced myself.
He wiped his palm on his pant leg and began to shake my hand, but I interrupted him. “Hey, did you know…?”
He cut me off with a smirk. “I know, I look like Lloyd Dobler from ‘Say Anything.’”
“Yeah, it’s weird. You don’t just look like John Cusack playing Lloyd Dobler; you look like you are Lloyd Dobler from the movie. Does that make sense?” I asked.
“I get it all the time,” he replied with a smirk, clearly accustomed to the comparison.
Just then, my phone buzzed with a text from the client: “We are across the street coming your way. We see you!” I looked up to see a group of thirteen crossing the street and waved back. “This is them,” I said, exhaling in relief.
The mysterious figure turned to me. “Listen, I have two things to tell you.”
“Sure, but make it quick. We’re about to start,” I said, eager to get on with the evening.
“Number one,” he said, “things aren’t as bad as you worry them to be. Everything is everything, it’s cool.”
I was puzzled but nodded, willing to accept his cryptic reassurance. “And number two?” I asked.
He pointed towards the approaching group. “Those people REALLY want to do this ghost tour. I mean, they REALLY want to.”
“Okay…” I replied, now intrigued.
“They’re not even going to ask for a refund,” he winked, then bounded down the steps and jogged towards the group. They didn’t seem to notice him. He approached a young man in the group and placed a hand on his shoulder. In an instant, the young man collapsed, lifeless.
Panic ensued among the group. The figure reappeared beside me with the ghost of the recently deceased client in tow. “On one hand, this will only add to your mystique,” he said, smiling and winking. “On the other hand, you’ve got a new story to add to your collection.” Seeing the concern on my face, he continued, “You have my permission to discuss what you saw tonight. I’m sorry this had to happen on your watch, but a job’s a job, you know?”
“So, you’re not Lloyd Dobler?” I asked, trying to grasp the situation.
“No,” he replied. “I’m an image that’s comfortable for your mind to accept. My real form—it’s too overwhelming. You’d go mad if you saw it.”
“It’s you,” I said suddenly, realizing the truth. “I could always feel your presence, lingering at the edge. I never sought you out, but I knew you were around.”
“I’m a fan,” he admitted. “We all are. We enjoy your stories, but we stay hidden in the physical realm. We wouldn’t want to scare people into madness.”
“We?” I asked.
“We, us, on this side,” he clarified, gesturing behind him. He put an arm around the young man’s ghost and began to walk towards the lane between the palace and the library. Before they disappeared, he turned to me and said, “Seventy-nine.”
I was confused. “I’m sorry?”
“You were wondering when,” he said. “You’ll be seventy-nine when the time comes.” With a thumbs up, he and the young man vanished.
Stunned and disoriented, I struggled to process what had just occurred. One of the young women from the tour group approached, tearfully apologizing. “I’m so sorry about what happened,” she said.
“I’m sorry this happened to you all. I’ll arrange a refund,” I said, trying to mask my shock.
“Oh no, no,” she replied. “We didn’t know that guy. He must have wandered into our group. We still want to do the tour if you’re not too upset?”
I was taken aback but managed to agree. “I’m fine, though this is certainly strange. I thought he was with you.”
As the EMTs arrived and ensured everything was handled, the ghost tour commenced. Despite the unsettling incident, the group chose to proceed, showing no desire for a refund. It was nearing eight forty-five when we began.
As bizarre as the night had been, a strange comfort settled over me. I felt reassured that when my time came, Lloyd Dobler would be waiting for me with his 1977 Chevy Malibu and his iconic radio boom box, ready to lead me to the next chapter.
