1991: Sitting outside Waikiki's Kuhio Banyan in the shade, counting out all the money I have -- 25 cents.
1984: Trying to study for a physics II test while watching Gone With The Wind, notebooks scattered atop a glass and oak coffee table at Quail Walk apartments, the door knob moving during a commercial, a man in red jogging shorts attempting to break in.
1971: Studying the cover of David's Beatle's album in his small attic room, pale yellow light from a square window, strawberry incense burning while Strawberry Fields plays, my brother saying that Paul is really dead.
1970: My mother, sister and I crouched behind a screened aluminum door late on Halloween, laughing at the neighbors who think the dummy we've dressed and put in the street is a dead trick-or-treater.
1981: Dr. Powell behind the sheet covering my sixteen year old knees, his saying, "God I love women" just before my heel slips and hits him in the crotch.
2011: Sitting in a circle of writers in Blowing Rock, a second glass of Three Olives Cherry vodka in hand, reading aloud about a shy virgin named Ernest Ledbetter who hates his job as a law firm clerk, and smelly Adele who mumbles unintelligibly except when admiring Ernest's pale smooth hands and suggesting he model jewelry on QVC.