Unforgettable

I will never forget May 5, 1979.  That was the day I was kidnapped.

Just before dawn, someone pounced on my bed and threw a blanket over my head.  In one fluid movement, I was scooped up and whisked out of the house.

My heart raced. My vocal cords failed.  I fought to break free, elbowing and kicking, but the kidnapper held tight.   

Within seconds, we were in the backseat of a car. The car door slammed shut and sped away.

"Let me go!"  I demanded.

Silence.

"Please?" Perhaps a sincere, less-demanding plea would give them a change of heart.

Nothing.

Details, I thought. I needed to remember the smallest of details so I could give the police a full account for their investigation.  There were multiple kidnappers: the one who snatched me out of bed and the one who was driving the car.  And possibly a third…I couldn't tell if there was someone in the front passenger seat.   

Who were they?  And why were they kidnapping me?  Where were they taking me?

I concentrated on the each and every turn. We were on the main road, headed toward the front gate of the military base.  Perhaps I could somehow get the attention of the gate sentry!  I plotted my strategy. But then the driver made an unexpected right, then another right, then a left…and seemed to drive in circles.  I lost all sense of direction.  My heart sank.

I was suffocating beneath the blanket. There was no air conditioning in the car and the windows were up.

"Where are you taking me?"

No one spoke.

The car slowed to a stop and idled.  We were at a traffic light…but which one?  Realizing the kidnapper's  hold has loosened, I moved quickly.  But he was quicker.   

Then someone in the front seat snickered and my kidnapper's body began to shake.    

Laughing?  My kidnappers were laughing?  Not once in all the TV crime dramas had I ever seen a kidnapper laugh!  In that instance, my mind shifted from being the victim of a heinous crime to the victim of a prank.

The car accelerated.

But who would be so cruel?  I was, after all, in my pajamas had a bad case of bed hair.

Before I could speculate, the car slammed on brakes, the back door opened and I was dumped on the ground, and the covers yanked free.   And there, surrounding me, were my closest friends from senior year.  They'd planned—and perfectly executed a kidnap breakfast!  My heart surged with joy.

Decades have now gone by, but the memories of that "kidnapping" bring tears to my eyes.  I have never felt more loved by a group of friends than I did that morning.   

Our friendship began in the early days of my senior year when a group of guys, who called themselves the Haole Divers, allowed several of us girls to infiltrate their exclusive group.  We tagged along on their diving adventures, visiting various beaches around Oahu.  While they dove, we guarded their spare scuba gear and worked on our tans.  The guys were not only serious about their diving, they were serious about their brotherhood.  Before we came on the scene, they'd designed their own logo and had it embroidered on baseball caps; on the back was each member's water-related nickname.  One evening, we—the five of us girls—were presented official certificates of membership into the Haole Divers.  Affectionately dubbed Haole Dive-ettes, we were presented with our own ball caps touting our chosen-for-us nicknames.  My nickname?  Shrimpy Sharon.  I rejoiced.  I had found my people.

However, our days were numbered.  Out of our group of ten, half of us were seniors and would be leaving the island after graduation.  We spent every possible moment together.  Our final gathering was—at least for us girls—a blubber fest.  We knew what we had was extraordinary and unforgettable.

I was the first to leave Hawaii.  Only days after graduation, there was a change of our departure date.  On such short notice, the Haole Divers would not be able to "see me off."  As I waited at the gate, tears bubbled over and spilled down my cheeks. I hated being a military brat.  Not only was I leaving my friends behind, the military's schedule change meant I wouldn't get to them one last time.  My mom's attempts to cheer me were futile.

Then I happened to look up, and there they were…all nine of them.  Fresh tears flooded my eyes as I raced toward them.  They adorned my neck with fragrant leis and lavished me with cards and gifts.  We spent the next hour huddled together, hanging on to each other until the last possible moment, and pledging to stay in touch with one another. I cried the entire flight across the Pacific, and the majority of our drive cross-country to Virginia.     

At first, several of us stayed in touch via snail mail and the occasional long distance phone call.  At our 20th class reunion, those of us that made it back to Hawaii made middle-of-the-night phone calls to those who weren't able to make it.  Gradually, connections were lost.  Some of us are still in touch, but collectively, time, distance and life-direction have been friendship thieves.

Yet, as I sit here looking at the photo of smiling, once-youthful, familiar faces, I realize the memories of our precious Haole Diver bond cannot be stolen.  It is unforgettable.  And that makes my heart—once again—surge with joy.

A sweet friendship refreshes the soul. ~ Proverbs 27:9