Transporting Art and Mind

Flashback alert.
Volkswagen bus owners only.
Or, beware of road fatigue.

Hot. Very hot. 90 degrees tropical.
Old VW buses have no AC.

My orders to meet woman with art
at Koloa Road bus stop,
only bus stop on
Koloa Road.

To tramsport paintings
across island.

Bus belongs to artist daughter
only vehicle available
that large-scale art can
fit into.

Art is not made
for easy packaging
or shipping.

Art is art.

Sitting in driver's seat
remember from many moons
ago, chair does not budge.
Must deal.

Am grandpa now
not hippie traveler of 1973.

But same gearing, shift rising
up from floor, magic wand
necessary for downshifting
on hills both up and down.

Think: are other drivers
on two-way island highway
as nervous about me -- old Taylor Camp-looking
guy -- as I am?

Probably think just another
trip to auto parts store
how does he keep that thing running?

Notice all new cars
look the same, not artistic.
Old VW buses
all look same,
iconic shape.

All people on island
look same
to me.

Pretty soon red dirt on everything.

I text woman who has art that
I am now at tree tunnel heading
southwest on Kuhio Hwy

She texts reply to keep going to
Koloa Road.

Find road. Continue on. See bus stop.
Pull over. Text I am at bus stop.

She texts okay, is on her way.

Bus goes by and does not stop
I think maybe this not only bus stop
on Koloa Road. Maybe woman with art
does not know about this one.

Or maybe this is not bus stop, just a bench
with overhead cover with graffiti on it.

Get in bus and drive.
See Warehouse 3540 industrial bldg
converted to chill coffee stop and
popup shopping displays.

Text woman with art if she can meet
me at Warehouse 3540.
She texts no,
does not have car.

I think art wouldn't fit in car anyway.

Text her I will drive farther
look for above-mentioned now
famous bus stop.

See two women waving hands.
Pull over.

Aloha, says one
holding two large paintings
wrapped and protected.

She works at gallery.

Aloha.
So nice to meet you.
Mahalo.

She points across street at
bus stop, with proper signs and
new blue paint. Only
bus stop on Koloa Road.

Drive back across island in bus
with paintings safely stored,
engine chugging like
freight train, wind whipping
through open windows like
warm hurricane,
downshifting like seasoned truck driver
over hills of lush
greenery.

My aloha shirt wet, sticks
to car seat. Left leg numb from
pinching nerve.

Remember that once I saw
America from same vantage
of old VW bus. Like it was
yesterday.

From Silence of the Oranges ©2019 Kevin Samson, a working title memoir