Everyone in SeaTac International Airport stared at him; a grown man wearing a classic white Stetson fedora with a spotless matching suit, resembling Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca, spinning a brightly-colored yo-yo in each hand. He grinned as his yo-yos spun outwards and returned with obvious mastery. I wondered if he was insane yet, as I watched, two small children ran up to stare at him, chased by an aggravated mother dragging rolling suitcases. He performed an amazing yo-yo trick for the kids, spinning both over his head, caught his yo-yos in his hands, and then spoke softly to their mother. Removing the string-loops from his fingers, he presented both yo-yos to her excited children. Gleefully the kids accepted the new toys, and began attempting to perform basic returns. Their mother smiled and thanked him profusely. He gave her a curt bow, tilted his hat, and walked off smiling.
              It was nice to see a generous act. However, since I didn't know them, I turned back to reading my book, an exciting mystery I'd read before. In the back of my head flitted the idea that this strange, generous man seemed more like a character in my book than someone walking through a busy airport.
              Soon I became engrossed in the petitions of a main character trying to convince a suspicious police detective why he couldn't be the murderer. I'd assumed that I'd never see the strange man in the white suit and fedora again.
              My plane arrived twenty minutes late. When it came, I waited impatiently while arriving passengers hurried off, most loudly complaining about missing connecting flights, and rushing off to other gates.
              I loved flying first class. My company paid for my flight, but I'd used my miles to upgrade. I boarded with the first group, and was met by a middle-aged stewardess whose friendly demeanor was so over the top that I wondered how she plastered on the same smile all day. I sat in the aisle seat beside a large man who stank of cigars, busy peering through his tiny window. Before us sat a woman with a small boy. Already whining, the little boy sounded fussy. I feared that he'd cry the whole flight.
              "Is that a magic pencil?" came a clear, smooth voice.
              The whines of the boy stopped immediately. I recognized the man who'd given away his yo-yos sitting across the aisle from the boy. He reached out, took a long, yellow pencil from the boy's hand, and held it vertically before him.
              "See these words ...?" the man said, pointing near the eraser at the shiny lettering printed on the side of the pencil.
              Suddenly he waved his other hand between the boy's eyes and the pencil.
              The printed letters vanished!
              "Where'd they go?" the man asked the boy. "Can we bring them back?"
              The man waved his hand over the pencil again, and the shiny letters reappeared.
              The little boy looked amazed, yet I knew that, while distracting with his other hand, he'd simply turned the pencil around so that the lettering faced him. He handed the pencil back to the boy.
              "You'd better take good care of this," he said. "Magic pencils are rare and priceless!"
              Also watching the ‘magic', the cigar-smoker grunted a few chuckles. The small boy fell silent, playing with his pencil, which relieved everyone in first class. I reopened my book, yet stole a glance at the stranger.
              He was thin and young, wearing an immaculate, old-styled white suit with wide lapels and a black bow tie. He had mirrored sunglasses propped on his head, which no longer supported his white hat. He had strangely-colored red hair, almost like iresine herbstii flowers, nicknamed ‘chicken gizzard'. Why he'd dyed his hair that color I couldn't guess, yet I ignored him and returned to my innocent main character and stalwart detective teaming up to solve a ghastly murder.
              The thin young man was clearly a magician. About an hour into our flight, the boy asked the man to do the pencil trick again. This time he made the pencil vanish by dropping it into his sleeve and made it reappear behind the boy's ear. Then he drew out of a pocket five cards, four aces and a jack, and proceeded to do sleight-of-hand tricks I couldn't begin to follow. Simply by turning the five cards around horizontally, he made the jack move from the top to the bottom of the stack, and when he spread out the cards, the jack had turned into a queen.
              He pocketed all five cards, then plucked the jack out of the little boy's t-shirt.
              "You're trying to steal my jack!" the magician jokingly accused.
              The little boy laughed.
              Five hours later, I finished my book while our plane landed and taxied off the Hawaiian runway, onto the tarmac. Outside the too-small windows, an infinitely sunny glare highlighted an azure infinity broken only by high, white clouds. I smiled to see tall palm trees and colorful tropical plants in the distance.
              Sadly, North Dakota has no tropical beaches.
              I'd needed my jacket when I boarded, and expected I'd be too hot for a jacket when I disembarked. Yet I had my large purse, laptop, and carry-on bag; I kept my jacket on for lack of means to carry it.
              Hawaiian warmth outside the airport always amazed me. Most expect scents of the sea to permeate, yet the coast was miles away. The air smelled clean, but not briny. Sunshine beamed down, shining in a nearly cloudless sky of perfect, intense blue.
              I needed to smear myself in suntan lotion before it cooked my pale, North Dakota skin!
              After retrieving my suitcases from baggage claim, I reached the taxi pick-up area. The line was long, yet taxis were pulling up at a steady rate. The magician stood before me, talking to an elderly couple.
              "No, we own a vacation timeshare on the north side," the elderly woman said. "We use it every year."
              "That's where the surfers compete," the old man said. "North side gets the biggest waves. I can't surf anymore, but still watch. Have you ever ...?"
              "Unfortunately no," the magician said. "It looks fun; maybe I'll give it a try ... take a lesson ..."
              "You won't regret it," the old man said. "Nothing equals riding a crest of pure liquid energy!"
              A uniformed man ushered the elderly couple into a taxi, which drove away, then turned to the magician.
              "Destination ...?" he asked.
              "Downtown Waikiki," the magician said.
              "You alone?"
              "Yes."
              He turned to me.
              "Destination ...?" he asked.
              "Waikiki," I said.
              The uniformed man glanced at the long line behind me.
              "Would you mind sharing a cab?" the uniformed man asked us. "Very busy today."
              The magician turned to me and smiled.
              "Ah!" he said. "You were seated behind me." He turned back to the man.
              "At the lady's discretion, of course."
              "Ma'am ...?" he asked.
              I didn't want to share a cab with any stranger, but several annoyed parents with fussy children could overhear, so I nodded. A cab pulled up, and my bags were loaded into the trunk. Then the back door was opened and held for me. The magician walked around to sit behind the driver.
              Soon we were cruising across a highway, where tropical plants abounded, but it hardly looked like Gilligan's Island. The sounds of the road and sights of waxy, flowering plants growing out of chain-link fences and around dirty steel telephone poles didn't look like any ‘tropical paradise'. Yet I'd expected it; all the manicured gardens anyone could want awaited in the tourist's section.
              "Business or pleasure ...?" the magician asked.
              "Business," I replied. "Of course, Hawaii's always a pleasure. You ...?"
              "Pleasure is my business," he said. "I'm doing a short-week fill-in for a friend at a local dinner theater. I'm a stage magician."
              "I saw you on the plane," I said. "You kept the boy quiet."
              "He was just bored," the magician said. "I'd be honored if you'd come to my show."
              "Maybe I will," I said.
              He held up his hand, snapped his fingers, and a red rosebud appeared.
              "For you," he said.
              I smiled. I hadn't seen how he'd done it, what pocket he'd fished the flower from, or how he'd transferred it to his hand, but doing things without others seeing how was every magician's mainstay. I took the rosebud on its short, de-thorned stem, and thanked him. It was real, soft, and fresh, and I inhaled its strong scent deeply. I wondered how he'd kept it from wilting on the plane. I'd seen no one selling fresh roses between the terminal and the taxi stop.
              I stole a glance at the magician. He was clean-shaven, with a fair complexion, taut and youthful skin, with trim eyebrows. His bright eyes almost radiated, yet were deep set, as if hiding secrets, above high cheekbones, and Hollywood white teeth. He had a thin, toned body, looked only a few inches exceeding my height, and an erect posture which made him appear an inch or two taller. His hands were narrow, with long fingers, not unexpected for a magician. He wasn't unattractive, yet he didn't look like he'd last a day in North Dakota.
              As always, crowds filled downtown Waikiki. I appreciated the bustle of tourists hurrying about the tiny, colorful merchant's tents crammed into alleys between high-end, elegant shops and restaurants. Every view was cultivated to attract shoppers, and high levels of civility were common.
              We arrived at the Outrigger Tiki Luau Hotel. I reached into my purse, but the magician stopped me.
              "Please, allow me," he said, and he pulled out his wallet.
              "My treat," I insisted. "You gave me a rose."
              I paid with a company credit card, and startled to see the magician get out when I did. He stood in the bright sunlight on the wide sidewalk while the taxi driver unloaded my suitcases from the trunk.
              Curiously, I noticed that the magician didn't have a suitcase.
              "Thank you for your company into town," the magician said. "I hope I see you again."
              "At your show," I smiled, wishing he'd leave.
              "Exactly," he said. "The Majestic Dinner Theater, within walking distance from here. Starts at seven."
              With a polite bow, he walked away. I felt relieved ... until I saw him walk into the Outrigger Tiki Luau.
              Frowning, I followed slowly, giving him time to depart. Oahu was a big island, with thousands of tourists arriving every day; the odds that we'd run in to each other again seemed remote ... even if we were staying at the same hotel.
              I rode the escalator up and headed for the front desk. The magician was already there, and the cute girl behind the desk was just handing him his room key and a small paper bag. Suddenly he presented her with a red rosebud. She beamed, delighted, and I stood waiting for him to depart as she promised to come see his show.
              Taking his key and complimentary bag in one hand, he turned around, faced me, smiled, tilted his hat, and then walked off toward the elevator, still with no luggage.
              "Aloha," the girl smiled at me. "Welcome to the Outrigger Tiki Luau. I'm Noelani, and we're glad you're here."
              "Checking in, please," I said, and I pulled my suitcases forward and fumbled for printouts of my reservations. I set my purse and rosebud on the desk to flip through complex confirmations.
              "Oh, you got one, too!" Noelani smiled, looking at my rosebud. "Nice man. I was quite surprised."
              "Yes," I said noncommittally, and handed her my papers.
              Noelani scanned my papers, asked to see ID, and confirmed my reservation. Then she gave me my card key, gift bag, and asked if she could perform any other service to make my stay enjoyable.
              "No, thank you," I said, gathering my things.
              "Welcome to Hawaii, Ms. Penelope Polyglass," Noelani said. "Wow! I like your name."
              "Thanks," I said, accustomed to that reaction.
              "Did you ... see how he did it?" Noelani said, lifting and waving her rosebud.
              I tightened my jaw.
              "No, I didn't," I said, and I pulled my suitcases toward the elevators. I had to scan my room key to open the elevator door. I liked this; odds of thievery seemed remote with security this tight.
              I found my room, and appreciated its clean decor, which resembled most things in the tourist's district. Opening the sliding glass door, I admired my tiny, partial view of the ocean; my company's sales force didn't merit palatial settings. Yet even my narrow view of the sea was nicer than the endless plowed fields of wheat on view back home.
              I stared at my empty room; I missed my kitty ... who was doubtlessly being overfed at my mother's house.
              I unpacked and hung up my dresses, leaving the rest in my suitcase; I never understood those who use hotel dressers. Then I was free ... in Hawaii ... to go anywhere I pleased. I touched up my makeup, changed into a short, sleeveless, brightly-colored dress, grabbed my purse, and stole one last glance in the mirror. I'd overly pinked my cheeks for going outdoors, yet perfectly exaggerated my sweeping lashes over wide-set, mocha brown eyes under carefully-plucked eyebrows; if they hoped to be successful, salespeople always attended to their appearance. I had peachy skin, which I kept out of the sun to avoid turning tawny, with mostly the same figure that I'd had when I graduated high school, yet I avoided men who stared at me too long.
              I made sure I had my key card, locked my door, and went adventuring.
              The Outrigger Tiki Luau had tourist shops inside it, yet I walked past them, eager to get into Waikiki proper. Soon I was strolling crowded sidewalks in tropical sunshine, my colorful dress fading perfectly into the miasma of bright shades walking past me. Most wore tropical flower patterns, yet many men bore red and green parrots, leaping dolphins, or patterns of surfboards. Young girls wore bikini tops over wrap-around skirts, and some young boys walked shirtless; exposed flesh abounded.
              Soon I was where I felt most comfortable, walking through the International Market, past windows displaying thousand dollar watches and jewelry I could only dream about. The decorations here were reserved and dignified, rather than the ostentatious displays outside the cheaper shops. I paused at an iron railing and peered down at a public show; three musicians and two hula dancers were entertaining a small crowd of tourists, with many young children who were playing on fake stone mushrooms and plastic benches set around tall statues of famous folk from Hawaii's past.
              On a whim, I decided that I wanted pineapple with dinner. When I got back onto the street, I walked slowly, reading posted menus and pricing favorites. I didn't have a destination ... except for a new experience, to dine in a restaurant I'd never visited before.
              A familiar voice reached my ears. As I crossed the street, I saw the magician, still in his white suit, speaking to a pair of middle-aged Asian or Polynesian women, each holding a rosebud. To my surprise, he was speaking their language. Not wanting to be noticed, I ducked my face and hurried past.
              I didn't find any place special ... I got tired of looking. I chose a place that looked clean, ate sesame ahi tuna with roasted asparagus, and drank an icy pineapple daiquiri, which held more rum than I'd expected. Everything was delicious, and grew tastier as I sipped my daiquiri.
              I exited at nearly sunset, then strolled between two tall hotels to the beach, where kids played in the surf while couples walked the sand. Everyone in a nearby group had tiny cameras, and were clicking madly. I grinned at them, yet the sunset was so beautiful I pulled out my camera and took several digital pics.
              Early evening fading, I walked through tropical parks and visited specialty shops. Loud bands blared from nightclubs, yet I ignored the younger crowds waiting in lines. I didn't want to enter a club alone, prey to local lotharios, so I headed back to the Outrigger Tiki Luau and my safe hotel room.
              I didn't want to watch TV, but it was early. I flipped through its options, and found a Hawaiian music channel. Scenes of tropical beaches and attractions scrolled like a screensaver. I opened my curtains and sliding glass door, filling my room with rich sea air. Most of my view faced the tall hotel next door, and I could easily see into their lighted rooms. Not wanting to be watched, I turned off my lights, draped a thick towel over my bright TV screen, and closed the sheer inner curtains, watching them billow in the breeze as I stared through their gauze at my narrow glimpse of the sea.
              I considered going outside onto my balcony. It was dark enough; no one would see me, and my lacy nightgown revealed less than any beachcomber would see on any given day. Yet I wasn't courageous. I stayed behind my sheer, blowing curtains, before my sliding glass door, and enjoyed the sensation of moist, tropical wind wafting against my skin.
              The gentle music soothed. I loved Hawaii, especially Waikiki. The weather, the sounds of the sea, and the friendliness all suited me. Half of the friendliness was from merchants wanting to sell you whatever they had, yet most tourists were delightfully happy, relaxed, and looking for novel ways to have fun. I'd been to the other islands, which were more relaxing ... if you were with someone. When traveling alone, I preferred Oahu.
              Eventually I turned down the TV volume until I could barely hear the music, stood by my balcony door, let the sheer curtain flap against my nightgown, listened to crashing waves, and breathed in the cool, clean ocean scent. When I finally crawled into bed, I realized that I'd been smiling all evening, and I truly appreciated my pineapple daiquiri.