A wonderfully cool breeze knifes through the warmth sunshine and sluices in over my shoulders. The touch and smell — fresh, comforting — stirs memory and longing. Letting my mind move, I slip back to 1982.
Ah, youth. Here we are on Okinawa. Coming down the hill offers a fantastic Pacific oceanscape. Sun. Sparkles. Mind. Stumbles. We’re on the far side of the world from where I was born. History and depth humbles. Imagine being the first humans slipping out to explore that vastness.
We’re laughing in our car. The little silver Toyopet Publica’s engine winds up. We rock along at sixty klicks.
The radio is playing. It’s “Rio” by Duran Duran.
It’s 1982, and it feels different.