It’s a miracle that Sibby and I avoided the Lihue ER yesterday. The wedding party youth contingent celebrated the birth of our nation by drinking from sunrise to sunset. (Though Sib and I got in a healthy run along the coastline, and I did manage to write a new song, “Pretty Mess,” before the festivities began in earnest.)

James and Meliss — my friends who are getting married tomorrow and the reasons I’m here — commandeered a pavillion on Brenneke’s Beach. It was an afternoon of beers, horseshoes and croquet (the latter, I discovered, I suck at). It was a blast. As the sun set, the island children running around the park with sparklers in their hands, air crackling with anticipation for firework to come, my head thick with Budweiser, we walked out on the point for photos.

Then it happened. James called for a sunset swim. His college roommate, Furgie, was already in the waves. I tossed my shirt aside, and sprinted for the surf. As my feet hit the water, and the coral below, I could see Furgie waving his arms and yelling “No!” in slow motion. But it was too late. And as I stopped, and limped off the coral and into the deeper waves, I looked up to see Sibby running down the beach and diving into the waves. “No!”

Anyway, we’re a little cut up, but fine. Sibby’s golden halo continued to protect him from injury. And though I won’t be running for a few days, that’s probably a good thing. This is vacation after all.

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