Iolana had worked through lunch again. The money coming in would be handy. She was still paying off her student loans and the Audi she’d had imported was not cheap. She rubbed at her eyes and refilled her coffee. Her next patient would be here soon and she needed to complete her ritual before they knocked. She knew it was frivolous but she did it every time she was expecting someone new. She’d done it a lot this past week. Things had gone crazy since the incident.

Out of the bottom desk drawer, she took a new notebook and wrote Mrs., she checked her calendar before continuing, Jenkins. She repeated “Mrs. Jenkins,” five times, like a mantra. She made sure she had four sharp pencils, all facing east, lined up at the edge of her desk. She worked through her stretches: bend over to touch toes and count to thirty, reach to side and thirty, arms up, thirty and, finally, twist ten times.

“Nine, and ten.” She muttered. Knock, knock. Iolana smiled; the timing was perfect. She sat in her chair, picked up the pad and a pencil, and straightened her skirt. “Come in.” she called, loud enough to be heard but not shouting, professionals don’t shout. Then her body betrayed her. Her stomach rumbled loudly as a young woman entered her office. Iolana did not think she heard.

Her first impression of Mrs. Jenkins was not a pleasant one. She was clearly someone who spent a vast amount of time and money looking a certain way. Few people maintained pearly white skin and perfect hair in the heat and humidity of Honolulu. Iolana had had trouble with girls like this at school and in university. Sororities of sisters who looked the same and rejected her black hair and tanned skin. She took a deep breath and stayed professional.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Jenkins, aloha. Please take a seat. You can lie down if you prefer, but few do.” Every session started the same for Iolana and she liked the routine. Mrs Jenkins sat in the chair, most do.

“Would you like a drink? Tea? Water?” Iolana never offered coffee, most of her patients were over caffeinated to begin with. Mrs. Jenkins politely shook her head. Her hair didn’t move.

“Are you comfortable, Mrs Jenkins?” Iolana’s first questions had to be easy. This time Mrs Jenkins nodded. She was not a chatter, that made things more difficult. Iolana was going to have to chip through layers of ice and stone before she would open up. The next question would force a verbal response.

“How should I refer to you? Is Mrs Jenkins Ok, or may I call you Tracy?”

“Whatever.” She said.

This would not be an easy case, but challenges made the work interesting. It would take hours to break into Mrs Jenkins’ mind and it had been a while since Iolana had been challenged.

“I’ll stick to Tracy then. You may call me Iolana, rather than Dr. Kelekolio. It is quite the mouthful.”

“Sure.” She said.

“What brings you to my office today, Tracy?”

For the first time, Tracy met her gaze. Iolana could see the pain in there. Iolana had been a psychiatrist for twelve years and had learnt that the first session was often spent in long silences. Half of her skill was make sure those silences were not uncomfortable, but she would not speak next. That was up to Tracy.

Long minutes passed by. Ticking slowly by. Another five minutes and another step towards the next payment on the Audi.

“I am not happy.” She said. Iolana could not believe that was all she had come up with in all that time.

“Admitting it is the first step. What is the cause of your unhappiness?”

It did not take as long this time.

“Are you freaking kidding me! What is everyone unhappy about? To be forced to face your mortality then to be told ‘No, it’s all ok. My bad!’ You can’t do that to people.”

“Tell me about life before the message.”

Tracy then told me all the clichés. Three kids, two boys and a girl. They were going to stop at two but he wanted a girl. Big house in the suburbs, two cars, double garage. It’s the postcard life that people buy into when they move here. He had been a banker and made his fortune at the expense of others. He now worked as a consultant, which meant he spent a week on the mainland and made enough money for the next six weeks. The rest of the time he spent playing golf or entertaining business contacts. She looked after the kids but filled most of her time with painting and reading romance books by the dozen. Time was something she had plenty of since the nanny did most of the housework and dealt with the children.

“That sounds idyllic, Tracy.”

Tracy dropped her eyes before nodding.

“Unfortunately, that is our time up.”

“So soon.” Tracy looked at the clock, and then her watch, just to be sure.

“Same time next week?”

“Sure, see you then.”

Iolana closed the door behind her and rushed to her middle draw. She quickly wolfed down a handful of nuts and raisins. She filled her coffee, stretched, and was ready for the next one. This would be Mr. Williams’ fourth session.

***

Refill coffee, stretches, pad and chair. Knock, knock. Iolana smiled. Mrs Jenkins was going to be a punctual one.

“Come in.” Not shouted. “Good afternoon, Tracy.”

“Aloha, Iolana.”

“Please sit down, Drink? Tea? Water?”

“No, mahalo.”

“How are you felling today?”

“Not good.” Tracy did not beat around the bush today. No long silences or painful pauses. The last session had done exactly what it was designed to do. It built trust.

“You told me last time about your life, and how much you liked it. Were you happier before the message?”

“I was blissfully ignorant before the message. You don’t get a message like that and not get a wake-up call.”

“An interesting choice of words, wake-up call. Do you think of yourself as sleep before?”

Tracy considered her answer for a while. “Yes, I guess I did. I thought I was happy.” She said.

“What did you feel when you saw the message?” Iolana asked and Tracy broke down. She wept silent tears for some time and Iolana began to pity her. The message must have been hard for those with families.

“My first thought was for my car.” She finally released. Iolana pity evaporated. “I didn’t think about my kids. I didn’t wonder where my husband was. I didn’t even think about myself. My new Audi sport. What does that say about me? What kind of monster am I?” Tracy shouted, the words torn from her. Iolana looked towards the window, where her own new Audi was parked, and felt a twinge inside. She forced her focus back onto Tracy. Professional.

“How did that make you feel?”

“Feel?!? I am a monster. Who thinks of their car before their kids? Who does that?” Tracy took several deep breaths before she could continue, she needed to compose herself. Iolana could tell she did not like being disconcerted. When she was ready, she continued, “I looked deep inside myself and didn’t like what I saw. I am a shallow callous woman and I don’t deserve the life I have. That is how it made me feel.” Tracy’s anger was tangible. “I was sitting upstairs in my studio when my phone pings. I picked it up immediately because Sue often texts around that time because she wants a martini. It wasn’t Sue, obviously, it was an emergency message. You know, you live on the island. Death is on the way. Do what you can.” Tracy looked down again. Tears flowed freely for more long minutes and Iolana let them. She remembered getting the message herself. To be told a missile is on the way and you only have minutes to find a shelter that would probably not do any good. It was a dark day for everyone.

After a couple more minutes, she asked, “Do you feel the same now?”

Tracy nodded. Tears dripped off the end of her nose.

Iolana passed her a tissue and asked her next question. “What can you do about it? You are tearing your heart out over a moment of sheer panic and you must now start to heal. You believe it was wrong to think that, that’s why you are here now, why you are so angry, but your next step is to forgive yourself. How can you do that?”

“I don’t know.” Tracy admitted.

“Unfortunately, that is all we have time for today. We will talk more about it next week.”

“What? I can’t leave now! How can I fix this? I won’t spend another day feeling like this! What do I need to do?” She demanded. Iolana looked at the clock; she was one minute over.

“You’re going to be OK, Mrs Jenkins. We will discuss forgiveness next week, but right now I must prepare for my next guest.”

Tracy reluctantly left, taking her anger and self-pity with her. Iolana was not being paid to like her patents: she was paid to keep up with the car payments. She walked over to the window. It was still there, shiny and silver by the curb.

She had to skip her stretches before the next one came in. That would throw out her whole day.

***

The following week and it was time for Mrs Jenkins. Coffee, stretch, pad and chair. Silence. Iolana frowned. She must be late. Iolana waited in her chair. One minute. Five minutes. Ten. She crossed over to her phone and looked up Tracy’s number. It rang for an eternity. Iolana left a message to inform her she still would be charged for missed appointments and to call the office if she wished to cancel next week’s appointment. No one called. The next Wednesday rolled by. Iolana wondered if Tracy would show up this week. They had not left it very well in the last session and she was beginning to get anxious that Tracy may have done something regrettable.

Iolana wolfed down a handful of nuts and raisins. Coffee. Stretch. Pad. Chair. Silence. Her foot began to tap. She did not like to be kept waiting. The pencil drummed out a rhythm on the pad. The steady tattoo helped reassure her, but not enough. The stood and started to pace, she looked out the window. There, next to her car, was an identical model. Knock knock.

“Come in.” she shouted. “Please, take a seat.”

Tracy sat down. “I don’t want a drink, mahalo. I want to apologise about last week. I was on the mainland with my children sorting out a few loose ends. You were right, I need to forgive myself for what I was like and I can’t do that wallowing in self-pity. Something had to change.”

“Good, it sounds like you’ve had a break through. Tell me about it.”

“There are things I left out when I was telling you about my life in that first session of ours. My husband used to have affairs. I would find lingerie in the back seat of his car, get calls from people who just hung up when I answered, and he spent so many nights at hotels when he could have come home. I hated him for it so I would bury my head in sand and carry on because he bought me nice things. My break through is I have … left him. He got upset but he will leave us alone. He won’t bother us again. I am going to take the children and stay with mum in Sweden for a while.”

“This all sounds wonderful for you. Has it made you happy?”

“You never know what is around the corner, a missile from North Korea, a thunderbolt from the heavens, or a pillow over a face at night. I think we will be happy in Sweden. We are going now actually, I really just came to say thank you and to write you a cheque. The kids are downstairs waiting and we leave this evening. Goodbye, Iolana. I hope you find happiness too.” Tracy left, leaving just the scent of her perfume and a large cheque behind.

Things were beginning to calm down for Iolana now. It was five weeks since the State had sent out the false message about the incoming missile and life was returning to normal. People were still shaken, and they would be for a while. Her bank balance was thankful for that.

She drove home in air-conditioned luxury and thought about her own life. She will have soon paid off her student debt, what would she buy then? She thought about her own husband, and about her boyfriends. She drove right by her own house and texted Ryan. He’d meet her at the motel in 20 minutes. She rang her husband.

“Hi, Steve. Sorry I’m going to be late tonight, I’m swamped down here. Would be a sweetie and put the kids to bed? Thanks. Sorry, love. Kisses.” She hung up and drove to the motel. She noticed on her way home that one of the houses in the next street had police tape all around it and a small crowd gathered outside. She pulled over to ask what had happened. It turned out some woman had gone and killed her husband in the night. They were still looking for her.

She drove on. Ryan would make her feel better.

Note from Wikipedia

On January 13, 2018, a false ballistic missile alert was issued via the Emergency Alert System and Commercial Mobile Alert System over television, radio, and cellphones in the U.S. state of Hawaii. The alert stated that there was an incoming ballistic missile threat to Hawaii, advised residents to seek shelter, and concluded “This is not a drill”. The message was sent at 8:07 a.m. local time. However, no civil defense outdoor warning sirens were authorized or sounded by the state.

A second message, sent 38 minutes later, described the first as a “false alarm”. State officials blamed a miscommunication during a drill at the Hawaii Emergency Management Agency for the first message. Governor David Ige publicly apologized for the erroneous alert, which caused panic and disruption throughout the state. The Federal Communications Commission and the Hawaii House of Representatives launched investigations into the incident, leading to the resignation of the state’s emergency management administrator.

for more information about the incident go to https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2018_Hawaii_false_missile_alert