Beth and Gavin Watts are what some of the other renters have called a “power-couple”, and I would almost agree if I didn’t know so much about Gavin.

See, I just watch the grounds: I’m the on-site property manager, and it’s a nice gig because I get a substantial discount on my rent. The downside is that I’m the one who has to deal with everyone’s complaints, and I’m the guy who has to fix the broken things. I learned early on that if I invite a complaining tenant into my place for a glass of whiskey, the broken things go away and the complaints turn into compliments: you make a great Manhattan!  

Now Gavin Watts, this guy tends to have a lot of broken things, and a lifetime of complaints. If my apartment were a real bar, Gavin would be a regular. This guy LOVES to talk, and all the other renters, in turn, love to talk about him. Usually, I hate listening to renter gossip, but Beth and Gavin Watts stories are so entertaining! Gavin is a total asshole to his wife! Better yet are the beautiful and empowering ways of poetic justice in which Beth gets back at him. Yet despite all the verbal abuse and calculated retaliation, they’re together every morning for routine exercise: daily workout partners.

Beth and Gavin’s lives revolve around physical fitness. That’s mostly true about Gavin, who works as a nutritionist and product developer for a start-up focused on making all-natural protein shakes, trail snacks and meal bars. Beth, on the other hand, works in early childhood development, and from what I’ve heard, has single handedly raised the overall literacy rate in her school’s special needs program by 15%.

Though Beth’s job is infinitely more important, it’s the lifestyle brought on by Gavin’s work that shapes the way the Watts live their lives. He makes her run, swim and bike with him nearly every day. He records their times and the things they’d eaten to compile data and in turn, he’s able to fine-tune his protein recipes. Anything he doesn’t find satisfactory, he gives out to the community (mostly to me, even though I tell him I’ve got enough), and from what I’ve heard listening to this guy, he’s never happy with the results, and it’s all the fault of his wife (who, “can’t keep up”). That’s the best part though, because I think she ran away from him—on foot!

There are a lot of different versions of the story, but this is what I’ve pieced together and filled in with imagination. Understand that the only way to tell the story is in the way I’ve heard it; that is, in Gavin’s comically flawed perspective. He thinks he’s the victim!

The alarm clock was blaring maddeningly in the bedroom and this was the second time. That meant it was 5:02. What the hell could Beth be dreaming so deeply about that she couldn’t hear that loud, obnoxious music!? Soooo damn lazy, he thought. That’s 18 full minutes of lost action. If it weren’t for him, he was pretty sure Beth would sleep in to the afternoon like a damn grade-schooler on summer break. Ugghhh, Gavin thought, Beth would have turned out to be just like her parents if it weren’t for me—fat and diabetic and gross! It really pissed him off.

It repulsed him to think that you could spend so much of your time developing a routine with someone just to have them continually crap on your shared progress. He felt he needed to hold Beth’s hand at every moment, lest she stray away and start pursuing art in her free time again. That’s love: tolerance, Gavin thought, and the sentiment made him feel good about himself, so he decided to let her go on sleeping. Maybe the blender would wake her up?

It didn’t though, and that really got his goat.

“Beth! Behhhhhhhhh-th!” He said straight to her face as he hovered over her in bed. From up-close, he could see all of her flaws. He wished she’d apply makeup before going to sleep.

She sprang up, startled, angry in the eyes.

“Did you not hear the alarm!? That’s three times it’s gone off now. Three times! Twenty-seven minutes; almost half an hour! You’re killing our progress, Beth!”

“I’m sorry, I’m really tired. That swim yesterday killed me. What’s in today’s delicious and powerful smoothie?” she said in her stupid-Beth-sarcasm.

“Same as yesterday, only I added some bovine placenta extract and ground bullhorn compound,” Gavin said, deciding to humor her. “…but I had to pour yours out, it sat too long. You were lagging yesterday, too. Could you maybe start to get up?”

Gavin turned to walk away, and caught the pretend-to-be-hurt look on her face. He imagined she was pouting quietly to herself and lamenting that he wasn’t going to hand-feed her like some infantile creature. Yes, she was probably so distraught to think that she’d have to make a shake for herself or grab a damn banana on the way out. He could hear it all in the sounds she let out: that pathetic tssss noise she made anytime she wanted to argue but knew she didn’t have shit to say.

Beth, Beth, Beth: so predictable and easy to read, he thought as he looked around the room for his fit-bit watch.

“Babe, I can’t find my fit-bit. See, this is why I can’t stand when you clean, because you think you have to reorganize everything and then I can’t find anything. I mean, are you just toying with me? Just trying to get a reaction? Playing hide and seek?” Gavin begged of her.

Yet again, instead of just responding in a civilized way (like an adult!), she buried her face in her pillow and started to scream. He wondered how many pillows she had ruined with her screaming little hissy-fits. It’s probably why she never slept well: all that negativity being constantly pushed and then trapped inside the fabric, it’s caused her nightmares.

“It’s on your fricken nightstand,” she said with bated breath.

Finally, Gavin located the watch connected to its USB charging port and wondered why she would charge it when the battery wasn’t anywhere close to being dead. He was sure it was for the same reason she now stormed off to the bathroom: to shorten life spans. She could just be draining like that.

He wasn’t going to let her ruin his good mood, he decided. He hauled both bikes down the stairs by himself, loaded them into the Xterra and still had to wait for Beth.

For several minutes, Gavin embraced the quiet ride, deciding not to give into Beth’s bitchy silent treatment. He was perfectly content just listening to the soothing, intelligent voices of two geneticists debating on NPR. The topic was nature vs. nurture.

“In a thirty year study by UC Berkley’s psychology department, twins separated at birth and raised in dramatically different home environments displayed identical personality traits, to a startling degree. This would argue for an inherent code for behavior, one we may be able to locate thanks to the Human Genome Project…”  One geneticist went on.

Gavin realized that he had better turn down the volume and set the record straight before this nerd brainwashed his Beth.

“See, Beth, this is where I disagree with what these guys are saying. If you gather 20 people who are all genetic titans—like me, or, I guess, like you—and you put them into a room with jail cells, and you assign five of those people to be the guards, no matter their genetic code, some of those people will turn into nasty powermongers and drill-sergeants. Reverse their roles, and they do the same thing. The spot you’re given in life, the type of room you find yourself in, what you do in a situation, who your idols are—that’s what defines a person. It was proven with that Alcatraz Experiment, or whatever. So you can’t go saying nurture plays no role whatsoever in shaping our behavior.” Gavin informed proudly. He loved it when he could slam-dunk on people who believed in the lie of a college degree.

Then, of course, Beth—the perennial voice of fact-checkers everywhere—spoke up to undermine his concise brilliance.

“Yeah, well that is not the point he’s making, and if you had just listened to what the other doctor was going to say, you’d see that they’re having a conversation that lends credence to both schools of thought. Your argument is about something completely different: the nature of power.” She said in a snotty, know-it-all tone of voice.

“You’re still mad at me, huh?” Gavin prodded. He knew that’s what this was all about, this little act of disagreement.

Beth remained silent, like he knew she would, because he had seen right through her silly little ruse. You might be able to fool the school with that type of charade, he thought, but not me, sweetheart!

“It’s like I’m always saying,” Gavin began to quote himself, in an effort to get back to the radio discussion, “‘people can’t be defined by any one action, because we’re all collective surprise bags of thousands of personalities. If someone pisses you off in a way you thought they weren’t capable of, that’s because a different personality committed that wrongdoing. We switch it up almost entirely based on our environment. The nature of who came before us in the genetic line, yeah, sure, important physically, but mankind can overcome anything with the right mindset.”

Beth was hardly paying attention, it seemed, because her response to this very well-phrased, educated counter argument was to put Gavin down and try to make it a firefight.

“Ooh, what was it?” she mocked, “a ‘collective surprise bag of thousands of personalities’? Well then why are you always such an asshole? I don’t see any of the other thousands of personalities. And I’m not surprised.”

He wanted so badly to squash her with a seething verbal assault, but thought better of it. He knew he was too nice, too smart to fall into her trap. He decided instead to turn it around on her so she could see how mean she could be.

“Geez, Beth, is name calling really necessary? Is that what you teach the children? I’m not trying to say anybody is wrong here, I’m just giving you my take. Yet here you are, finding a way to put me down—me—the guy who loves you, who married you, who keeps you focused on our goals…”

“I can’t believe you dumped my smoothie—“

“Beth! It’s a shake! A protein shake! Christ, grab a banana on your way out next time! Or make an oatmeal, or…”

He parked the car by Kama’ole Beach Park, where they got out and stretched on the grass just as the sun settled its gaze across the calm morning ocean. Gavin expressed his displeasure at how late they were starting.

“…And god, Beth, please, please, no stopping this time. Please, just try to keep up a decent pace and don’t break from it. I need you to actually run the whole time. If you’re stopping and going, stopping and going all the time, I have no inkling how my protein blend performs in female athletes.” As soon as he said it, he remembered that she hadn’t woken up in time for her shake, nor had she been motivated enough to feed herself. He didn’t feel bad, though, because he knew how bioaccumulation worked and that her body was still teeming with proteins from days before.

Much to her credit, Beth did not protest. When she wanted to be, Beth was a woman of tough mental fortitude—it was one of the reasons he had married her—and on this morning in particular, she seemed to be trying to prove just that. Though he started uncharacteristically fast, she kept up. Gavin never listened to music while running because he didn’t want the pace of the song to influence the pace of his stride, but at that moment, the song in his mind was Sisters Are Doing it for Themselves, by the Eurythmics:

Now there was a time when they used to say
That behind every – great man.
There had to be a – great woman.
But in these times of change you know
That it’s no longer true.
So we’re comin’ out of the kitchen
‘Cause there’s somethin’ we forgot to say to you (we say)

Sisters are doin’ it for themselves.
Standin’ on their own two feet.

Indeed, there she was, standing on her own two feet and running with purpose. It made Gavin so proud that he was beginning to forgive her for delaying their routine. Twenty-five minutes later and Beth was still right there with him (if not a tad bit behind) and for his part, Gavin was feeling strong like a gold medal champion. He even broke out into an all-or-nothing sprint when they approached the hill at Kilohana Drive. The gentle morning rays felt great on his shoulders and the smell of blooming plumerias made him want to own the entire neighborhood. He was feeling powerful, but also pleasant.

Yet by the crest of the hill, Beth started to show her true colors again. Defeating the great hill had aroused and energized him, and by contrast, Beth was trudging along laboriously, as if the hill had defeated her. He looked back to see the pain written all over her face, and it made him scoff in disapproval.

He wasn’t going to slow his pace for her, not when he was feeling this driven and supreme. The sun was beating down on him already, but it was too late for the Sun God. Gavin had started too early, had already begun to claim the cracked streets for himself. Soon he would be diving into the ocean where he would cut through the water like a speedboat back to the spot where he had parked his Xterra. At that point, it would be only a matter of time. And sure as shit, Beth had wasted a lot of that time, and it would be extremely hot out when he would finally get to ride his bike. Oh well. Bring it. He couldn’t wait for the final showdown on the Lahaina Pali Trail: a man and his bike against a titan. It was to Gavin a very blood-pumping daydream, and he smiled, knowing he’d outwork the sun.

But then, Beth threw up.

She threw up vehemently, painting an entire block of sidewalk as red-orange as a hibiscus bush with a single blast. He stopped to see her body tremor from her core and on through her shoulders and face. Then out came another, smaller blast of puke. With her back arched and her hands placed on her knees, she hyperventilated for recovery.

“My god!” he said, “are you kidding me!?” He ran back to her, further down the hill.

He watched as the dry-heaving began. She sounded like some kind of dragon: a pathetic, dying dragon. He unzipped his fanny pack and retrieved a small water bottle, which he passed to her. She snatched it from his hands with surprising zest.

“That’s it, Beth,” he said, “let out all of the weakness. Is that even possible?”

She chugged some water and glared at him. He had seen that glazed look before; he realized now that this was a hangover.

“Guess you drank a little more than one glass of wine with your little teaching buddy last night, huh? Got a little wasted, tried to hide it? It’s okay, though, Beth, because look at that: the truth is literally written all over the sidewalk!”

She just continued to look up at him, her strands of licorice-red hair stuck to her sweaty forehead; spit dribbling from the corner of her mouth.

“I didn’t have any breakfast!” she blurted, as if in defense.

“And whose fault is that?” said Gavin. “You slept in, and you chose to leave without eating anything.”

She shook her head in what looked like disgust and it triggered him.

“Well I don’t know what that look was, but I don’t even care. And I don’t care that today’s routine has been ruined—by you—I don’t care, Beth. I feel great. I really think this was the perfect blend today. I’ll make the same shake tomorrow, and you’ll see. We’ll get this right, and then you’ll see. I’ve found the perfect protein blend.” Gavin said with authority.

She continued shaking her head and clenching her teeth.

“Look,” he said, deciding to go with a calmer tone, “babe, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you don’t feel good, and we don’t even have to keep running. We don’t have to keep running, we don’t have to get in the water or ride our bikes, because I’m telling you, I’ve created a perfect shake. This mixture, I just know, I can market it any number of ways and it wouldn’t even matter; I feel like an animal because of this shake from this morning. Look, tomorrow, we’ll run it back. You’ll wake up the first time the alarm goes off. You won’t get wasted tonight. We’ll both have a nice breakfast, and you’ll try the shake I make, and you’ll feel like I do now. You’ll feel great.”

Then, out of nowhere and much to his surprise, she stood upright. She wiped her mouth with her forearm, cracked her neck joints on both sides, and grabbed a handful of his spandex shirt.

“I feel great now!” Beth yelled demonically at him.

Gavin whipped his head back in trepidation. Beth gulped down the rest of the water and crushed the plastic bottle in her hand. She gasped for air and looked him in the eyes with a piercing, almost hostile stare.

“Alright,” he said dismissively, “let’s start walking then…” He threw his hands in the air in frustrated disbelief.

“You can do whatever you want, Gavin,” Beth said venomously, “I don’t care, Gavin, because I feel great!” And with that, she burst out into a sprint.

“What the hell are you doing!?” Gavin yelled after her. “Beth! You’re going the wrong way!”

What is she thinking? He wondered curiously. He decided just to watch her, to see how far she’d get. No way she makes it past the bend.

Yet not only did she make it, she even started to pick up speed. He felt confused, but challenged. So it’s a race she wants? He thought, and he started to chase after her.

“I mean, how is it even possible to keep up a pace like that? With nothing in your system? Hung-over, with god only knows what the hell else in her system. My wife…” Gavin told me one day, long after she had disappeared, “…My wife displayed very strange behavior that day, very strange! I don’t know what kinds of drugs she might have taken the night before with her slut friend Katie!”

I listened to him as I swirled the Speyside single malt around in my glass. I didn’t know what to say other than to ask if Beth was safe, or if he tried to contact her family. At that, he just laughed, said yes, laughed some more, and then assured me (me? himself?) that she’d be back.

All accounts of the story—from the other renters who claim to have spotted Beth running, to Gavin himself—say that he chased her well past the beach park, where they had parked their car, and all through the length of Kihei. Beth: always just a dashing figure on Gavin’s horizon, forever moving forward until she got far, far away. He tells me he gave up, not out of fatigue (“It’s like I said, I felt like an animal that day,” he’d ranted), but out of a lack of care, just around Yee’s Orchard. A crossing of peacocks blocked his path for long enough to make him pause, and to think that maybe Beth was seriously mad about something.

Other sources tell me they both ran much further than that, being spotted zig-zagging the Kenolio Park baseball field; or even as far as the Mokulele! Beth always just a dashing figure on Gavin’s horizon, forever moving forward, from late morning on through the day. I’d like to think that she ran all the way to the Kahului Airport, where she could depart to any far away city she wanted to. Hopefully she did just that, because forget guys like that—they talk too damn much.