Like the Weather

Someone sold us a false set of goods when we agreed to move here. All we heard on a near-constant basis was, “It rains for like, 15 minutes and then it clears! It’s beautiful! Brief showers!”

A lie! It’s a lie! It’s raining non-stop. And brief showers? If you count torrential downpours and a virtual moat around my house a “brief shower,” then sure. The thing is, I like the rain quite a bit – this isn’t new, I’ve always liked the rain. But in a place where it’s perpetually warm, the driving rain feels like the closest thing we have to winter. You can settle in and snuggle up inside with a book, movie or laptop and the warm pet of your choice and just watch the world go by.

Except rain always comes with lightning that could sear your pants off, and I’m irrationally terrified of tornadoes. I mean, it’s not like I live in Kansas or anything, but there were more tornadoes here last year than any other state, or so the local news tells me. And y’all, have you SEEN how flat this place is? You can see the sunset – the FULL-ON SUNSET from absolutely any angle in the entire damned state, even if you’re sitting in the middle of the pan. It’s as flat as Jessica Alba’s stomach, and you have no idea how disconcerting it is until you see hills again and it hits you like a pancake to the face that the rest of the world has HILLS! Grassy knolls! MOUNTAINS. During a recent trip to Pennsylvania, A. and I marveled repeatedly to each other, “Oh my God – HILLS!” “Wait, wait…did you SEE THAT? The ground – it’s SWELLING!”

I’m not kidding. We were AMAZED and couldn’t stop talking about it the entire weekend, ” Look! It’s a hill!” and “Hey honey, look at me! I’m WALKING UP A HILL!” We were a big hit as houseguests, as we were so easy to please, marveling at the simplest of things, “The grass is soft and doesn’t feel like astroturf!” and “Daisies! Oh my GOD! DAISIES!” and, “Look! An ant that won’t snack on my flesh like a taco! TOUCH IT!”

I have totally distracted myself from my main point: tornadoes. When I was little, growing up in Pennsylvania, we had a small tornado hit our house and really it was no big deal – it took a piece off of the siding, then politely sidled back up the hill like a happy little cloud who had just eaten a satisfying supper. Except, I don’t think that’s how they work down here. They just HIT and then it apparently sounds like a freight train and then the next thing you know, you’re being hurled through the sky while Auntie Em throws muffins in your face. I heard rumors that there were some a few miles from here a few weeks ago, and I got the mattresses ready for the bathtub. I now know precisely how quickly I can get the mattress off of our bed and get it into the bathtub if we had to, and I know *exactly* how to get the guest mattress down the stairs and into the laundry room, which is my first plan of attack, if I have time. A windowless room is safest and believe me, I WILL BE THERE, cowering under that mattress. I have snacks in there now too, just in case.

Today, the sky turned that ominous greenish-grey, and as I was walking Sunny this afternoon, I got a strange chill and I begged Sunny to hurry things along (“Go potty! GO POTTY! MY GOD GO POTTY GOPOTTYGOMOTHERFUCKINGPOTTY BEFORE WE DIE OUT HERE!”). After we came inside and I went back to work, I heard it: the freight train. Getting closer. I started scrambling around the house like a manaical beast, gathering up the pets – Sunny in one arm, Cappy in the other, shoving them in the laundry room. I started crying (crying! CRYING! ) and running to the door to lock it (?!), then up the stairs to get the mattress.

And then I looked out the window. It was the fucking garbage truck. THE GARBAGE TRUCK. Jesus Christ. Five more minutes, and I’d been in the laundry room with a mattress over my head, crying and praying to someone – anyone – to save us from the deadly tornado and hurling muffins. Oh, and PS, I am wholly bereft and horrified that I didn’t even WARN A. of our impending death before I sprung into action. It seems I am a selfish asshole when I think I’m about to die and that includes my husband, who would throw himself in front of the tornado for me. But not me! Nope. I start pulling down mattresses and hiding under them, and it’s only when the roof peels away from the house that I wonder, “Did I remember everything? Like my husband?” And then I spent the rest of the evening upset, because I left my beloved husband – the man who means more to me than anyone else in the world – in the middle of a tornado. So what if it was a garbage truck! A TORNADO! I LEFT HIM IN A TORNADO! I am a horror among human beings. Please – don’t get into an crisis situation with me, man. I will shove your ass out of the way to get to that emergency exit, stealing the last life vest as I go.

I’m starting to think maybe it’s time for an increase in anxiety meds. Just a thought.

*10,000 Maniacs

11 comments July 11th, 2006