Riding it out
He boarded the
windows the best he could. The neighbor kid gave him a hand, and he did
appreciate the kindness.
He went yesterday to the wall mart getting water and dry goods to last a few days.
People were kind not pushing and grabbing for those last few loaves of bread.
He did miss out on a case of water, but there was plenty at home.
He got batteries and a backup flashlight knowing the power would go out for a spell.
His wife
was inside preparing sandwiches that were going to be their primary source of
food for a
while, but
that was ok with him, nothing like peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich on a
stormy night. He just hoped the milk stayed cold for a while. They could
evacuate like so many others, but the last big storm found them separated at
the shelter they were sharing with seven hundred people, two hundred children
and God only knows how many pets? This one they will ride out together at their
home of forty-seven years. Her bible was open to her favorite passage, a
flashlight beside it. He had cleaned two of his favorite pipes and filled them
with "Captain Black" tobacco, and they now rest in the old orange
glass ashtray she had gotten for him so long ago he couldn't remember when. They
laid in bed that night listening to the winds pick up and the rain hitting
their roof like a million cannonballs. The boarded windows creaked, and the
back screen door was ripped off its hinges and could be anywhere or nowhere at
all. They held hands and listened and waited and told each other how deep their
love was. The following afternoon it had passed. The sun came out, and people
ventured outside to inspect for damage. There was a fair amount to be truthful
but the house they loved made it through except for that damn screen door. They
opened the cooler and offered their neighbors peanut butter and grape jelly
sandwiches.
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