surviving the apocalypse, part ii

Cont'd from July 2...

When the wind took a brief respite from whipping signs, branches, and can recyclers up Main Street, Ann ran outside to roll up the windows in the Rover (which would debatably get us home at some point in the evening) and lock up my bike.  The wind started to pick up again, now accompanied by body-quaking thunderclaps and a gathering deluge.

In an effort not to get stuck in the drugstore for the rest of the night, we decided to make a break for the Tavern up the street.  "On the count of three..."

On our way up the street we heard fireworks going off behind the hardware store, and assumed some hoodlums were taking advantage of the apocalypse to wreak a little extra havoc.  After a split second, though, we realized it was actually a power line sparking like the fourth of July.  As we took cover over beers safely inside our usual haunt we saw firetrucks racing up the street toward the impending Great St. Croix Fire of 2011.  (Fortunately they managed to get it under control -- the town survived.)

A small crowd had gathered to wait out the tempest over beers and strawberry 7-up specials.  The bartender recognized us, as did one of the Winery's cooks and a curly-haired boy who spends almost as much time at the library as we do.  He put a dollar in the jukebox to play two Lynyrd Skynyrd songs while everybody hankered for cigarettes and stared in disbelief at the carefully manicured downtown being ripped apart by wind and drowned by rain pouring from the sky.

When the rain let up a bit more, we ran back up the block to rent a season of Weeds and order a BBQ chicken pizza, and then dashed madly one more block back to the Rover, praying it would get us home.  We chugged up the hill with our fingers and our toes crossed, not sure whether to be more nervous at the blinding camera-flashes of lightning or the steady whine threatening to drown out the thunder from under the hood.  By the time we reached the entry to our driveway Ann had discovered that our brakes were virtually useless, so we rolled to a stop roughly in the right place behind the house and darted inside as fast as we could, fumbling with the lock in the darkness.  We were soaked by the time we slammed the door behind us.

We unplugged everything, put off our showers until the morning even though we were both coated in sand from the tornado, and gathered candles and flashlights around us while the storm raged outside.  Every door and window that ever rattled in the house sounded like something was trying to get in.

In the morning, though, we woke up to copper sunlight streaming in through our library window.  I scrubbed the sand off my skin and out of my hair, although I didn't manage to get it all out of my eyes before I got to work.  And as I set off for town to hit the farmer's market, the library and a long day of work at 11, the whole drenched yard sparkled like St. Patrick's Day.

It took me 22 minutes to reach my bike, locked safely to a post outside the quilt shop on Main Street.

We both survived.