Waving Not Drowning

The end of days. The calm before the storm. Hard to forsee what could be coming; In the interim she's storing up, making do, preparing for the worst, hoping for the best Battening down the hatches. A long, hard push of concerted focus, strong and steady, no rest, no respite until the storm hits. Then all bets are off. No matter how prepared she thinks she is, there's no way to brace for the unknown. Not really. There are recommendations, protocol, the best of good intentions laid out before her but really She does not now how this will go down. When disaster strikes only then will she see what she's made of. What we are all made of. Survival of the fittest, who's to say. Right now she's lighting fires. For warmth, for whimsy, for whatever he left behind that she can get her hands on. She will burn it all up, an offer to the gods circling, threatening to tear this house down, rip it from it's foundations, leaving it's skeleton exposed. A rat...

It's a long drive, up north. Past a myriad of small communities, tiny one horse towns with similar sounding names, ending in brook or hurst or steed. The occasional signs of big box stores and chain  groceries glow in the dark off an exit ramp in the distance. Last chance for food, shelter, gas and family size jars of dijon mustard and 46 rolls of toilet paper for 34 miles. Hawks circle above, banking, soaring, catching updrafts and hovering effortlessly above the treeline. There's rain in the air, a faint shift in barometric pressure. Should've packed a tarp. Should've packed her life, jammed her belongings into boxes and bags and thrown everything she's ever been into the rental car.  Never come back. No real sense of where she's heading or why she's leaving except it's something she can do. Volitional, for now, at least. No set schedule, no dependents, no rhyme nor reason to anything anymore. Despondency, ambivalence. These are foreign words now tatto...

The rain came out of nowhere. They're driving home, not late but late enough. Sheets start to fall from the sky, landing like concrete waves obliterating any visibility. Slow down, she says. Easy, easy. He taps the breaks, throws on the four way flashers. The air gets close, their skin tightens and breathing gets shallow. Up ahead lights glare, fade and recede then flash back into view at an alarming frequency. Reds, yellow, orange. Mainly red. Pull over, can you pull over? I'll try. He signals. They maneouver slowly to the shoulder. What feels like a shoulder, but the rain. They can't tell.  It's deafening now. Should we stay put, what do you think, I can't tell. Isn't it dangerous to leave the car? The two of them sit in stasis, staring ahead, nothing but the sound of the rain beating on them incessantly. Unforgiving. I'm glad you're here, he says. I'm glad you're with me. That we're together. I don't tell you that, do I? She stares str...