Stormy and Katrina

Stormy stood for a moment gazing out toward the pre-dawn surf. Choppy. She continued to pick her way carefully toward the beach. She had wanted to go for a morning run, but there was too much debris, so she was walking. Slowly. She was still determined to make it to the coastline and now it was in sight.

The closer she got to the water, the more the breeze picked up. She paused to redo her ponytail. Her long, wavy blue-green tresses kept escaping the rubber band. And she hadn’t been particularly successful when ducking branches and leaves that had kept snagging at her hair and clothes. She could tell that her father hadn’t been thrilled about her hair color, but had said nothing for a change. He had much bigger things to worry about and was mainly glad that she was there to help. She had never seen him so overwhelmed.

It had been expensive, but the color had been a birthday gift to herself, and half from her best friend Julie. The two of them had gone out the weekend before her birthday, which was August 30th, a Wednesday this year, to get it done so she could have her new hair for her party. She had known that Katrina was in the Gulf, how could she not, with her family still in Biloxi, but no one had expected it to be this bad. Her party was cancelled, she drove home from college at Vanderbilt as soon as she knew the roads would be clear enough for her to get through.

Her father and brother had evacuated, thankfully, and she knew they were safe, but even they were unable to get cell service for several days after the storm once they returned to Biloxi. Her brother had driven out to get gas at the state line (there were fights over gas in storm devastated cities) and had called her while he was there to tell her to come home, keep her doors locked, and bring gasoline with her. Locked in the trunk. Her father hadn’t wanted her to come back, but Dusty had known that she would eventually come regardless and had wanted her to be prepared. She had also stocked up on water, toilet paper, instant coffee, cans of soup, pasta noodles and Oreo's. She even threw her battery powered hot plate into the car, just in case.

The house was still standing. In that respect, they were more fortunate than most of their neighbors, but the downstairs had completely flooded and the roof was damaged. Stormy had spent an anxious half hour sobbing in her car after exiting the interstate because she couldn’t find her way home. Landmarks that she hadn’t realized were part of her mental map were no longer there. She didn’t even remember what was supposed to be in certain places, just that it was gone. Some roads were still impassable and she had no idea how to navigate this alien landscape where she had spent the first eighteen years of her life. There was still no cell service, so she had no option but to drive around until she found the remains of the house. Eventually, she stumbled upon the Kelly’s Catfish statue. The huge metal catfish sign for a bait shop at the entrance to her neighborhood. The bait shop had been destroyed completely. Only the slab remained. But the weathered catfish still stood.

She had stopped crying when she found the catfish, but started up again as soon as she saw her house. She couldn’t stop when her father came charging out with a shotgun, assuming she was a looter until he recognized her car. After they had unloaded her supplies and squeezed her car into the garage (which had been flooded and damaged, but still had a door on it), she had wanted to go and see the rest of the city, but her father had refused. There were no streetlights, there were looters and it was nearly dusk. “You shouldn’t have come at all,” he said gruffly, but gave her a stiff, one-armed hug at the same time. 

The first day, she had spent helping them haul debris into a pile they were making in the yard. Probably to be burnt at some point. There was no telling what other way there might be to get rid of it. Or when. Still her father refused to let her leave the neighborhood, even with Dusty, to see what had become of the rest of her hometown. “We’ve seen it and there’s nothing to see,” he had said.

She had come down on Labor Day weekend, which would have been a long weekend anyway and kept insisting that her professors would understand if she took a few extra days before going back to school, but her father was insistent that she leave on Tuesday. He stopped short of suggesting her younger brother go with her. No one knew when, and if, Dusty’s high school would reopen. It was clear he didn’t know what was best to do. All he knew was that he wanted his kids out of this mess and he didn’t know when it was going to end.

Monday morning, Stormy had awakened before dawn, not that she had been sleeping well anyway, with no air conditioning and the smell of mold and sewage constantly wafting on the breeze. She was determined to have a look at the coast before she left. She left a note next to her brother’s hand, took her pepper spray, useless cell phone and a keychain flashlight and ran out toward the beach the way she always had run. 

They sky had lightened but the sun had not yet risen by the time she set out. The going got more difficult once she crossed Pass Road, but she knew this was her one shot and she kept going. Finally the beach was in sight. The beach that she had played on growing up, where she had experienced her first kiss in high school, gone for runs every holiday that she had come home her first two years in college.

Finally she made it to Beach Boulevard. It was eerily devoid of traffic, even at this hour. No early sunbathers were setting up umbrellas. No retirees were out for pre-coffee walks. No tourists were looking for seashells. She crossed the Boulevard at a walk, fearing no cars, for the first time ever.

Stormy had been numb to the damage that she had passed on her way to the beach. She had been immersed in damage control up to her elbows for the past three days. She stepped onto the sand just as the sun broke the horizon and turned back to look behind her. The water park where she had played as a child was destroyed. She wouldn’t have even recognized the place where it stood had she not recognized small, surviving portion of brick wall, with comically large bricks meant to represent Humpty Dumpty’s wall… and Humpty’s legs. All that was left of him. There was something tragically ridiculous about it that made the tears begin to flow in earnest. She started to walk east and saw one of the huge casinos in the distance… not where it should be.

The storm had pushed the casino up, onto land and father. Plowing through and destroying every building, car, tree, anything in it’s path. Her breath caught at the enormity of it and anger flared for the first time. Her childhood in the late eighties had been so idyllic until the casinos had come. And the only reason they had been allowed was due to the fact that they were on water, and would be able to be moved in the event of a storm. None of them had moved. She remembered sitting on a sea wall as a child with her family watching the Treasure Bay Casino being towed into place… like a real, live pirate ship bringing in real, live pirates looking for gold. 

She turned back toward the water and watched the sun continue to rise. She walked toward the shoreline, looking at the odds and ends that had washed up. Various grasses, wood, dead fish… hair brushes… photographs … a chair… a doll… The seagulls were awake and began to call out. She took one last look at the horizon and started to run back. 

Past the devastated water park. Past slabs where houses had once stood. Past boats that should be in the water. Past the shells of houses where spray painted numbers and words indicated how many had died, how many had survived. Faster and faster she was able to go. The way back was easier, the sky was brighter, she knew the way better.

She opened the front door just as Dusty was stumbling down the stairs with her note clutched in his hand. “Oh, good,” he breathed quietly, “dad would have killed you if he’d woken up…” he didn’t finish before she had smacked into him with a full force hug. He was taller than her now, something that still surprised her sometimes, and he hugged her back, propping his chin on top of her head.

They were still standing like that when their father clomped down the stairs. He stopped next to them for a moment, then rubbed them both briefly on their backs. “C’mon,” he said, exhausted, but gentle, “let’s figure out what’s happening from here.” He continued on into the less damaged portion of the kitchen, where they had been meeting and having meals.

Dusty and Stormy broke apart. “I like your hair,” he said to her, pulling a twig from her frazzled ponytail, “it’s like the sea.” He smiled at her, then followed their father, shoving her note into his jeans pocket.  

Stormy watched them for a second, her father heating up water on her hot plate for instant coffee, Dusty pulling open the remaining bag of Oreo's, the morning sunlight filtering in through the masking taped X’s on all of the window panes … and felt a sense of relief that she hadn’t experienced since her birthday.  

Nothing would ever be the same again. But somehow, everything would be alright.