Blink Of an Eye

“So, you better load up on sunscreen because this weekend is going to be a scorcher. Back to you, Alan.”

I flashed my best “I’m a meteorologist, and I’m sorry if my predictions are wrong” smile at the camera. The operator, Tommie, held up his hand to let me know the shot was over. My smile immediately dropped, and my shoulders relaxed.

Sally, the station’s sound technician, came over to unclip my microphone.

“Big plans this weekend?” She asked. Sally was in her mid-40s and had been in the industry for nearly 20 years. Her short and spiky hair always tickled my chin when she was fiddling around with the mics.

“Nah. I’m going to be working a bit. There’s a possible hurricane forming near the Gulf Coast. Mac wants me to stay on top of it, so we can be the first station to report new developments. Gotta keep those ratings up.”

Sally stepped back and wrapped the microphone cord around her fingers. “Always looking ahead, huh?”

I shrugged and slipped out of my bright orange pumps. “That’s my job. No one needs to know about the current weather. It’s all about what’s going to happen next, and how to prepare for it. That’s why they listen to people like me. I’m a scientific fortune-teller.”

Sally laughed. “Can you check your crystal ball and let me know the weather for next weekend? That’s Kay’s graduation.”

“I think it’s going to be partly sunny with a chance of mom crying hysterically from the front row.”

Sally smirked. “Well, if meteorology Eliana predicts it, then it must be true.”

I grabbed my spare flats and slid them on. After filling my favorite South Park mug to the brim with coffee, I made my way to the station’s research room. I settled into my desk chair and started reading. 

Somewhere between the precipitation charts and wind forecasts, I felt a sharp pang in my stomach. I ignored it and kept my eyes glued to the computer screen. Since I last checked the radars, more weather trackers were predicting the storm to become a full-blown hurricane. This storm was brewing quickly, and it was my job to know everything about it.

Just as I uncovered the name of the impending hurricane (Marla), a second wave of sickness flooded through my abdomen. This time, I couldn’t ignore it.

I made it to the bathroom just in time. I tossed my blazer over the stall’s unsteady door and pushed my hair out of the way, holding it tightly in my hands. My stomach felt like it was doing somersaults.

After the vomit was out, I splashed cold water on my face and tried to remember what I ate the previous evening. I made a mental note to throw out everything in my fridge once I got home.

I steadied myself and slowly walked back to the research room. My legs were a bit shaky, but the nausea was gone, and I felt well enough to continue working. 

Back at my desk, I ruffled through my purse in search of a breath mint. My hand brushed across a thin, plastic package that most women carry in their purses.

Nope, don’t need that for a few more weeks.

My fingers finally found my emergency Tic Tac container. I popped a giant handful into my mouth and glanced at my office calendar. I always marked the date of my period with a frowny face. It was August 31st, the last day of the month. But there was no frowny face anywhere on August's calendar page.

Did I forget to mark this month? 

That was unlike me. But August had been exceptionally hectic at the station, so it wasn’t that surprising.

I clicked my mouse and went back to my research. Mac had already emailed asking for updates. 

By this time Monday, everyone is going to know about Hurricane Marla, I typed back.

Nearly six hours later, I hopped into my silver Toyota Corolla and prepared for Friday afternoon traffic. As I sat in the driver’s seat, I suddenly had an intense desire for Lay’s Classic Potato Chips.

Well, that’s different. I’m usually a trail mix kind of girl.

I spotted a tiny pharmacy down the street and made a quick stop before heading onto the highway. I marched straight to the snack aisle. 

Herr’s, no. Ruffles, no. Utz, no. Ah, there they are.

A row of salty and greasy Lay’s Classic Potato Chips stared back at me. My mouth started to water.

I turned on my heel to make my way to the cashier. As I did, I noticed the sign from the adjacent aisle staring at me.

FAMILY PLANNING/PREGNANCY TESTS

Missed period? Check. Intense cravings? Check. Uh oh.

My nausea returned. I clutched the chip bag so tightly my knuckles turned white. I stared at the aisle, unsure of what to do.

Best to prepare for a storm that never comes rather than let one catch you by surprise.

That was my meteorologist mantra. So, with it in mind, I made my way to the family planning aisle and scooped up a pregnancy test.

Thirty minutes later, I stormed into my apartment. I threw the half-eaten bag of potato chips on the kitchen table and headed straight to the bathroom. I needed to know what my future had in store for me, and I needed to know now.

The box said the test required three minutes to produce a reliable result. I set it down on my bathroom counter. There was nothing to do but pace nervously and let my mind spiral for the next 180 seconds.

As I paced, I realized that no matter how well you plan, life never fails to throw curveballs. That’s one of the most frustrating aspects of being a meteorologist. You can research for hours and feel confident reporting future weather patterns. But in the blink of an eye, everything changes, and all of your plans no longer matter. That must be why so many people have love-hate relationships with their local weather service.

I checked my watch. Three minutes was up. I saw myself in the mirror and smiled back. Graphs, projections, and charts couldn't predict this. I picked up the test, blinked, and saw my future staring back at me.