Lightning Strikes

Lightning Strikes

Stevie Stephens Burden

“Looks like some rain out there,” my traveling partners says, as she leans a little forward in her seat peering out at the sunlit road before us, looking in the direction that we will soon be heading.

I agree. I don’t know if she is ready for the rains that come in this part to the country. Unlike our Oregon rain, when the rains hit here, it is usually from clouds that pile up and rub together to create wind and thunder the likes of which we rarely if ever see on the coast. They dump the kind of torrential rains that cause flash floods and wash outs; that were my mother’s great fear. She would tell me her stories of growing up in east Texas and how she almost lost two of her younger brothers to such a storm. You can’t even really call them storms, most of the time it is a huge bank of clouds, angry and black, while all around it is still blue skies and easy driving.

 We keep heading west paralleling the ever-growing black clouds. They ride our shoulder all day as we make our way across the flat dry country of Oklahoma’s panhandle. I had taken my dear friend, Cindy B to Tahlequah in the eastern part of the state and the heart of the Cherokee lands there.  The tribe does not have a formal reservation in Oklahoma but has jurisdiction over 7,000 square miles in the Northeastern part of the state. They are almost due south from the place where my mother was born in Tar Creek. 

It is afternoon as we turn to the south and head toward Texas. Our goal of making it to my niece’s house just outside of Dallas tonight. We can see the big rain clouds are still there but they are still far away. The only difference is, now we’re heading straight toward them.

By the time we finally reach the storm it is still daylight on the road but beneath the clouds it is dark. Very dark. Middle of the night dark, except when it lights up with lightning. We can see that we are going to be driving through the middle of a wind farm; big giant windmills slowly turn in silence but I know that they call to the lightning to come to them. Huge metal beacons that are like magnets for the bolts of electricity that dive from the sky. Then the rains hit us so hard that I can’t see the road in front of me and I am forced to slow way down. I can’t see anything. There are times when the drops are so big and coming so fast that I not only can’t find the yellow line, there is an inch of water covering the entire road and even on high the wipers can’t keep up. 

As we drive under the roaring canopy of the massive thunderclouds it feels as if the oxygen has been sucked out of the air. The deeper into the blackness we go, we both hold our hearts and breath. Finally, when the blackness finally rolls over us everything turns silent. Even the winds have stopped as if they, too, hold their breath. Then comes a loud clap of thunder and the air turns electric, standing our arm hair on end. It is as if air and thunder are declaring an emergency and the electricity in the air builds like a defibrillator preparing to shock a dying heart; the air cries clear, a bolt of lightning rips down out of the clouds hitting the ground with jarring intensity. Then another bolt and another and another. Step by step the glowing rods of electricity move toward us; attracted by the towering wind mills that surround us. The winds return is like a hammer, the rain is blinding, and there is no pause between the claps of thunder and the lightning that is so much closer. 

I have no choice but to keep moving not trusting that four tires will protect us from everything that is coming toward us out of the dark. 

Finally, out of nowhere, we come up behind a big semi-truck with his flashers on. I hadn’t even seen him until I was right on his tail. Rolling just a bit faster than a crawl, I tuck in behind the big rig and breathe for the first time in what seems like forever. I loosen my grip on the wheel just enough to stretch my fingers a little to stop the cramping from having had a death grip on it for what seems like hours. I am so relieved to see something – someone - out here in the middle of this storm from hell; just knowing we are not alone in this is a relief. I am grateful to follow his tail lights through the deluge that shows no signs of letting up. 

And then the lightening hits and keeps hitting just ahead of us bringing the dozens of the giant windmills surrounding us into stark relief. It is dark as night at two in the afternoon. The death grip returns and I live in fear of losing sight of the flashing lights. We continue to move as we enter the heart of the storm - barely. The truck inches forward slowly – so incredibly slowly it feels like the tires barely move, as my heart hammers in my chest. 

Then comes a bolt; bright and big and close, really close. I jump and almost lose my grip on the wheel. There is no pause, the thunder is immediate and so loud it hurts. Then another bolt strikes about ten feet from the passengers’ side of the car. My friend remains totally silent and unmoving, looking toward the spot where the bolt just hit and her hair rises slightly with the electricity in the air. I wonder out loud if she is even awake. She turns to look at me with her eyes the size of saucers. 

“Don’t stop,” is all she can manage as the thunder rolls and bolts strike and breaths are held.