Hurricane Xenia

Hurricane Xenia

The sky seems to admonish earth, pouring down upon us with so much rage and vigor. It doesn’t stop. The winds are in alliance with the rains and blow over us as if they want to blow us away from our habitation, treating us like uninvited guests who have stirred much trouble and discomfort. The trees are falling down like pieces of dominoes and all the birds and animals have disappeared as if ceasing to exist. They call it Hurricane Xenia but it isn’t until later that I truly comprehend it.

We live in the outskirts. There aren’t many houses or shops out here so, I and my husband try to make thanksgiving work with the little supplies we have left. Traditionally, we visit Dexter’s family and have turkey with his parents and siblings but this year we are blissfully stuck with only each other and lasagna. Just like us, unconventional. Despite the weather, it’s been a good day reminiscing old memories and holiday shenanigans together by a fireplace that doesn’t function.

Ding Dong

Ding Dong

That’s strange. Dexter is in the kitchen and nobody visits our house with the exception of delivery men and sometimes our family. I tread down the stairs with curiosity and open half the door to find a young couple soaking wet, their clothes tattered in minutes by the weather’s wrath, their bodies shivering and almost on the verge of convulsing.

"Hi, we’re sorry to bother you but our car broke down a few blocks away. Could we, perhaps, stay here for a few hours?", a young woman says through her chattering teeth and crossed arms which she thought protected her from getting blown away.

My concern for them leads me to open the door completely and welcome them as they seem like even a minute’s delay would shatter them to pieces.

"Yes, please come in.", I say while letting them in and closing the door behind them.

"Patty, who is it?", Dexter asks peeping out of the kitchen with his favorite mittens still on.

"Their car broke down. Could you get some fresh towels and clothes while I lead them to the powder room?", I reply and Dexter nods with cavernous concern and compassion taking over his face.

Hot showers and warm woolens seem to have helped their previously quivering bodies and distressed states of minds. The young woman’s eyes wander across the hall, while sitting on our fluffy couch, as if searching for something whereas the man sits idly twiddling his thumbs. Some warm liquids would help rejuvenate them; thus, I hand them cups of hot coffee.

"Thank you.", the young man says in the tiniest voice ever with a smile radiating not from his mouth but his cotton candy like rheumy, blue eyes that had seen one too many storms.

"Yes, very grateful for your kindness.", said the woman with a voice that had gone coarse over the years from talking relentlessly, like a source of energy that keeps replenishing itself, while the man listened to her intently.  

"No problem. I am Patricia by the way and that’s my husband Dexter.", I say introducing myself and my husband, as he walks in.

"Dexter Castellanos. Nice to meet you.", Dexter says jumping in and shaking their hands.

"Oh, how silly of us. We didn’t introduce ourselves. I’m Rachel and this is Jason."

"Castellanos. That’s Greek, right?", asks Jason sipping on his coffee and soaking up all the warmth he can get.

"Very much so.", Dexter replies with humble pride for it is not often that someone recognizes his ethnicity.

"Gods would admire your dedication to the principle of Xenia", says Jason almost stumbling over his words, hoping we would understand his reference.

"You might just be one of them. If you are, do bless my wife with the ability to not burn everything she makes.", Dexter says quickly with a joke to make Jason feel more comfortable and making him chuckle.

"I, I don’t understand. What’s Xenia?", Rachel interrupts.

"It’s the Greek principle of offering hospitality to anyone that comes to your doorstep just in case, one of them is a god in disguise of a commoner.", answers Jason in between of his frequent coffee sips.

"I take you’re into Greek literature and mythology?", this one question sparks a long, riveting conversation between the two passionate men about everything from Homer’s Odyssey to Zeus’s clandestine affairs with beautiful, mortal women. Whereas, Rachel and I, somehow, indulge in our own conversation about the interiors of my home and how the details and intricacies make it such a cozy marvel. We talk about the little souvenirs and sculptures which despite being very valuable in monetary terms, hold greater value in form of memories which are relished with every glance at them. At times, I eavesdrop in the men’s conversation. They seem to be talking about the intensely, great loves portrayed in Greek Literature.

"Aphrodite and Ares were perfect for each other.", said Jason with enough conviction to convince people that water is actually red and the earth is flat.

"They understood each other in ways nobody else could.", said Dexter agreeing with him. I had never seen my husband so engaged and fervent. Especially not towards themes of love.

This was, perhaps, the most unconventional yet the most beautiful thanksgiving of our lives. A hurricane had brought two strangers to our doorstep and by the end of the night, it felt like we had been having dinners like these for years.

I wake up to a thrush singing out its gratitude; and leaves and grass being rattled by sturdy hands that know what they were doing. It is probably Dexter clearing up our garden after the storm had run havoc across it. All the pots must have been wrecked and branches snapped.

The dawn is fresh and pleasant unlike my breath, which is in dire need of some mint toothpaste. I walk over, rubbing my eyes, to the bathroom but instead it is locked and I hear the sound of two people kissing. Quite passionately, must I add. Rachel and Jason, of course. I envy how much they love each other. Perhaps, because I and Dexter never shared that intensity. I am ruminating about the deficiencies in my marriage when I hear footsteps approaching me.

I turn around to find Rachel wearing garden gloves and her clothes stained by mud.