Waiting For The Shoe to Drop

Sitting here waiting for things to happen.

Gustav is galloping towards the city, and I'm just waiting.

Ain't much wind outside right now. Gustav is playing a massive game of Red Light/Green Light. At times he accelerates towards us forcing everyone into panicked activity like an ant colony ripped open by a careless foot. Other times, the German(I think Gustav is a German) retreats like a shy suitor witholding his amorous advances.

Rain, rain go away, come back another day.

I never chanted that refrain as a child. Yet, it runs through my head now as I try to right something eloquent and profound.

I've always liked the rain. I loved to play in it. My mother forbid us to play in the rain before May, but as soon as that day come I would take particular delight in catching the fat droplets on my tongue and nose. In the oven of summer, the rain would be like thick spit; warm and viscous as it drenched my shirt while I played basketball barefoot in the street.

Hurricane rain is colder.

Often it's a driving rain, piercing droplets that feel like needles as they collide with your bent head. When I covered Katrina I had to go out in those winds and rain. Thankfully, I didn't see the full horror of the storms aftermath in New Orleans, but I remember driving past those snapped branches, downed power lines and collapsed roofs marveling at the destructive power of wind and rain. Simple wind and rain.

No doubt my wife watched the approaching rain in fear. She's safe with my son, far away from the most serious dangers of Gustav. Yet, since I am here, she worries. She wonders if I can just pick and leave if things get to bad. When I tell her no, I can hear the pout in her silence. She wonders how long all of this will last, I tell her I have no idea.

The pout again.

Marriage. A binding that makes you forever accountable to another human and any other humans you all decide to bring into this world. It's funny to have someone besides my mother worry about it. Touching really. Yet, it's also a burden because her cares become my cares. I am no longer unfettered, unconcerned with my welfare in dangerous situations. I now have responsibilities, people depending on me.

It all depends.

That's what we're hearing from the weather people. It all depends on where the storm lands. In the right place there would only be minimal damage to New Orleans and its suburbs. In the wrong place, well, let's not discuss the wrong place.

I don't worry though. I think about death, but I think about death on a sun-filled morning when life is grand. I don't worry, at all. Well, maybe I worry in the middle of the night then the house is silent because the breathing of my wife and son haven't created the rhythm of sleep. Then I worry a little.

Just a little worry.

(Happy Birthday to my best friend.)