- April 22, 2024
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BY EMILY BLACKWOOD | STAFF WRITER
This past Sunday afternoon was more eventful than most.
With a schedule full of birthday parties and story deadlines, I woke up with a shot of espresso and a "Git R Done" attitude. But as I sat crisscross applesauce in my chair, preparing to annihilate my to-do list, I overheard the voice of an anxious weatherman coming from my TV.
“There is a tornado warning for Volusia County, headed toward Ormond Beach, Holly Hill and…”
His voice trailed off as I sprung into an action plan that only a lifetime fear of the movie “Twister” could have prepped me for.
First, I ran outside to analyze my surroundings. What was once a beautiful, sunny day was now a gray, rumbling, whole-sky storm cloud with a very high chance of rotation. I quickly surveyed my backyard and counted at least five trees that could fall into my house, destroying my new iMac.
But I wasn’t going to let this storm win. Not today. It was time to build a fortress.
After raiding my house for every fluffy pillow, blanket and towel I could find, I started to set up camp in my tiny downstairs bathroom that was complete with books, food and a chew toy for my Rottweiler, Bear. Who knows how long we might be trapped there.
I removed everything from the walls and put my nail polish collection somewhere safe where it wouldn't knock me in the head when this thing blew through.
Bear was unwillingly corralled into the bathroom as he looked up at me with eyes that said "I just want to sleep." I don't know why he was being so calm about this. I thought dogs had a sixth sense when it came to severe weather. Bear's was either broken or apathetic.
I distracted him with a treat as I quickly turned up the volume on the TV, grabbed my laptop and locked us in.
Though the weatherman was constantly reading updates on where the storm was headed, I set up my own tracking system on my toilet via Google and Yahoo! Weather. Bear finally gave up on trying to escape, laid on my lap and let out a big sigh that said, “I do believe are overreacting, madam.”
My shelter now in place, I moved on to Phase Two of my tornado-survival plan: guilt-tripping my loved ones.
I sent out “I love you” texts to my mom, dad and brother. My brother responded with “love u 2. stop texting me,” and my parents ignored my final goodbyes. I attempted to find some sympathy from my good friend Gabe, but his advice was to “go punch it.” "It" being the tornado. So flippant.
People like Gabe were never meant to survive the apocalypse.
Angry at the lack of love and support I was receiving in my desperate time of need, I chucked my phone into the depths of my bathroom cabinet.
"Who needs them? I've got Bear," I told my sink. And as I was saying this, even he started slowly inching away from me.
Suddenly, my power went out. The weatherman went silent. Listening to the constant boom of thunder, I grabbed Bear, who was still cramped and mad. We were both prepared for the end.
I tried to flashback to my life, the good times, the ones worth remembering, but I couldn't get old "Parks and Recreation" episodes I had watched the night before out of my head. I starting tearing up when I realized I wouldn't live long enough to see the new episodes when my power restored.
“Okay, it looks like the storm is out by A1A now.”
The weatherman! He was back!
Bear and I burst out of the bathroom to look outside. I found a hint of blue skies peaking out from the darkness.
Everything would be okay.
I heard a ringing coming from the bathroom and quickly retrieved my phone. My mom was calling to tell me a storm was coming and I should probably stay off the roads.
Thanks for the warning, Ma.
