The First Hurricane: Part Two

No one will ever forget living through a hurricane experience. Especially the first one. Seeking shelter from the unbelievable wind, the rain that is no longer raindrops in a tropical storm, and the flying debris that arrives like missiles in a war is much too frightening for anyone to process without a memory becoming a nightmare that can never quite vanish.  

Our episode last week brought us to an old stilt house beside a dock and a canal on Marco Island. This was where a group of Midwestern hospitality workers were taking sage advice from a co-worker with previous storm sheltering knowledge. A tropical storm warning was in effect when a Beach Boy hurricane expert began coaxing the newcomers into taking refuge in a rickety island home. 

After everyone was in place in an almost party-like atmosphere, the approaching storm began to change into something much stronger. This was the hour when the newcomers began to learn that every storm is different, everyone has a different opinion on what to do in an emergency, and finally that no atheists exist in a house, on an island, during a hurricane. 

When the first gust of hurricane strength wind hit the house, a loud crack sounded above and below the din of slashing rain and wind. After the dreadful noise of splitting wood, there was no doubt, the house on stilts was moving with the wind. The source of the loud crack was a mystery, but also a danger signal. Something structural had broken along with the nerves of a few of the refugees. 

Before the Beach Boy storm expertcould make a decision about going out into the rain, the wind, and the darkness to investigate the damage, a sickening crash became a warning to stay inside when a flying sledgehammer blow sounded against a wall beside the front door.  

After the latest crash, the discussion about sending out a crew to investigate the damage fell silent. Everyone was now looking upward to the loft and the beams of the ceiling as a series of new creaks began sounding as if a giant with a crowbar was trying to open the roof. 

Without warning, one of the audiovisual crew unmuted the huge TV, and the sudden sound from the forecasters made everyone startle. On the screen, the local meteorologists were pointing to a storm track heading for Naples and Marco Island and were now giving the warning that a mandatory evacuation was in place for all of the coastal islands. 

“Don’t worry. I think we are still safe here,” the now nervous Beach Boy hurricane expert began, “We will probably be all right. This old place has probably been through a few storms and is still standing. These houses might move on the stilts, but we are probably safe from flooding.” 

On TV, the forecasters were giving advice about sheltering in place and driving through flooding streets. “The time for evacuation is past. Do not go out in the storm. Shelter in place. A foot of moving water can carry a car away. Turn around, don’t drown,” were the warnings that were now more than alarming. 

The Midwestern girl who was in command of the cooking and the kitchen began to laugh without mirth. “Too late to leave now,” she said as she began to stare down the Beach Boy hurricane expert. “I guess we are married to this monster for better or worse! When this is over, my dad is going to come down here and find whoever talked me into staying on this island during a hurricane. When that happens, another storm will start!" 

Without warning, the lights in the room under the loft and the ceiling began to flicker and then dimly flash. No one spoke after the electricity failed and the home and the big TV fell into darkness, but the wind outside became a new creature with claws scratching on the roof. The strength of the rain pelting the windows was demanding attention, but in the darkness and beneath the roar of the storm that was now a hurricane, there could be no mistaking the soft sounds of more than one person crying and another saying prayers.  

The darkness in the rental home was complete until flashes of lightning began showing the frightened faces that no one wanted to see. After the rolling thunder became a distraction from the pelting rain and the claws on the roof, a feeble flashlight came on and began to relieve some tension. 

The bluster of the Beach Boy hurricane expert was obviously wilting under the pressure of the storm and suffering under the scrutiny and scorn of the Midwestern girl who was the self-appointed cook in the kitchen. When the single flashlight in the home became a spotlight on the faces of only a few, the Midwestern girl took command of much more than the kitchen. 

“I once saw a movie like this,” she began, and every refugee in the storm began to listen. “There was a bunch of people scared in a house with a giant monster outside. The hero, in the beginning, turned into a frightened little boy when the monster was at the door, until the girl, who was the damsel in distress, decided to take over and save the day.” 

No explanation was necessary for the new leader’s parable, but before anyone could speak over the giant monster of wind and rain, the Midwestern girl opened the big tote bag she brought and began producing dinner-table candles. One by one, the candles were alight, and as the flames began to flicker under the lofty roof and the raging storm, hope began to shine around the kitchen, and the girl from Dearborn, Michigan, who did indeed rally her troops as the wind, the rain, and the peak of The First Hurricane began to fade away. 

Tom Williams is a Marco Islander and the author of two books: “Lost and Found” and “Surrounded by Thunder - the Story of Darrell Loan and the Rocket Men.” Both books are available on Kindle and Nook.