Did You Go to The Shelter? 

A true story

“Promise me you'll go to the shelter.”

 “Mama it's not like it’s Andrew or something, and it’s not supposed to hit us directly, anyway. Nobody I know is going.”

“And you’re my precious baby girl. Promise me you’ll go to the shelter.” 

“It’s going to be empty in there. What’s the benefit of even

going?” She started to respond so I quickly continued. “It’s just a regular building anyway, and Charley’s going to weaken over land, and I’ve been through hurricanes, and I’ve been fine so far!” I was gesticulating for emphasis, though she couldn’t see me over the phone. “I can just stay here, and I’ll be fine.”

A pause. “Promise…your mother… you will go…to the shelter.”

“Mom…”

“Megan…” 

Here her voice wavered and she paused for dramatic effect. I knew the tone. I’d been hearing it all my life. She’d used it when I had ridden my bike home from middle school, 20 minutes later than usual. There she’d stood, crying in the driveway as I rode up. 

“Megan…” she’d said with shaking voice, “I was about…to call…the police.”

And once she had actually called them. After a weekend trip freshman year, I forgot to call to tell her I’d arrived back safely at my dorm. Thirty minutes later I heard a knock on my door and Officer Manning was standing there, bemused. “Call yo’ mama,” was all he said. When she picked up (on the first ring, I’ll add) there was the tone: “Megan…” 

Sigh. So now, hearing that familiar note, I knew when I was beaten. 

 "Okay, okay, okay. I’ll go!”

“Good.”

“But it will be empty and boring and pointless.”

“That’s fine. But you’ll go.”

“Yes.”

The year was 2004–my senior year at New College in Sarasota, Florida. The Year of Storms. Charley was only the first hurricane (there had already been Tropical Storm Bonnie). Though we didn’t know it yet, we would also be hit by Frances, Ivan, and Jeanne in short succession (though never directly). I could tell you stories about that fall. We were young and stupid, had parties in the howling courtyard, went swimming at night in choppy waters, kissed in the rain…or (clears throat) at least I did. 

And despite it all, we survived. But those are stories for another day. This was the first major storm, and I rode it alone.

In retrospect, my mom was probably right. I mean, my dorm was in a converted 1970s motel. That’s not a decade known for architectural integrity. Also, one entire wall was a sliding glass door. I thought, “I’ll just go to the bathroom if the glass breaks. I can hide in there.” School for the gifted, right?

I drove to the shelter reluctantly that morning. Why was I so reluctant? I guess the answer (though embarrassing now) is that it didn’t seem cool. Like, I didn’t want to be the only one who took it seriously. I drove there anyway in my Chevy Malibu and walked into a convention hall. This was where they had held orientation my first year. A big, empty space. And I was alone in it. It had the feel of an airport at night. A place designed for crowds, now abandoned. At first, I thought I was in the wrong place but then I heard a cough.

“Oh hey. You came,” said a flat voice. It was Tom Davidson, a recent graduate who had been employed by the school to work in student life. He was sitting propped against the wall with his legs crossed casually in front of him.

“Is this the hurricane shelter?”

“Yep.”

‘And it’s just us?”

“Yep.”

“Ah.”

“Settle in, it’s going to be a long day.” Then he picked up a book and started reading. 

Having no book to read and nothing to do, it can be awkward sitting

alone in a room with a relative stranger who isn’t talking to you. So, before long, I fell asleep. It was the only thing I could think of.

I woke up some time later to find myself now completely alone. No Tom, no book. Huh. The wind was blowing, and it was raining. I sat for what must have been an hour, looking back and forth from the clock to the window. It was late afternoon, and the storm should have already passed. Finally, the winds died down and the sun came out. I got up and stiffly walked to the door. I peered out. There were some tree branches and detritus scattering the ground but no apocalyptic scene. So, I figured, I had gone to the shelter as promised, and now could go home. 

That is when things got interesting. To this day, I’m not sure how to explain it, but as it wasn’t a direct hit, it couldn’t have been the eye. Maybe one band of the storm had passed overhead, and then another followed. All I know for sure is this. On my way home, the…storm…came…back.

First, it was rain and then it was wind. And then the car was shaking, almost seeming to vibrate. I started laughing, for some reason. The absurdity of it. What would my mom say? But then I stopped laughing. As I drove, the winds got stronger and stronger, until, while waiting at a red light, the two left wheels of the car lifted clear off the ground. Then dropped again. Then lifted again, airborne for longer this time. I want you to picture the scene. The windshield wipers were slapping ineffectually against the rain, which was at this point horizontal. Leaves and small branches were blowing by. My face was frozen in a mask, a grinning grimace. My wide eyes darting to the left and the right. My knuckles white on the steering wheel. I started talking to myself. I guess for comfort. 

“Megan…it’s going to be ok.” “Megan…(my voice was shaking), Megan, just drive home.“

“But there’s a red light.”

“You’re driving home in the middle of a hurricane, sweety, who freaking

cares about the light?”

“Okay, okay…right.”

So, I lurched forward, checked myself, and slowed down again. I drove the rest of the way like a granny. Most of the time, the wheels stayed on terra firma. I parked, ran inside, and hid in the bathroom for the rest of the storm. I survived. 

A few hours later, my mom called. After a brief hesitation, I flipped open my phone.

 “Oh, I was praying for your safety! Are you ok?”

“Yes. I’m fine,” I said brightly. “I’m back at the dorm and there hasn’t been any damage.”

“Oh, thank you Jesus. So, you went to the shelter?” 

I inhaled. “Yes….I did.” 

And that, I thought, was all she needed to know.

The person who left a shelter and drove home in a hurricane.