June 4, 2008

• A Safe Escape

       So I was helping my mom load up a pickup truck that she borrowed from a friend–loaded it with antique chairs and weird little tables and all that crap.  And we could tell it was going to rain soon, so when we finished loading, ’twas time to cover everything with a tarp, you know?  Well, ten minutes later, we were still having trouble tying the tarp down; it was just too loose.  My mom was supposed to drive the truck an hour away, to the auction center in Culpeper, and so the tarp had to be pulled taught or else it would blow away while she was driving, right?  Well, suddenly, all the trees in our neighborhood started blowing around and making noises that sounded like a stadium of cheering people, perhaps cheering us on, “Hurry, the rain’s gonna come!  Tie the tarp down, you can do it!”
       Well, we didn’t do.  I felt a rain drop.  And then I saw a rain drop.  And then I felt two more and saw four more.  It was coming, it was coming, and, ah, there it was!  The rain picked up, but the tarp still wasn’t latched properly to the truck bed–it was still flapping about, you know?  So I, not liking to get wet, lifted up the edge of the tarp and stood under it.  My mom opened the door of the truck and dove in.  She left the door open a bit, though, so that she could reach out and try to continue tying the tarp.
        And so I’m standing there under the edge of the tarp, and the rain becomes more than just rain–it was basically waterfalling, not raining.  And I started crackin’ up.  I was laughing so loud.  I was thinking of all the people in our neighborhood in their townhouses, and of how many of them might have been watching us load the truck, and of how many of them were now laughing at us in part sympathy, part something else. 
       And then the tarp on the other side of the truck came undone, and it completely flew up and exposed all those precious antiques and upholstery to the rain.  So my mom’s like, “Ahh!  Chris!  The tarp!  Get–go pull the tarp over, go!”  And so I got out from under my side of the tarp, ran around, grabbed hold of it’s flapping flappiness, and then I laughed some more.  It was weird that I was laughing, ’cause I really do hate getting wet.   I’m like a cat.  But anyway, I took the corner of the flapping side of the tarp, opened the passenger door, tucked the corner in, and closed the door on it.  I then banged on the window to get my mom’s attention, and I shouted, “Come inside for two seconds!  Two seconds!”
       So I run into the house, and she follows, and I tell her, “Okay, obviously you can’t go to the place ’cause we can’t get the tarp on.  And obviously the furniture is now ruined.  So this is a sign that you need to stop stressing about all this stuff.  It’s just furniture, it’s ruined, let it get soaked, no big deal.  I’m taking a shower.”
       And I was soaked, too.  And not figuratively, either; I was actually soaked.  My hair was plastered down, my glasses covered in water beads, and when I took my shirt off before getting in the shower, I had to peel it off!  Yeah, it may sound sexy to you, but I hate having to peel off clothes.
       We were just listening to the weather on the radio, and there’re millions of tornado warnings all around, and the wind is 50-60 m.p.h.  So it’s no wonder that it sneaked up on us like that, you know?  The storm was traveling 60 miles per hour!
       So in case any of you heard about storms covering the entire area that is northern Virginia, there is no need to fear, my babies–I am safe.   

  • 3:50 pm
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