Flooded In (Is that a thing? Like snowed in?)

A few weeks ago Charleston experienced historic rainfall. I’m talking 24 inches in some places. And because we’re on the coast, historic rainfall + high tide = no good. And because I live right on the marsh…things got real.

Preston, my brother, Matthew, my cousin , and I were trapped in our neighborhood from Saturday morning at 8 am until Thursday afternoon… for those of you counting that’s five full days. Here's a play-by-play...

Saturday Morning: I wake up and it's already raining pretty heavily outside. I was supposed to work at Glazed that morning, but it was closed because Downtown was expected to flood. (And it did.) At this point, I'm thinking I'll just have a normal Saturday. But then at 8 am MAIN ROAD CLOSES. Wait, what? Like the one road I need to use to get ANYWHERE? The one road that I need to use to get off or back on Johns Island—to go to the grocery store, gym, work, my parent’s house, Target, the frozen yogurt place—is closed…? So basically I’m cut off entirely from civilization. Ok, that’s fine I guess. I’ll just be productive and do some fall cleaning in my closet and around the house. That kept me busy until noon. Shit. But whatever, I’m thinking this will all be over in 24 hours and my Sunday will be delightful and normal. 

Sunday: The rain did not let up at all. Main was still closed and under at least a foot of disgusting marsh/rain/sewage water. Yes, I said sewage. The news report said that sewage lines had backed up and it was likely that the flood water was contaminated. The weird thing was our house and neighborhood was fine, obviously wet, but definitely above water and unharmed. But Main Road, our one entrance and exit, was impassable. Soooo…another day stuck at home. I did some (a lot) of online shopping. #thankyouloft #40%offsale #justtakemycreditcard

Around mid afternoon, we realized the monsoon outside wasn't going anywhere. So we made the arduous journey to Publix for nourishment. We wore old clothes, strapped on book bags, and walked down Main Road with water sloshing up and over our knees to get to the grocery store. (Remember that part about the sewage water? Yeahhh...didn't feel so fresh and so clean clean.) Success though, no signs of Giardia AND we got food. We also took some photos with a car that had made the poor decision to try to drive through the flood and got stuck. There was also some skipping. See photos at end of post. 

Monday: Back to work! Well, sort of. Main was still closed and no one is legally able to enter or leave the island. Luckily I was able to work from home, but Preston and Matthew had to miss work, meaning I got another day trapped in the house with two boys who only want to watch boring things on TV and chat like excited school girls about their fantasy football teams. Regardless of how annoying that whole situation was, the day was OK. We survived by making jalepeno beer bread that my parents brought back from their trip out west. It was dynamite...and not in a good way. I mean it tasted like a dynamite exploded on my tongue.

Tuesday: Is this some sort of joke? Why was the road still closed? At this point, on day number four, Main Road is still under about six or eight inches of water at high tide. Policemen blocked both sides of the road to show they meant business. However, my brother and his girlfriend hatched a sneaky plan for him to get out... but it required him to walk through the flood zone again to meet her at the end of the road where she was parked. So they did that. And then we were down to two. Matthew and me. We made grocery store trek number two that day to restock. UGH. #showersfordays

Tuesday was the night I begin to truly lose it. After walking home from Publix around 6 that night I called my parents in a state of stir-crazy delirium. My dad agreed to drive down to see just how bad Main Road was and assess the possibility of escaping. He parked at the intersection, sweet talked a cop, and walked through the flood to get to my house. We managed to escape with Brinkley in my brother’s old SUV and I spend the next two nights at my parent's house until the road finally opened on late Thursday.

After all this complaining, I need to say how thankful I am that we were safe and still have a home at all. We were inconvenienced for several days, but that's about it. We didn't lose anything and everything is back to normal for us. And that's not true for a lot of people who were hit by this same storm and flooding. Gotta look on the bright side.

poor Range Rover

about $85 grand down the drain

yeah...

skipping cousins

thankful that's not our car

obligatory sibling picture

the trek

Main Road

coming back from the grocery

entrance to the neighborhood

Brinkley, totally over the weather

Meeting Love

(The Challenge: Write a story in which every sentence is only five words.)

When Love arrived, I sank.

I was a college sophomore.

It was a wet January.

I watched him walk over.

My window pulsed with rain.

Heartbeat, rain in my chest.

Love wasn’t what I expected.

Skinny, like I never knew.

Love was still and quiet.

Love drank gin and smoked.

Love smelled of green pines.

Love had sad, green eyes.

I was nervous at first.

I drank before going over.

Tried to calm quaking knees.

I gave Love my favorites-

Slaughterhouse-Five and Chuck Palahniuk.

He dog-eared the pages.

In the dark, we spoke.

The clock ticked for hours.

We only heard each other.

Love was honest and mine.

Love wrote poetry with fingers.

My lonely skin, the paper.

Love crept in that year.

White pedals wilted on magnolias.

They bruised on the street.

They got crushed under boots.

Indoors, I was never warm.

I tested the old thermostat.

I pulled my hood strings.

Love walked across the campus.

I watched him walk over.

His hands thrust into pockets.

Love wore a canvas coat.

Love’s glasses dotted with rain.

I kissed the frozen window.

But I didn’t feel cold.

Love came inside and stayed.

But Love did leave eventually.

Flickered like a frightened flame.

Then Love went out entirely.

When Love left, I choked.

I coughed, sputtered, sank down.

I thought I’d never float.

Love still calls me sometimes.

His voice low and sad.

I imagine his eyes, green.

Love begs and I listen.

We were a good team.

I cannot disagree with him.

We were a good team.

Then why did I lose?

Why were we always losing?

Maybe I’ll meet Love again.

I’ll watch Love walk over.

A Fast, Bright Blur

A Fast, Bright Blur

Inspired by Paul Allen

You can't grow up spending summers

on the north shore of Hilton Head

beside the one run-down,

but always popular

(line out the door,

snaking its way around the corner)

ice cream shop

and just a 60 second walk

across the scorching black asphalt

to the beach decked with

sun-burnt tourists

and children building drip sand castles—

without your hair getting lighter

skin getting darker—

without learning how to sneak out,

remember to leave your sandy flip-flops by the door,

go when the band’s still playing at the tiki bar

so when the lock on the door catches

your parents only hear the steel drums and laughter—

you can’t do all these things

without growing up too fast.

Each orange summer your family rented bikes

for five dollars a day from the place

at the corner with the blue awning.

You, your mom, dad, and older brother

would ride in a single line

one after another

down the shaded sidewalks

under reaching oaks,

the curling Spanish moss

skimmed your heads as you rode

through neighborhoods

with houses the color of the sand

and nestled up close to the golf course.

You and your brother made a game

of counting lost golf balls.

The ones that had been hit too far out of reach,

past the green fairways, off course,

into the wet arms of the woods,

their white shine catching your eyes.

You and your brother always competing.

One, two, three, four...

then there she was.

The brown doe.

Her body crippled and torn

like a soaked paper bag

used and flung out into the street

and then kicked back into the woods.

Smeared red and bruised black.

Her neck twisted behind her

and her belly flattened down

to her white shiny ribs.

On the drive home,

with the marsh on both sides of you

you try to remember the past week.

Where did you go?

What did you do?

What did you see?

The whole summer—a fast, bright blur.

You may not know exactly when or where or how.

But you do know that at some point along the way

your childhood ended like a bike ride cut short

in the middle of summer.