21. The Ice Storm Cometh

January is the cruelest month. Oklahoma in January is dead cold with razor sheets of ice and body bags of snow. We don’t have the worst winters by far, like they do up north, but because what awful storms we do have are far between, we have absolutely no idea how to handle them. None.

The worst thing is the driving. The streets are never sanded thoroughly and no one out here knows how to drive on ice. So to try and get the people to stay off the roads, everything just closes down, including the schools, banks, and shops. Essentially as soon as the ice hits, the town just stops. And that’s good and sound, except then everyone just goes out and drives around on the ice anyway because that frontier mentality kicks in and everyone things they can handle it, plus they’re all off work now and hyped to do something. 

And that’s just great until some white trash idiot shoots his trucks off into a bar ditch and somehow kills sixteen innocents. And that sobers everyone up, so from that point out everyone just stays huddled inside, fearful for their very lives, waiting for the storm to pass. And this works just perfectly until the power goes out, which it often does for long stretches. This leaves you huddled at whomever's house made the pass, hoping to God their heat doesn’t go off and you all die in the night. And then three days later it’s sixty degrees and lovely out. Ah, the charms of an Oklahoma winter.

It was during the week after New Years that a magnificent fairy-tale sized ice storm blew into town late, late one night. I woke up to find a veritable winter wonderland of 12 degree icy death outside. Ice coated every surface like the set of an alien planet on Star Trek. So I was stuck inside and Thad was, of course, over at Bettina’s across town spending the night again. 

Frowning, I made cocoa and sat in my study to glare out of the window and wait for him to call. As I was still on winter break, I didn’t have to go to school to work, but we had the next few days booked with activities. From what I could see from my window it looked like we were easily going to be iced in for at least three days, and maybe longer. Charlotte Brontë came and curled up in my lap, and her purring was reassuring. A red bird landed on the feeder outside the window, pecked around, and then flitted off.

Thad called about 12:30.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he sang.

“Have you looked outside?” I said, pacing, wishing I still smoked.  

“No. Is it bad?”

“Yes, it’s bad. We’re iced in. Are you just getting up?” I was approaching livid. I had already called him twice and texted once.

“Yeah,” he yawned, lighting a cigarette. “I saw you called. We stayed up late watching Turner Classic Movies. Did you know Princess Leia’s Mom could sing and dance?”

“Yes. Debbie Reynolds. Everyone knows that.”

“I didn’t.”

I scoffed like an old man, “There’s ice all over everything outside, and then snow on top of that. It’s not supposed to get above freezing for four more days, so we’re trapped. I guess Ma'am was right. We should have stocked up. Do you have your cling peaches?”

"Yeah,” he laughed, then said something to Bettina, laughed louder, and then said back to me, “Well, I guess I’ll just hang here till we can get out. Bettina’s going to call and cancel her clients.”    

“But we had plans,”  I snapped.

“What? You want to go antiquing out in the country? I am not driving in this.”

“I could come pick you up.” I sounded desperate but I wanted him to come home. I missed him already and was incredibly bored. I was bad alone. Bad like Shining bad when left alone, trapped.

“You drive horribly on good streets. Don’t you dare get out in this. You stay there and I’ll stay here and I’ll call you later. That’s that. Love,  love.”

“Yeah, well…” I began, but he had hung up.

I frowned at the red bird flying around outside the window; if only escape was that easy.

Here’s the good and bad thing about OCD: it gets a lot done, like it or not. So by mid-afternoon I had cleaned the house, baked a cake, done all the laundry, worked on my research book, talked on the phone to my mother and sister, made two lovely throw pillows for the Den couch, hand shampooed the bathroom rug, and read two frivolous magazines. Oh, and eaten most of the good food in the house, as I had decided to kick Oprah and her "Program" to curb as I was now eating for my life; there had to be a law somewhere that there is no dieting during weather you can literally die in.

And it was now just 3 PM and Thad had not called back yet. I looked out of the study window where nary a car went by. And when they did, it was only the big trucks, the ones driven by giant men with gun racks and massive facial hair; the ones who knew how to drive in this weather, or at least feared death so little that it didn’t matter to them one way or another.  

And I worried. About Thad.  

It's not that I didn't trust Thad, but I just really didn't trust Thad. Old habits never really died with him,they just fell to the bottom of his pants pockets until he randomly fished them out again. And Bettina was not a good influence. She was the cougar poster girl, with a Michelob in one hand and a Jager shot in the other, loudly wondering where her bra went. So I wanted to make sure he was okay. And safe. And still within my sphere of control. That’s all. So I worried.    

I watched a Volvo slide down the street and right through the four-way stop. It honked and turned slowly in a circle like a like giant metal ballerina. Hitting the opposite curb, it bounced off and continued on its way. There was no way I was driving, even though I desperately wanted to go gather him.

Thad called back at 5:15 and I was so pent-up and crazed I answered with, “Well, it took you long enough!”

“Michael?” Thad said.

“Yes,” I forced myself to calm. “Sorry.” And then I laughed an asylum laugh and whispered, “Oh, I was just watching TV. Sorry. Hey, honey, how are you?”

“Yeah, I’m fine," he said. "Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” I stood to pace.

“Are you sure? You sound bad.”

“I’m really bored.” I said in a louder whisper. “I wish you were here. I just don’t have anything to do. And I’m starting to get really manic.”

“Starting?” He said with a laugh.

“Shut-up!” I barked. Charlotte Brontë came to rub up against me and I just pushed her away.

“Have you worked on your book?” he asked.

“Yes, what I have of it here. The rest is in my office. And I cleaned. And even hand shampooed the bathroom rug.”

“Didn’t you just do that last week?”

“It needed it.” I snapped, then quietly, “I’m just bored. I miss you. ”

“Oh, calm down. Enjoy the day. We’re having a great time…”

He proceed to tell me how he and Bettina had made paper mache masks and then drank lemonade as they strung beads while sitting on her bed and had watched Lifetime all day and made cookies with the “biggest chocolate chips you have ever seen!”and were about to do cucumber facials and watch How Stella Got Her Groove Back.

“Oh really?” was all I could muster. “Really? Sounds fun.”

“Yeah,” he said rather quietly.

We were silent.

“I’m sorry you’re bored.” Thad said. “I miss you.” 

“I miss you too.”

“Maybe the roads will be better tomorrow, or the day after.”

“Yeah, I hope.”

We talked a little more and I faked being happy until he let me go so he could go do his facial. I just wanted to see him. And I was jealous that she got him and not me. I was the husband. I was the one who deserved to be entertained and made cookies with the “biggest chocolate chips you have ever seen” when iced in from a storm. Not her. But at least I tried to fake it with him.    

As I cradled the phone an idea came to me. What if I just went over there? He couldn’t say no to me. I would surprise him! He would have to come home. I glanced out of the window: it was getting dark and colder, so it was now or never.

I ran to put on my big coat and my giant snow boots. Breathing heavy, I knew what I was doing was stupid, ridiculous, illogical, but I was too overcome to stop. It was the first time that day that I actually felt alive.

Charlotte Brontë ran from the room as I skittered this way and that.

Out on the big front porch, I barely made it to down the three steps with my life they were so slippery. The ground was just one giant terrifying sheet of ice. But I was determined. If I could just get to my truck and start it up to defrost it, I would be safe. The sun was just starting to set, and the shadow of the house hung darkly over me.

I took one wobbly step toward my truck, then another, crunching through the hardened snow down to the ice. I almost fell, but caught myself and took one more step. And that’s when my right leg shot out from underneath me. I fell completely backwards to hit the driveway with a massive THUD! A heartbeat passed as I realized I was on my back and out of breath, but okay. And then from my prone position on the ground, I ever so gently slid down the incline of the drive until I wedged delicately underneath my truck.     

Yup.

It was amazing how filthy the bottom of the truck was.

And I just laid there feeling so ridiculously stupid. I was not hurt, but realized if I had hit my head I could have been knocked out and then I would have died here during the night, wedged under the car. No one would have seen me. And everyone would have referenced me from then on out as “that gay guy who died under his truck during that ice storm. Why was he under his truck? Was he changing the oil? In that weather? How stupid…” And I just could not have that.

I took a deep breath and admitted to myself that I had been beaten. Mother Nature had made me her bitch, and now I was stranded like a turtle on my back to prove it. I slowly pulled myself out from under the truck, my nice warm jacket now smeared with dirt and grease. Once free, I rolled myself over and crawled - on all fours, mind you - slowly back up the three porch steps, one by one by one, head hung in defeat and shame.   

Once back at the front door, panting, I realized I would not be driving anywhere for a few more days. But at least for the first time since this morning, I was happy to be alive.  

That night I watched a lot of dumb TV, made a few more calls and put myself to bed early hoping for sun tomorrow. Channel 9 weatherman Gary England said, “Two more days below freezing…then hopefully sun. So just stay inside till then!”

 I slept with an extra quilt and pillows in the shape of Thad next to me.