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Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details. Why there is only ever one rider of the storm by J. G. Fabiano
Seasons in northern New England never change gradually.One day it's sunny and warm with people walking the beaches in shorts and t-shirts and then, within minutes, the winds of autumn turn the beach into one big sand-blower that threatens to scrape the hair right off your head. These are the same winds that ruin fall by stripping the leaves from the trees and turning our tidy little world upside down. This happened to me the other day as I drove to work. The day before was warm and sunny, so, I wore a short-sleeved shirt and left my jacket at home. I guess I was hoping this would be the year summer would last forever. I guess I was wrong. As I walked into my garage I heard the wind howl; a sound I hadn't heard since last March. It was a harbinger that we were in for some interesting weather and as soon as I left my garage I knew I was right. Backing out of the driveway was like backing into a giant wind tunnel that kept trying to push me back into the garage. I swear the back end of my truck lifted into the air a couple of times. Until then I thought my truck was heavy enough that it would never leave the road. After veering onto the lawn and backward over my mailbox I knew I was wrong. Driving down the road was like driving through an inter-galactic battlescene from an old "Star Wars" movie. My truck was swarmed by thousands of little red, yellow, and brown leaf-shaped star fighters that clogged my windshield, trying to block my vision and force me into the ditch. I did manage to stay out of the ditch but only at the cost of driving over my neighbor's mailbox. In the midst of the wind and the leaves, broken twigs slashed and scraped at my truck like spearheads. Then, halfway down the road I ran into the heavy artillery; flying projectiles of garbage. I didn't even know it was garbage day until I ran over a garbage bag in the middle of the road and it exploded like a shell burst, spewing its contents all over my truck. I stomped on the accelerator to try and escape the flying debris only to meet up with what had launched the garbage in the first place. A large plastic garbage can bounced off the hood and flew off into the storm. Then a blue recycling bin skittered across the road disgorging old newspapers and flattened cardboard boxes that quickly became airborne only to wrap themselves around my truck so that it looked like a Christmas present wrapped by a four-year old. Through the fluttering sheets of newspaper and flapping cardboard boxes I saw empty wine bottles rolling across the road, threatening to smash under my wheels and rip my tires wide open. I swerved around the bottles, waiting for that sickening crunching sound followed by the thudding deceleration of a flat, and somehow made it to the end of my road. Then I turned onto Route 1and as I was on a main thoroughfare I thought the going would be a lot easier. Wrong again! Since I leave for work before 6:30 in the morning, the ride is always a bit dark. This time the journey down Route 1 was like driving through a tunnel of heaving, seething darkness. Sinister shapes moved all around me. The trees growled and snarled at me, reached down to me with their great gnarly limbs and tried to sweep me from the road. I flinched as a dark, leafed hand snatched at the front of my truck and exploded against the fender in a shower of twigs, leaves and wood chips. I also noticed that I seemed to be the only driver foolish enough to venture out on such a foul day because the road in front and behind me was deserted. Which was a good thing because a couple of times I realized I was driving down the wrong side of the road and if somebody had been coming from the opposite direction I would have ended up in their front seat. The farther I drove down Route 1 the stronger the wind became. The thunderous roar that reverberated through my truck made my teeth rattle - but I kept going because I had a job to get to. A couple of miles down the road I saw a bright light ahead of me at the new bridge they were building by Bosun's Landing. The closer I came to the bridge the higher the light climbed into the sky. I then realized the light must be on one of the giant cranes they were using to build the bridge. One of the cranes I assumed would end my trip once and for all. As I approached the bridge I noticed that the crane was swaying back and forth in the wind like a giant limbless tree. Once again I accelerated, hoping I could sneak by before it flattened me like a giant fly swatter. As I passed safely I sighed in relief - until I realized the bridge was moving. It felt as though the whole truck was cradled in a giant hammock that was swaying gently from side to side. Once again I stepped on the gas, imagining the bridge collapsing beneath me just as I made the leap across the swirling river to the bank on the other side. I hate to admit this but I came off that bridge like a rocket and if I hadn't slowed down as I roared up the incline on the other side I might just have got all four wheels airborne. For the rest of the trip down Route 1 my eyes were glued to the windshield and my knuckles bone white as I clutched the steering wheel as if my life depended on it. At this point in the drive I was pretty sure it did. The wind continued to buffet the truck from all directions. The trees looked as though they might be torn from the ground and, at any minute, I expected to see a cow fly past - or at least the Wicked Witch of the West from "The Wizard of Oz." I continued my journey in a mixture of fear and awe. Working my way onto Route 95 I again noticed that there were few other vehicles on the road. Then I glanced at my rear-view mirror only to observe many pairs of lights gaining on me. I thought I was cruising at a fast pace for the conditions but these lights closed on my tail relentlessly and, as they got closer, I realized they were a lot higher off the pavement than regular car lights. Then I knew that the lights were not the lights of regular cars or trucks. They were the lights of giant 16 wheelers howling down the road like battle-cruisers, their drivers knowing that nobody else would be on the road in the midst of a storm like this. Within 30 seconds I was hemmed in between four giant trucks; one in front of me, one on each side of me and the fourth right behind me. For a minute I knew what it must be like to be the President, booming down an empty highway with armored cars on all sides. I also knew that if I veered a couple of inches out of my lane I would be squished like a gnat beneath those giant wheels. It was probably just a minute before the truckers passed me by but in that minute, I swear, I saw an entire re-run of my life through the windshield. For the rest of the trip I don't think I blinked and I clenched the steering wheel so hard my fingers actually morphed into the steering wheel and I prayed. I prayed that my little truck would be the little truck that could. By some miracle I made it into the parking lot at school. As I parked my truck I noticed that what should have been a full parking lot was empty. Despite the storm I was the first teacher to arrive. This was what came of leaving home early on a day like today, I thought. I bent into the wind and ran up to the school as the storm slapped and cuffed at me for daring to defy its power. When I got to the front door I saw a sign taped to the glass. It said: "Due to extreme weather school will be closed today."I heaved a huge sigh. At least I think it was a sigh, but it might have been a sob. I took a deep breath, knowing I had no choice but to turn around and go home. On the way out of the parking lot I took out another mailbox. I think it was an accident!
The End
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