Rain Go Away

I pulled at the hem of my t shirt. They were out of smalls and mediums, and so the large light blue shirt I had received as part of the campus orientation volunteer team was completely swallowing me. I tried to twist the bottom into one of those cute knots frequently used by sorority girls to make oversized tees appear sexy, but I couldn’t figure it out. 1

“Guess I should’ve joined a sorority,” I muttered.2

Just then, Katie walked up and handed me a cool water bottle. “What was that?” 3

I glanced over at her. Her shirt was expertly knotted, of course. “Will you do that thingie?” I asked, pulling again at the hem of my shirt. She immediately knew what I was talking about; we had become experts at translating this kind of sister code ever since we were kids.4

“Geez Louise,” she sighed, quickly tying a perfect knot. I already felt more confident.5

“All right, we’re assigned to Monroe—the new freshman dorm,” she announced with a sympathetic look.6

I could already feel the day getting longer and more tiring. Even though it was August, Louisiana’s infamous humidity was already making it feel like a hell’s July. Not only that, but Monroe Hall had ELEVEN floors. I knew there would be an elevator, but also that we wouldn’t be able to use it. Elevators were reserved for moving large pieces of furniture, which was a.k.a. “boy work”. Girls were assigned to moving smaller, more manageable pieces, which meant that we’d be using the stairs… for all eleven floors.7

Katie took a sip of her water bottle, judging my reaction. “Are you mad that I guilted you into this?” 8

“Nah,” I said, masking my discontent. I was just glad that she was including me in the activity. Even though we went to college together, we hadn’t spent that much time hanging out. We had always been close growing up, since we were only two years apart, but college had somehow widened the difference. She was becoming different now, more focused on her friends and being twenty-one. Meanwhile, I was still the newbie, still trying to perfect my grades and decide what my second major should be. Even so, I was determined to make this year a little different. It was the start of my sophomore year and her senior year of college, and it was the last year we would be in such close proximity.9

“Ok. Well they’re about to do a little start-of-the-day thing, so we should go over to the front.”10

We walked down to the front of campus. A mass of overly-friendly collegiate youngsters in light blue oversized tees had collected, and were being divided into teams. As Katie predicted, we were assigned to the Monroe team and were then promptly told to start heading over there. Our orientation group waited at the front of the towering dorm for a bit, since the early bird freshmen families weren’t set to arrive for another twenty minutes or so. Our team leader gave us the overall strategy for the day: unload cars as quickly as possible, have three volunteers assigned to a family, transport all items before moving to a new family.11

“Oh, and one more thing,” the leader’s annoyingly upbeat tone shifted to serious. “We HAVE been getting reports that the hurricane in the Gulf is heading our way. There’s no official evacuation order as of right now, but you’ll be the first to know if we need to get out. For now, just proceed as normal.”12

I rolled my eyes at the severity of the warning. Growing up in southern Louisiana had numbed me to the potential danger. I could roll off a list of at least thirty hurricanes, all promising assured destruction and all falling horribly short of the hype. Floyd, Keith, Iris, Frances, Ivan, Dennis… hurricanes came through the Gulf every year, and every year people panic and then nothing happens. Maybe we get a couple of days off of school. Maybe a couple of traffic lights go out and there’s a bunch of leaves and debris in the roads, but that’s it. I had even started to look forward to hurricane season as a sort of early Fall break. 13

In fact, I could only remember one remotely severe hurricane from my childhood. In the beginning I had been really scared when my mom said it was coming our way, and I had started crying. Back then I didn’t understand the difference between a hurricane and a tornado. Katie and I had watched as our father put tape on our windows in the shape of large X’s. “It’s so if they get fall out, they won’t shatter,” he explained. I was four years old and still confused. He bent down and patted me on the back. “They tell hurricane Andrew to go away. Little Maggie wants to play!” I smiled and finished the song.14

“So rain, rain go away”15

The hurricane had hit the next day. Our power had gone out and so the entire house had been lit with candles. Katie and I had been toddlers then, and I remember our having to take a bath by candlelight. The tub had seemed dark and mystical, the water moving with flickering shadows from vanilla-scented candles. I had stayed in the bath longer than normal playing with my Fischer-Price boat and plastic Dalmatian toys even though the water wasn’t warm at all. 16

I also remember playing a lot of go fish, and eating taco salad for the first time. I called it tornado salad.17

Junior year of high school, another hurricane had also come close. “They say it’s headed right for the Mississippi river, which means it will keep its strength even when it hits land,” my brother had reported. He had been living in New Orleans at the time, and there had been a mandatory evacuation. School was cancelled and my friends and I took the day before the storm hit to celebrate. We had gone out to eat at an Irish-themed restaurant with TVs everywhere. They all were turned to the weather channel, with replaying images of the looming hurricane spinning wildly up the gulf. 18

“Hurricane Irene is a category 5—the highest category. Winds greater than 155 miles per hour,” the weather people reported in grave, official tones. 19

The next day Irene hit a pocket of dry air and slowed to a category 3. By the time it hit land it was a category 2 and all we got was a few windy days and drizzle. We were back at school in two days.20

Therefore, given the history, the orientation leader’s warning seemed trite and over-dramatized. 21

In no time the first families arrived at Monroe. Tiny new freshmen in their carefully selected “first day of school” outfits piled onto the quad with all of their worldly possessions. They had a slightly lost look about them as they tried to seem confident and mature in front of their gushingly proud parents. We directed the students to the orientation desk for room assignments while helping the parents to unload their cars. Turned out that eleven floors wasn’t all that bad. Every time a student was living on the fifth floor or higher, the task attracted a conquerable quality that drew extra volunteers. “This one’s on the ninth floor!” One volunteer would call out. Immediately three more people in blue orientation shirts would gather to help bring up the bedding, duffle bags, and mini-fridges. It was actually fun being able to help the incoming freshmen; I had been one just a short year ago, after all.22

The day lagged on, and the families piled into the dorm. Katie and I had stuck together throughout a majority of the moving, but I hadn’t seen her much while carrying up the last few plastic bins filled with shoes for a freshman girl living on the eighth floor. I trotted down the stairs looking forward to one of the cool cups of lemonade that the orientation team had been passing out. Coming out the side door of Monroe, I saw our orientation leader talking to a small group of volunteers. Katie emerged from the group and came quickly over to me. 23

“Ok, it looks like there’s going to be a mandatory evacuation order this afternoon. They’re giving us an early warning so that we can get out early if we are able.”24

My heart skipped. Mandatory evacuation always sounds scary.25

“The deal is that we’re supposed to unload all the people who are already here, but we tell incoming families to make alternate plans. We can start leaving in the next couple of hours.”26

“What are we supposed to tell the new students?” I asked, not quite processing the situation.27

“Just to unload their cars if their stuff is already out, but if not then they just need to start heading back to wherever they came from.”28

“Geez, that’s tough. Oh well, welcome to Tulane!” I joked, trying to recall the levity I had been feeling earlier. The somber faces of the orientation staff were getting to me.29

Things worsened when they made the announcement to the incoming families, most of which were from the Northeast and had no idea what a hurricane was, merely that it was some sort of catastrophic nightmare. 30

The panic became tangible, and the feeling grew with every passing moment. Fathers hurriedly repacked all their belongings and yelled at their kids to get back in their cars. Mothers grilled the orientation leader for more information that he didn’t have. Freshmen lost their feigned confidence and reverted to being dependant high school students.31

The volunteer staff stayed for a while to help everyone load up, but the fear was contagious. I felt more and more anxious that we needed to get out of the city as soon as possible, and more and more bothered that we were required to stay and help. The parents were getting more and more desperate, and were also starting to harass the volunteer staff. I tried to be as assuring as I could, but their questions were getting more and more ridiculous.32

Walking across the quad, I felt someone tug on my t shirt. The cute knot that Katie had tied came undone. “Excuse me, Miss?” I turned to see a desperate father, the alarm rising in his voice. His embarrassed son trailed closely behind him. “We have PLANE tickets for tomorrow and we weren’t set to leave until then. WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO!?”33

“Umm… I’m really not sure… I don’t know anything about your flight… maybe call them? I really don’t know.” I shrugged and tried to get away. What did they expect me to do? I was panicking now too and was more eager than ever to get out of New Orleans.34

Finally the volunteers were allowed to leave. Katie and I both headed over to her off campus apartment since I had been crashing there before the dorms opened. We cleared out all of her perishable food from the refrigerator and packed up a week’s worth of clothes. “Everyone freaks out, and then it’s always not that big of a deal,” Katie reminded me, as she pulled out a large roll of packing tape. Together we tore and cut long pieces and carefully taped large X’s on the windows. 35

Seeing them there, sprawled across the glass was oddly comforting; they would somehow protect us from harm.36

We packed up our cars and headed for our parents’ house in Baton Rouge, which was only an hour’s drive west from New Orleans. I called our parents and let them know about the evacuation order, the panic now rising in my voice. My dad seemed blissfully unaware of my concern.37

“Well Ok, just head on over here.”38

“Dad, make sure you go and buy ice and fill up the cars with gas. They’ve already run out of gas in New Orleans.”39

“Okey dokey, Mags. We’ve got it covered. See you in a couple of hours.”40

Five hours later, we were still less than halfway there. The mass exodus of the citizens of New Orleans was slowing everything down. Not only that, but officials kept closing the exits that we needed to get to our destination, so we were forced to go north. 41

Katie and I were quiet during most of the trip. We were both nervous and growing more concerned that we’d never make it to Baton Rouge if the exits kept closing. By the sixth hour of our trip we had to stop at a gas station for food and fuel. As we drove around the small town looking for a suitable rest stop, we noticed that a majority of the locations there had already closed. Almost everyone had already left. The unwelcome silence made it seem like an abandoned ghost town. I remember thinking, “Wow. This time is different...Katrina will be different.”42

Finally we found one gas station that had remained open. It was run by an older man with a camo hat and John Deere shirt. When we asked him if he knew of any exits that we could use to get to Baton Rouge, he started laughing.43

“Well you need to turn around if you’re goin’ that way.”44

“Right, but they’ve shut down all the roads going towards New Orleans. We CAN’T turn around,” Katie explained.45

“Well I guess you’re shit outta luck, Miss.” He shrugged.46

Katie turned away from him and walked out of the store. I paid for our food and went over to her. She was crying.47

“Hey,” I said, trying to be as soothing as possible, “We’ll get there eventually. Don’t worry… how about I keep driving for the next shift and you can sleep or something.”48

“You don’t get it! You’re just blindly following the evacuation road,” she hissed.
It was true. I was horrible with directions, and really had no idea where we were in relation to home. I was simply following the blue “hurricane route” signs. I just figured that they’d let us get home somehow…I hoped.49

Her sobbing increased and she turned away from me for a second. I had never seen her break down like this before. She was the older sibling, and had always been the more mature one—able to handle anything. 50

But it was my turn to be the mature one. “Ok," I started, scrambling to come up with a suitable remedy to our situation, "We’ll find a policeman and ask them what we should do. They’ll know which exits are open.” Her crying quieted for a second as she thought about the plan. 51

“Will that be Ok?” I nudged her, attempting to elicit a response.52

She wiped her eyes and nodded. I held up a bag of peanut m&m’s and pushed out my bottom lip, mimicking her expression. She smiled and held out her hand; it was her favorite candy. We stood there munching on our snack for a second before turning to head back to the car.53

“What was with that guy, anyway?” I joked. 54

Katie laughed, and put on her best Southern accent, “Well shiiit missy, yer jist plum outta luck!”55

***56

It took us four more hours to get home. Exhausted and mentally drained, we immediately received giant hugs from our parents and a much-needed warm meal. Going to bed that night felt oddly normal. Katie’s and my rooms shared a bathroom, and so I could hear her brushing her teeth and washing her face. Both of us getting ready for bed in the house where we grew up together made it feel like we were back in high school—back to being the inseparable sisters that we once were. 57

When we finally turned out our lights, I laid there in bed for a second listening to see if I could hear any signs of the approaching storm. I strained my ears in the silence, trying to hear if there was any howling wind, or crashing rain, or breaking branches, but it was completely silent: the erie calm before the storm. 58

“Why am I so convinced that I would hear something, anyway?” I thought. “Everyone freaks out, and then it’s always Ok,“ I repeated. But I couldn't shake the feeling that this hurricane would be different. 59

I was laying there in bed thinking all this when suddenly I heard Katie’s muffled voice from the other room. “Good night!” She called out, as we had always done as kids, ever since we had gotten our own rooms. She was there in the dark, too, just a room away. We were together, and we had made it home.60

I breathed a sigh of brief comfort and pulled my covers closer around me. The storm would wait until tomorrow.61

***62