CAKE | 22 — Cyclones

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They can hit any time. And they may have been developing for days before we experience their arrival. Though the most intense ones seem to happen instantly. All of a sudden the wind picks up, the temperature drops and before we know it we are standing knee deep in water, wading through the remains of the days. But at that point nothing seems salvageable. Nothing really matters much anyway.

Cyclones form far away, in places we’ve never been to. Arriving at our homes ready to unleash all their fury. Some of us are more vulnerable than others. But at the end we’re all exposed and defenceless, at the mercy of nature. No matter where we set up camp, it’s only a question of time before we’re in the midst of a disaster. The effects of cyclones are called lows or depressions. They can annihilate everything in their path. They leave us clutching our chests, covering our mouths, they leave us traumatised. Even years later the slightest change in air pressure can stop us in our tracks.

We have weathered many storms in our lives but it seems like they have been getting stronger, more demanding. As if nature was taking back what’s hers – with vengeance. Ripping apart houses and families, toppling bridges, flooding roads, reclaiming land and in the process exposing our hubris. Some cities might vanish in the next few years. Some might become uninhabitable. And yet, we remain. To the unaffected this defiance seems nonsensical. Why don’t we heed the warnings? Why do we stay in a place that forces us to endure pain and loss? Why do we hang on to a life interrupted by devastating storms again and again? Why don’t we just leave? It’s not ignorance or fear that keeps us here, neither is it the house or the land. It’s the others. It’s our sense of belonging. Our foundation is humanity. And we can always rebuild on love.

You’ve endured many storms. You have been subjected to various sudden changes in atmospheric pressure throughout your life, followed by thunder and then unbearable silence. But this one came so suddenly, so out of season. There was no prediction. It hit on a quiet day, on your way back home.

The windshield wipers could hardly keep up with the rain. Rubber on glass squeezing rhythmically and at full speed. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. You couldn’t see anything beyond what was directly in front of the car and even that just barely. You turned off the radio, trying to focus on the road, watching it vanish right before your eyes. It felt like the ocean was trying to pull you in. Water everywhere, splashing, spraying and flowing in horizontal streaks on your side window. You could feel it underneath your feet. Your car was moving through a sea of asphalt, slowly floating forward. All while your heart was racing. You gripped the steering wheel harder, even though you knew it would have no effect. You just hoped your senses were sharp enough to react quickly if the water took control, to overcome your urge to break or to try to steer. Inside it was getting muggy, outside darker by the second. You squinted, trying hard not to miss your exit when suddenly the top of a speed sign swooshed past your windshield. As if to remind you of your limits. It missed your car by a few millimeters. 

Once you were off the expressway and on the dirt road the rain got even heavier. The winds got louder, tearing at your car, as if trying to pull it, lift it, roll it into a ditch, bending trees as if to warn you not to continue down the road. Throwing branches and spitting up leaves and other debris at your car, howling. You ignored the warning. This was the only way home. What else was there to do? No point in wading it out. No place to do so anyway in this vast land of woods. No bridge in sight to seek shelter beneath. No other way than through it. You saw it just in time not to hit it. The car came to a stop right in front of a massive tree trunk that was blocking the road. Nature imploring you to stop. For a second you wondered if you could pull it away and immediately snickered at the thought. The road ended here. No way to turn around. You briefly considered backing up but where to? This was the only road home. And you were so close, only a five minute walk away, possibly ten with headwinds.

This is why we told you to always have a decent pair of boots and a flashlight in your car. Back then you thought that was a bit dramatic. Now you found yourself crawling onto the backseat, pulling down one of the back rests and reaching into the trunk, stretching out your arms and getting the shoes out one by one, grabbing them by their laces while the rain was thrashing outside, banging on the exterior. Back in the driver seat you put on the boots, tied your hair into a bun and pulled your purse over your head and across your body. You grabbed the flashlight, closed your eyes, inhaled and exhaled and then you opened the door. You held on to the handle tightly so as not to let the wind take the door off its hinges. And then you stepped into the mud. Your clothes were drenched before you even shut the door. The muck made a sucking noise as you moved your feet away from the car. You turned on your flashlight, climbed over the fallen tree and walked out into the dark storm, bracing your body against the wind. Rain was dripping down your face, whipping your legs, insisting you finally give up. And then you heard us. Shouting your name, coming to see you through this.

 
Sabina Ciechowski