Storm Serial, Part III

So there we were, headed home on I-30. It was -- definitely -- a dark and stormy night. (That one was for Anglican.) The strangest thing about the water was that it seemed to come up at me, as much as down on me. Thick curving waves of it -- like miniature ocean surf -- flowed up, around my wheels and down the sides of my car if I strayed too far from the "sweet spot" in the center of the lane. When other -- larger and more fool-hardy -- cars passed me, buckets of water splashed over the roof of my car, down the windshield and across the hood.

The worst was when the rain itself thickened. It was like standing behind a gray vinyl shower curtain, without contacts, trying to see through. The landscape was reduced to dark blobs and fuzzy points of light. Speed reduced from 35 ... to 30.... to 25... to 20. And still the passing of another vehicle felt like the boom of a jet exceeding the sound barrier.

I had a CD on -- Third Day's "Offerings," I'm pretty sure -- and I kept edging the volume higher as the storm got louder. At some point, just after a larger car passed and the swush of water pushed my little wagon onto what felt like two tires, I realized I was clutching the wheel, hunched into the dash, doing my best "ten-minutes-to-Wapner" Rainman routine to the beat of BLARING Christian music. Oh, not pretty. Nervous breakdown, here we come.

I decided to pull over (three lanes to go, and cars scattered all along the shoulder) to collect my thoughts. My very sharp friend recognized the move and did the same just ahead of me. I brought the car to a complete stop (hands and feet inside the vehicle!) and dialed her cell. I was straining to hear the ring above the driving rain.

"Hello?" says Susie.
"Well, I'm freaking awake now!!" (I think I might have forgotten to say hi back.)
We briefly discussed the highway insanity and Suse suggested she check in with her all-knowing, ever-capabale spouse. "He'll be tracking the storm on radar." She said she'd call me back shortly, once she got spousal reassurance that the worst had passed and we were almost home.

A few minutes and one barely audible song later, my cell rang. "Well, that wasn't very helpful." I learned that BT had said something profoundly reassuring to his wife... something pretty much like, "No shit it's bad! You're right in the middle of it."

Oh, words cannot describe. The sudden, defeated letting go of all hope that this, too, will quickly pass. 'Cause it wasn't gonna. Pass. Quickly.

Nothing to do but cowboy up and shoulder on. We saw an opening and I pulled out first. The going was a little better as lead pony. Less water on my windshield.

Conditions still stunk, and I had to REALLY watch my speed -- it was easy to slide into a faster pace than I could control with my not-exactly-new brakes. I passed the time thinking about just how badly our friends would feel if we got into an accident! They simply hadn't done enough to stop us and, boy, would their collective conscience suffer! (Yep, you spotted it: maturity in action.) I thought long and hard about the pithy lines we could use if we called them from Susie's garage. I wouldn't even wait to be fully indoors before I kicked off the guilt parade.

Little by little, road signs became more familiar and a little easier to read. The skies lightened and overpasses came into full view. By the time I saw the "Tom Landry Highway"sign with the little fedora above the words, I was pretty sure we were going to live.

Oh, and in the higher visibility of dimishing rain, the cars seemed fairly unscathed, too. My first reaction to these cheerful revelations? "Ah, crum! No guilt parade!"

About 6 minutes later, we were turning onto Susie's street and, slowly, still cautiously, edging into her driveway. The smart aleck stood in the back doorway, waiting up for us and, of course, sending us his best thoughts through the worst of the storm. He was glad we hadn't perished. But BT never doubted we'd be fine. Doppler radar notwithstanding, we are the kind of girls well equipped to survive any -- and I mean any -- of life's storms.