The things we forget in a storm

It was eight years ago that this village was wracked by the hurricane that blew through and coughed up that incredible and awful man that led all of us down this path towards direction and a bitter bitter sense of being stuck. We started seeing things differently once he came along. We started to have ideas about the world, and our place in it. We looked down alleys and from the tops of towers towards uncharted horizons. What had we been thinking all those years prior? Where had we spent our time? He had a path we could take.

Take 75 and you’ll run into the cluster of houses that served as our county’s town hall. Past the mobile library, and beyond the strip mall where the automotive industry laid its mark. Out there, beyond the “L” and the downtown promenade is our town hall. It’s six or seven buildings, connected together by a walkway, that serves as our town hall. You can fix your feet on it and talk to anyone there. You may have to meander a bit to get what you want- politicians don’t satisfy every request a person makes right away- but it’s a designated path to get what you want.

Of course Rickety Rob and his bluegrass singers knew this was the case for many years before Humphrey fell out of the sky and redesigned our sense of our town. Once Humphrey came along, everyone knew to go to the town hall to get the things they wanted. He talked of mobilization and cross-currents as if he had seen the gospel lived out and made comment on our collective positioning. Humphrey leaned on our town hall like he had the surest notion it would deliver us. Rob and his crew could be remembered for saying things like “Oh yeah, town hall will get you what you need,” but they did not shape our collective recognition the way Humphrey did.

What Humphrey saw in our town was a simple enough lay out of people who needed something, and a structure that could provide it. It was simple for him. Masses could mobilize. Individuals mattered. There were structures in place. I remember, because I was young when he came to town. It was during a storm just like the one happening now. And I was eight at the time, hardly old enough to assert for myself the good which I have seen and known. But now I am sixteen and I can confirm that what Humphrey said is all true. And I know that we are better now as a town than we have ever been, but the world needs to swallow goodness up.

“Elsa!” My mom cried. “I need those juniper buds!” In the past, every day was always a competition, but now we all compete to impress Humphrey. This is something that hasn’t changed much. Before we competed for the best houses and jobs and now we compete to please Humphrey. Who best knows his teachings? Who can attribute the right thought to what he’s said and done? Nevermind that competition itself irks him, that is something we haven’t been able to change about ourselves. I reflect on all this as I head out to the fire station to pick up the juniper buds the firemen have set aside for my mother, as she curates a nearby garden.

I walk along a dark passage, one hidden by shadow, and squint for a second as I see one of Rickety Rob’s gang digging in the dirt. What is he getting at there? Rickety Rob and his gang are the only people who haven't exactly taken to Humphrey’s presence in our town. It’s not that they oppose him, it’s just that they seem to take the view that the course of our affairs will right itself again, that Humphrey has not really made that large of an impact on the town, and that the business of returning to the way things used to be is at hand any day; that Humphrey’s guidance is a temporary thing.

I’ve walked this path so many times I can tell you where all the divots are. There’s an incline up ahead and then it’s downhill for a while, but mostly it’s just the same old path. I know that once I get over this hump I will be walking downhill and that won’t be so strenuous. I even know that Rickety Rob’s guy back there was digging into a patch of soil that used to produce flowers. In other words, I know that he’s not just digging into asphalt. In truth, there is still good soil all around here.

I arrive at the fire station and I am struck once again at the imposing nature of the fire station. It was built on three stories and sits back seemingly brooding on itself. It’s a difficult structure to look at in the light of day. Much less at night. Much less when the sirens sound and a firetruck shoots out. Why did they build such an ominous looking firehouse? I will never know, but I make it my aim to get the juniper buds as quickly as I can and then get back to my mother so she can get on with her job.

When I return home I am immediately startled by what the television says about the storm. It will be as bad as the storm eight years ago where Humphrey mysteriously appeared. Many people are wondering if another such stranger will appear out of nowhere. I know storms like this one are always a concern even if nothing as transformative as the appearance of an impressive person happens. Things can be torn down. Places reshaped. And all of that can still happen even if no one miraculously appears.

I am in the back garden now by myself and I am thinking about the morning’s winds and I am thinking about how we must be experiencing a break in the storm when someone walks up to the fence and gets my attention. “Excuse me ma’am, could I trouble you to fill a vase of water?” In a moment of panic I turn around and see that it is one of Rickety Rob’s gang asking about a vase of flowers he must have picked. He is standing in front of the gate and looking at me. “If you’ll open this gate, I wouldn’t mind a jug of water for the flowers.” I pause for a moment thinking of any time one of Rickety Rob’s gang might have come this way before, but can’t remember when I tell him that I will gladly fill the vase for him.

It’s a precious situation meeting strangers’ needs. The gang is hardly a group of total strangers to me as I know them well from town stories and of course from the music, but one must always be careful. Does he need shelter from the storm? Is that what he’s getting at? I’m hardly sure of any of this when I fill the vase, but I can observe his manners. I return it to him filled up and he seems to be pleased and then, slowly, he walks away.

When my mother returns home from the garden the rains have started to pick up and she is hurrying inside to avoid getting dumped on. “Hey Elsa,” she is saying as she puts some bags down in the kitchen, “I was walking out past Humphrey’s house and I noticed that none of the lights were on. You should go over there to see if he lost power or something.” I thought this was a classic thing for a mother to say, but couldn’t deny the appeal, still it was starting to rain really hard.

Suddenly the storm is getting worse. Heavy rain is hitting our windows and there are patches of the neighborhood we can no longer see from the window. The winds are getting very intense and we can hear the pattering of the rain on the roof and we can hear the thunder outside. It’s in these moments that I am glad I’m inside and not out in the storm. Suddenly, I hear my mother scream. “Honey!” she says. “Humphrey is out walking in the storm!”

I rush into the kitchen and I have a million ideas about this very predicament. He is so good, he’s coming to warn us of something. I had better get an umbrella to go shelter him. He needs to be in the kitchen with us where it is dry. I have a million ways to remedy this very predicament so I rush over to the closet to get the umbrella to bring him in, and I grab the umbrella and I rush out the door to grab Humphrey and I see him in the storm. He is slowly walking towards the end of the street.

“Humphrey!” I am screaming as I’m walking out into the storm and behind me are the echoes of Rickety Rob’s bluegrass band playing even in this storm from a nearby overhang crying out “And I won’t be seen no more!” and I am trudging along this road in the horrid winds charting a path along this road that I know by heart trying to get Humphrey into the shelter of our kitchen but losing sight of him all the time in this weather.

“Elsa,” Humphrey has stopped and has turned towards me just past Euclid avenue. I can see that he is completely drenched. And the wind is beating at his hair and head. “Humphrey,” I am screaming, “you need to get indoors, it’s storming!” But he is not coming towards me. He is standing there and then he opens his mouth to speak and he says “Don’t forget me.” And then, like that, he is gone. The rain swallowed him up.

I am completely stunned about this. I walk back down the street towards the house and the soil underfoot is completely drenched with water. I notice a million things still flying through the air- rain, sticks, bugs, flowers. I am hurrying down the street when I stop. I realize I am lost. I look down at my feet and then I turn around to look at the street sign behind me that says Euclid and I do not know it. I turn back around and examine the path down along the way ahead. It curves and moves in an unusual pattern. I don’t know where I am. I begin walking forward and I see that the ground dips in front of me. I don’t remember who I am. I don’t know where I am going. I let the umbrella drop to my side and I look up into the sky. I see white.