It’s coming.
Nothing to be done, nothing to be said, so we talk about the weather.
All summer long it was drought. Now, it’s hurricane season again. New Orleans better look out, Florida, the Carolinas too. We’re all under water, but my mother calls to warn about storms coming from the coast, high winds, the potential for flash floods.
There’s a whole cult of weather worshippers out there, obsessively watching the weather channel, the Doppler, afraid to blink. You’d never know them on the street or in the pew next to you at church, but TV is their temple, and they’re often too afraid to go outside.
I’m often too afraid to go outside.
I flew into Salt Lake on Tuesday, it was clear skies, 81 degrees, that’s the captain speaking. Flying home on Wednesday, same thing, clear skies, 81 degrees.
It must mean something.
I took the parking shuttle to my car at the airport, the driver was bald, forties, glasses. Avoided eye contact.
Glad to see this heat’s letting up, he said.
Yeah, finally.
It gets hotter every year.
It does, but I’m thinking: ok, that’s enough.
Winter’s warmer too.
I don’t answer.
Don’t know what we’re gonna do with this weather, he goes on. Seems like the heat is endless, all these storms coming through every year.
All right, I think. Ok. I get it.
Seems like something’s up.
That’s it, I don’t say, no tip.
Yknow?
I’m good, here, I tell him.
Slip says your cars two aisles that way.
It’s okay, I tell him.
You sure?
It’s fine.