I love storms. The wind whips my long brown hair against my neck and my cheek. It raises the weight of my tresses up off my shoulders to dance with an invisible force. I want to stay, yet they tell us we must go. The evacuation is mandatory. The bridge is open as are all the roads through tomorrow (Tuesday) morning, according to the police. They will reassess the situation tomorrow, but we they remind us we are under a mandatory evacuation order.
I don’t want to go.
We’re all saying it. As we pack up the towels, the suitcases we unpacked two days ago, the $300 worth of food we bought for the week, and the beverages. The super warns us that the elevator will be shut off soon. My aunt would have a hard time on the stairs. The super says the police came by to check that everyone was departing. The super is the worst pest we’ve encountered, buzzing around every so often.
What about the people on the third floor, we ask. They told us from their balcony this morning that they were staying. Their GA Bulldogs license plated car is the only other one left besides ours. They own their unit and are allowed to stay. We find out later that the police will come knocking, and those who want to stay will sign a waiver. What they are waiving, we do not know. We wish we could sign a waiver.
We vacate the condo leaving little sign we were there. My middle is the color of Almond Silk. The sky is not overcast. A few people still walk the beach. The push-me-pull-you insects are called “love bugs” I learn. We pull out on the road and the super buzzes away.
The wind is a tad stronger, though still not enough to lift my hair.