My hurricane story.
The morning of the hurricane began leisurely. I woke up around nine o’clock and was greeted by black windows, barred by our storm shutters. I got dressed and padded into the kitchen to make myself two pancakes. Marie and Mom were already awake and sewing together quilts in the dining room. The glass doors in the kitchen were uncovered. Outside, the gray sky drizzled halfheartedly and every once and a while we heard the faint howling of wind. Over the course of the morning, the power went out about five times, but only for a few seconds. That was the worst of Wilma.
At about noon, Dad decided it was time to roll up the storm shutters. I jumped at the opportunity to let some daylight into the house. First came the dining room, then the den, and then I hit Steve’s bedroom. I cranked away until I had only a few inches to go. But instead of rolling up all the way, the shutter stopped with a loud WHUNK.
A few seconds of silence followed, and then I heard a scream. It was long and loud, and it was coming from the rolled-up shutter. Fear seized me. The scream had definitely come from an animal. Then it screamed again. And again.
Then it was my turn.
“Dad!!” I yelled. “I think I just killed something! Come in here, quick!” Dad and Steve came running into the room. The animal continued to yell.
“What is it?” I demanded, beginning to sound hysterical. “I think it’s a squirrel. I think I’ve crushed it.”
“That… that sounds like a cat,” my dad said.
My eyes grew to the size of oranges. I pointed to the top of the shutter outside the window. “You mean there’s a cat up in there?”
“Yes!” he nodded. “Get outside and look!”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I shot down the hall past Mom, who wanted to know what was up. I babbled something about feeling terrible, and hurtled into the rain outside. It was about 62 degrees, not counting wind chill, but I didn’t notice. I plowed into the bushes outside of Steve’s bedroom, searching the storm shutters for any sign of a trapped animal. I couldn’t see a thing, though the poor animal continued to yowl. I felt incredibly helpless.
We decided to roll the shutters back down in hopes of freeing the animal. After that, the screaming stopped. But we still had to get it out of there. Steve and I spent the better half of an hour unscrewing the casing on his storm shutters. By the time he finished loosening it, my brother was soaked through. I retrieved a stepladder for myself so the two of us could lift the casing off. Dad came outside to watch. I unhooked the aluminum casing and together we lowered it down.
“Slowly,” Steve cautioned. “It might jump out.”
“Yup,” I nodded, my stepladder teetering in the wind. Once safely clutching one end of the casing, I checked the exposed shutter roll.
“Look in the trough,” Steve commanded.
“I don’t see anything.”
“No! The trough!” he repeated. I realized he meant the casing we were holding.
I looked down.
Inside the casing sat four fat tree frogs. I was about to disregard them when I realized what they meant.
“Well, looks like it was just the frogs,” Dad shrugged. “I guess they were on the shutters and got wrapped up.” He retreated into the warmth of the house. Steve and I lowered the casing onto the ground.
“Frogs can scream?” I demanded.
“Well,” Steve scratched his soaking hair. “Once, my friend’s mom told me she was chopping down a tree with an axe when she heard a scream.” He imitated the frog’s cry. “She saw a frog hop off with a leg missing.”
“Well, I guess that settles that.” I leaned over the casing to clear the frogs out. “Hey, Steve,” I picked up one lethargic toad. “This guy looks a little flat.”
“Hey, frog-killer!” I heard my dad yell. “Mom needs you in the kitchen!” I groaned and ran, freezing, into the house.
At about noon, Dad decided it was time to roll up the storm shutters. I jumped at the opportunity to let some daylight into the house. First came the dining room, then the den, and then I hit Steve’s bedroom. I cranked away until I had only a few inches to go. But instead of rolling up all the way, the shutter stopped with a loud WHUNK.
A few seconds of silence followed, and then I heard a scream. It was long and loud, and it was coming from the rolled-up shutter. Fear seized me. The scream had definitely come from an animal. Then it screamed again. And again.
Then it was my turn.
“Dad!!” I yelled. “I think I just killed something! Come in here, quick!” Dad and Steve came running into the room. The animal continued to yell.
“What is it?” I demanded, beginning to sound hysterical. “I think it’s a squirrel. I think I’ve crushed it.”
“That… that sounds like a cat,” my dad said.
My eyes grew to the size of oranges. I pointed to the top of the shutter outside the window. “You mean there’s a cat up in there?”
“Yes!” he nodded. “Get outside and look!”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I shot down the hall past Mom, who wanted to know what was up. I babbled something about feeling terrible, and hurtled into the rain outside. It was about 62 degrees, not counting wind chill, but I didn’t notice. I plowed into the bushes outside of Steve’s bedroom, searching the storm shutters for any sign of a trapped animal. I couldn’t see a thing, though the poor animal continued to yowl. I felt incredibly helpless.
We decided to roll the shutters back down in hopes of freeing the animal. After that, the screaming stopped. But we still had to get it out of there. Steve and I spent the better half of an hour unscrewing the casing on his storm shutters. By the time he finished loosening it, my brother was soaked through. I retrieved a stepladder for myself so the two of us could lift the casing off. Dad came outside to watch. I unhooked the aluminum casing and together we lowered it down.
“Slowly,” Steve cautioned. “It might jump out.”
“Yup,” I nodded, my stepladder teetering in the wind. Once safely clutching one end of the casing, I checked the exposed shutter roll.
“Look in the trough,” Steve commanded.
“I don’t see anything.”
“No! The trough!” he repeated. I realized he meant the casing we were holding.
I looked down.
Inside the casing sat four fat tree frogs. I was about to disregard them when I realized what they meant.
“Well, looks like it was just the frogs,” Dad shrugged. “I guess they were on the shutters and got wrapped up.” He retreated into the warmth of the house. Steve and I lowered the casing onto the ground.
“Frogs can scream?” I demanded.
“Well,” Steve scratched his soaking hair. “Once, my friend’s mom told me she was chopping down a tree with an axe when she heard a scream.” He imitated the frog’s cry. “She saw a frog hop off with a leg missing.”
“Well, I guess that settles that.” I leaned over the casing to clear the frogs out. “Hey, Steve,” I picked up one lethargic toad. “This guy looks a little flat.”
“Hey, frog-killer!” I heard my dad yell. “Mom needs you in the kitchen!” I groaned and ran, freezing, into the house.