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Genre: Nonfiction, Personal Essay
I have lived in dry climates all my life. Where most people
use rain as a euphemism for gloom, to me rain always represented hope. I was always
happy-ish when it rained.
It was hot during the first part of September 2013. To quote
the Boulder Daily Camera, “the talk on the street the first full weekend of
September was about the heat. Boulder tied a record for the date with 93
degrees that Sunday.”
I was living in a mobile home park in Lafayette, Colorado, and working the night shift as a resident assistant in a retirement community with
independent apartments, an assisted living center, and a long-term care center.
I liked working the night shift. If things were quiet, following my rounds through
the halls of the apartments, I had ample time to complete my clerical tasks and
then work on my own projects. Or play games.
Let’s not tell anyone about the playing games part. It makes
me sound less than focused and determined and more like the disorganized mess
that I truly am.
I worked Thursday through Sunday nights. I have never done
well working 40-hour weeks. The fact that I could work 32-hour weeks, get full
benefits, and make a couple bucks extra per hour for weekend and night shift
differentials made this job a reasonably ideal fit for me.
When it started raining on September 9, which was a Monday,
I was happy. I didn’t expect it to last for long. I was pleased when it
continued raining on Tuesday and Wednesday. On Thursday, when I was due to go
back to work, I started thinking that maybe it would be best for the rain to
wrap things up, but it just kept hammering down. When one of my co-workers
called to ask me if I would be able to make it in to work, I said that I would try.
By the time I realized I should have turned around and
headed home, I couldn’t. Beyond Arapahoe Avenue, Baseline Road offers few
places to turn off, and I was boxed in between a truck and another car. My only
choice was to continue to Boulder.
As I approached the Baseline Reservoir, I saw that what was
usually a field with a small stream had become a lake where the wind whipped up
choppy waves that rolled across Baseline. As I followed the truck, one of those
waves slammed into the side of my car. I was terrified that I would be swept
over the guard rail and into the newly formed, angry lake. I managed to keep
the car on the road.
I was in shock when I arrived at work. My heart was
pounding. Everything was chaos. I walked like a zombie into the wellness
center, changed into my swimsuit, and got into the therapy pool to start my
workout as usual. I was about 15 minutes into my workout when I heard a
transformer explode outside. That was it for the workout.
I made my way to the locker room to shower and change into
my work clothes in the dark. Fortunately, the backup generator kicked in.
As I was trying to get dressed, a confused resident came in
and started demanding to know what was going on. I told her that I could help
her when I had finished dressing, but she wasn’t hearing it. Fortunately, by
the time her husband came in to find her, I was fully covered.
I took my gear upstairs and found my evening shift co-worker,
who ended up staying overnight. People from all departments worked together to
try and assist the disabled residents from the long-term care center. At one
point, Linda and I had to assist a long-term care resident, who had been placed
on a couch, in changing her incontinence brief. We did our best to block her
from others’ view as we helped her. She couldn’t walk to the bathroom, and we
didn’t know where the wheelchairs had been taken.
My sciatica was already bad, and it became worse after this
incident. The independent living section was four floors and some 250
apartments. I walked a couple of miles every night. Without the elevators to
assist in my rounds, my sciatica was exacerbated.
The administration tried to keep us on site after our
shifts, but Linda and I both left around ten in the morning. She wanted to
check on her elderly mother and I wanted to make sure my cats were all right. I
remember my little Lafayette, who I would lose a couple of years later to multiple
system failure, greeting me. He was always happy to see me.
I had trouble writing for around a month following this
incident. I felt that I didn’t deserve to indulge myself with such a luxury.
Only four people died in the flood, but that was four people too many. Why would
someone as worthless as me survive while others died?
When I returned home, I was relieved to see that it only
looked like a hard rain had fallen. Just a few miles to the south, an entire
road was washed away. It has never been replaced. 345 homes in Boulder were
destroyed and 557 were damaged, some to the point where they were unlivable. My
home was spared.
Many of my co-workers lost their vehicles, which were in the
flooded underground parking garage. When the water was drained from the garage,
the vehicles were stacked on top of each other. My vehicle was spared because I
parked in the above-ground lot.
I came out of this incident relatively unscathed. I am
thinking of it now because the Western United States is in the middle of a
mega-drought. It’s very dry where I am, and I am wishing for rain, but not too
much rain. The parched ground wouldn’t absorb it properly.
I am also thinking about this incident because I am once
again feeling bad about my writing.
998 words
Here are the total amounts of rain from Boulder, Colorado’s
100-year flood.
Mon., Sept. 9: 0.25 inches
Tues, Sept. 10: 1.02 inches
Weds., Sept. 11: 1.92 inches
Thurs., Sept. 12: 9.08 inches
Fri., Sept. 13: 2.44 inches
Sat., Sept. 14: 0.01 inches
Sun., Sept. 15: 1.94 inches
Mon., Sept. 16: 0.49 inches
Eight-day total: 17.15 inches
Source: https://www.dailycamera.com/2013/09/21/eight-days-1000-year-rain-100-year-flood/
Full critique, I guess, but please try not to be rude or hateful.
Also, please don't toss out the old "I hope this isn't autobiographical" chestnut. It is autobiographical and I won't be made to feel guilty for writing it.
I apologize for not returning comments during the February session. I have been having a difficult time with myself this year. I will venture to do better this time. It's not you, it's me. I'm a hot mess.
