Ice, Ice

I happened to be in the city on Friday when the ice started. I didn't really want to be, but so it was. There was already freezing rain coming down as I entered, and accidents happening on the interstate. Every time I started from a traffic light, the car would slide around until the tires found the road. "It's not that bad," the gentleman I was taking to the doctor told me. "I've seen a lot worse than this in Chicago. I have lots of confidence in you." I wished I did. I thought I would rather drive in snow in Chicago, with the advantages of traction, and enough people and sand to cover the roads, than in Oklahoma ice and wind. I kept praying, "Lord, is this stupid?" Even when I was almost to the city, I half wished I had simply turned around and gone home. But He gave me peace, and kept me calm.

When we got to the doctor's office, I had a hard time sitting down. The adrenaline of fighting the storm kept me pacing the hall, or the waiting area, or talking to anyone I could find. My cheeks were warm.

People smiled at each other in the halls, drawn together in civilized society against the menace outside. In the hospital gift shop, they stood in line with candy bars and Cokes. "Do you have far to go?" "We had to go to 3 gas stations last night, because the first 2 were sold out." I bought a bag of peanuts--not because I thought I would go off the road, but because I knew I would get hungry if I did.

I sat and fidgeted, waiting for the doctor to get done with my patient, waiting for my phone to ring with news of Nathan, driving east, racing the storm. "Where's your coat?" asked a nice lady waiting for her daughter. I assured her I had one. My phone kept ringing, my boss telling me to get home quickly, and to be very careful.

The receptionist told me they had cancelled the afternoon appointments, and turned off the lights and locked the door. "We're getting out of Dodge," she laughed to a friend on the phone. I sat alone in the waiting area, watching the constant news coverage of invincible journalists standing by highway bridges, telling people to stay inside, listening to them telling people how to drive, giving hints like "cover your car with a blanket while you're inside; put de-icer on your driveway, beware of bridges."

Finally, I saw him coming, and I went to get the car. I pulled the key from my purse, but couldn't get it into the lock. "Oh, Father, it's iced over. What do I do now?" Then I noticed I had the wrong key.

We made it down the slippery hill, onto the road. Waiting at the stoplight, I noticed I couldn't use my windshield wipers, because they were covered in chunks of ice. So we had a Chinese fire drill--I put the car in park, and banged them with my 3-ring binder.

Everyone else on the road was behaving very carefully--leaving plenty of room between cars, driving from 10 to 30 mph. I kept both hands on the wheel (except for waving to the news camera). We counted 3 fire trucks and 1 ambulance going past, and saw 3 cars stopped in the middle of the road, and 1 in the ditch.

As we left the city, the traffic thinned out, but the white covering the road thickened. I started calculating how long it would take to get home, and sped up a little. For the first time, I felt the space between me and home as long. I wanted to be there--but I had a hundred-some miles to go first, and it was a hundred-some miles of fighting, of staying calm, of driving slowly. I mentally counted off the bridges, hills, and curves in my mind, and thanked God for straight roads.

The radio kept playing songs about summer and nice weather: "I can see clearly now, the rain is gone/ I can see every obstacle in my way" and we joked about it being summer in a Twilight Zone.

I dropped him off, and cleaned off my windshield wipers again for the last stretch. There was mist, surrounding me in white, and sleet blowing in mesmerizing swirls of white on white. I wondered if men felt like this on ships in fog. I waved at all three cars I met, wishing courage and a safe trip to my fellow travellers, and wishing I knew what they had seen.

Finally, I rode into my hometown, with half of my windshield iced over. It reminded me of the beginning of westerns, when the stranger rides out of the wilderness. And then, at last:

home.

We are really quite comfortable; our electricity has remained on (and looks as if it will continue to), and we have stayed inside and baked cookies. The southeastern half of the state, however, has had more ice and less electricity. But it is not as bad as it could have been, and Nathan made it safely; and we are thankful. I think I know, though, why Dante put ice deeper than fire...