Topic: Rain

Author: Chris Dunn

Things are going to work out for the best! Perhaps not with all the cheery underpinnings that phrase suggests, but by and large, it is a mantra which is running constantly at the base of my personality. Okay, maybe not “for the best” in all circumstances, but in general things are going to work out for me, and I’ll be okay. I feel this with the certainty that I have when watching a movie, that say, Spiderman is going to be okay. Sure he’s screaming in pain now, but in the end…

Now since this is being written in 2018, before anyone cries, “infinity wars!” Believe me, Spiderman is going to be okay.

Sure, I’m setting myself for the king of all “Gotcha!” moments. At some point in my far and distant future, something will come careening out of the shadows, and my mind will assure me, “Oh, that looks dangerous, but don’t worry, we’ll be-” But until that unhappy day, I see no need to panic. I know, it’s weird. It even feels weird to me. Like a character protect by a very specifically worded prophecy, I feel confident in most situations. Always have.

Case in point (another story from camp):

The sky overhead was pitch black. Angry clouds blotted out the moon and the stars which just hours earlier we had marveled at around the campfire as our marshmallows toasted or burned on sharpened sticks. The wind howled like a freight train in a tunnel and blew a steady torrent of needle-like raindrops against my face, and thunder exploded instantly as lightning strokes snapped against the earth like whip cracks. No time to count the seconds, the storm was here!

It was all I could do to keep my slick hands locked with both the scout in front of me and the one behind, as we followed bobbing flashlights across the muddy lawn. It was an awkward way to walk, but the scout masters didn’t want to risk losing anyone in the chaos of the storm. It made sense. I didn’t relish the prospect of leading a dozen cub scouts – all short of high school – through a tornado-warning thunderstorm in the absolute blackness that can only be found when you venture outside the light-cocoon of the city. One lost kid would probably ruin their whole day.

Still half asleep we had dressed and donned our packing-list mandated rain ponchos, before lining up in formation to stand at attention as the wind whipped the occasional raindrop underneath our poncho hoods with alarming accuracy. The scout master shouted out the situation. Storm! Shelter! Buddy system! Lock up, stay close, and move out!

It all made sense. We couldn’t remain at the campsite in our tents. A tornado would suck us right up and deposit us in the next county. Protocol dictated we should be in a basement, or failing that, a room with no exterior windows, perhaps taking shelter inside walls of porcelain. As the scout master explained, we were on our way to do just that. It was actually pretty exciting.

First we wound our way through the forest as the sky let loose with a mighty KRACK and the rain began dropping in buckets which instantly made mockery of the flimsy yellow and orange ponchos. The ground went from packed earth to mudslide in seconds. By the time we got through the trees we were somehow muddied up to our waists. Kids are amazing that way. Soaked and filthy, we avoided the direct route through the open field and instead, snaked our way along a drainage trench. Awkward to do in our daisy chain, but at least it got some of the mud off us. It was in the trenches that I began to notice that not all my fellow scouts were handling the situation with the same detachment that I was. There were definite signs of distress on many faces and panic was in the air. I started to wonder if they knew something I didn’t. We were going to safety, right? After what seemed like hours trudging through muck and mire, we darted across a well-trimmed lawn and dove through a pair of old timey, exterior cellar doors.

Having finally quit the rain, we huddled in corner with our troop and sounded off by name and number. Mercifully, the counts matched, and I saw the scout masters breath a collective sigh of relief. As the storm continued to rage outside, we squatted in dark with several other troops, and I listened to the howl of the wind and wondered how late it had gotten. Was this the longest I had ever been up? When will I actually get to sleep tonight?

Lightning struck and the lights went out, but we had plenty of flashlights. Several came on immediately but the sudden plunge into darkness had been the breaking point for many.  Several young boys went from quietly quivering to openly sobbing, and the scout masters began making their round offering firm assurances that we were all safe now. Nothing more to worry about. When they came to me, I remember Mr. Huber seeming surprised. “Gee, Chris, you’re taking this awfully well.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked. “Everything is going to be fine.” And so far, it has been.