Thread by @RuthMBuchanan

#storytweeting - "Coming in Hot"

I stood shivering in the dark, dripping wet. There was no time to waste. I had to decide what to do.

I’d been living in this cabin in the woods for less than a month. I was still learning the ins and outs of cabin life and mountain living—in the winter, at that.

Here on the mountain, we’d been experiencing wind gusts of 40-50mph for the better part of two days. Even knowing this, it never occurred to me that the power might go out—and at the least convenient time imaginable.

I was deep in my morning shower, mid-lather, when all went black. I stood in the claw-foot tub behind the wrap-around curtain, praying this was just a momentary flicker. Because my bathroom is in the interior of the cabin, I was plunged immediately into complete darkness.

The tiny bathroom began losing warmth immediately. I twisted the metal knobs and fought my way through the wet cling of the wrap-around curtain. This must be what it feels like to be born.

It is 9am, and I am scheduled to lead a live online workshop of eager writers in precisely one hour. Hopefully, I will have time to squelch down to the basement, flip whatever circuit breaker necessary, finish rinsing off, and ready myself as best I can.

Without patting dry or squeezing water from my hair (no time!) I wrap my torso in a towel and drag my plush purple bathrobe over my already-shivering body. The cabin cools rapidly, and the basement is stone cold. I squelch down in my flip-flops clutching my Coleman LED, praying.

It’s clearly not a fuse issue. I still flip every circuit. Nothing. Resigning myself, I shuffle up the stairs, phone clamped to the side of my dripping head. A quick call to the power company alerts me that many residents are without power, and restoration will take some time.

I call my only friend nearby. “NO TIME TO EXPLAIN I AM COMING TO YOUR HOUSE NO HEAT NO POWER WORKSHOP IN FORTY-FIVE MINUTES SEE YOU SOON.” The drive will take at least thirty. I’m still not dressed. Where is my laptop? My ring light? My notes? My wits?

No time to rinse hair. No time to care. Clothes, computer, notes, and it’s off to the car. Can’t use the automatic garage door b/c power’s out. Can’t read the tiny directions on the dangling cord b/c it's dark/old eyes. Youtube a solution? Phone can’t access data in the garage.

Wrangle garage door. Reverse into the wind. Close garage door. Freezing cold, yet somehow still sweating. If I drive reasonably and there are no delays, I will arrive just in time to start my workshop.

Downed trees block portions of the road. Cars are crossing lanes to compensate.

Rushing is unwise.

Careful, careful.

My phone pings to alert me that my workshop starts in five minutes.

I am still driving.

I sent a panicked voice text to my friend: “Almost there, coming in hot!”

I pull into the driveway.

It is 9:58.

I’m the cartoon character with a half-closed suitcase smashed under one arm, trailing ribbons and socks, holding a hat to its head with the other hand, legs pistoning in a freeze-frame, off-the-ground run.

Only that's not a hat, it's my hair, and it's a mess.

My friend H has cleared a path. She ushers me up the steps and back the hall to the master bedroom, where she’s cleared a spot at the desk. Her husband sets up my laptop, ring light, keys in the internet password. I pull out my notes, shuffle them, drop into the seat H pulls out.

I start the meeting as the clock ticks from 9:59 to 10:00. I’m the first to arrive. The ring light reveals a harsh reality. My hair has dried sideways. I’m wearing no makeup. My face looks like a thumb. There’s no time to worry about it. Workshop members are arriving.

“Good morning!” I greet them. “Have I got a story for you.”

THE END