Stormy Weather

     In all of the hurricane coverage, the detail that alarmed me the most was a line in an article that stated something to the effect of, “As is the case with any storm, there are those who will refuse to leave their homes no matter how dire the forecast.”

     I imagined a man and woman sitting on giant recliner chairs in their living room, watching the plot of the hurricane move directly over their house, looking over at their case of bottled water, and concluding, “We’ll be fine.”

     It’s difficult to overestimate the power of denial. But easy, apparently, to underestimate the power of a hurricane.

     Those squatters seem to be drawing from the same well as the woman who stays in a bad marriage, or me when I stayed in the closet for 20 years with a giant glittery gay rain cloud hovering above me.

     The greatest burden, of course, falls upon those who become tasked with rescuing you from the rubble that was once your house, pulling you from the evidence you apparently needed to prove that nature is more powerful than your stubbornness.

     Still, I feel like I understand them. Sitting on my couch, watching palm trees blow sideways on the TV, I ask myself…

     What house am I refusing to leave?