Yesterday, while sitting at my desk, I failed to notice that the skies had grown dark. There was a crash of thunder, then the sound of wind blowing torrents of rain horizontal. A couple screamed with delight as they ran for shelter.
The wind was immense, and I realized that the umbrella was still up on our patio table and that it would likely be doing cartwheels through Toronto in no time, so I ran to the backyard to close it. I, like the people shrieking from the street, was kind of delighted to be getting so quickly drenched. As I furled the umbrella, looking at all the trees towering around me, it struck me that I was in the midst of a field of lightning rods. I charged back inside, and once again sat at my desk, staring out the window. A tree, just to the north of us, had been pulled apart by the wind, and a massive trunk lay across the sidewalk, the force of the fall setting off car alarms along the block.
Now a little bit anxious, I stood outside on our front porch, looking for Rachelle, who was just returning from work. She was hustling up the street, her little, red umbrella blown inside out, her eyes as large as saucers. With a huge grin on her face, she exclaimed, “THIS STORM IS AMAZING! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!” We were both kind of giddy, happy to see one another, and to be feeling safe in the midst of this awesome storm. It was a kind of Christmas.
Next door, the couple I had earlier heard happily yelling on the street, were standing on the neighbour’s front steps. Utterly drenched, they stood there with looks of astonishment on their faces. We invited them into our apartment to wait out the storm, and they accepted, sitting politely on the sofa.
The man had just flown in from Italy and this was his first visit to Toronto. He was visiting a colleague, with whom he was presenting a paper at a medical conference. The woman, his colleague, was a geneticist who worked at Sick Kid’s, and the two of them had met while studying in Berlin. She spoke longingly of the place, like it was there where she felt most alive, and I asked her why she left. She looked down for a moment, and then out the window, thinking, “ My husband cheated on me, so I left.”
We all sat there quietly for a moment, listening to the storm.