Friday, August 13, 2004

It was Friday the 13th.

And we were feeling lucky.

It had been 44 years since a hurricane unleashed its full wrath on Central Florida.

Still, this was nothing to trifle with. Theme parks shut down. Trains and planes were halted, and schools closed.

We bought bottled water and batteries, and dragged in porch furniture.

But we assumed, based on forecasts, that the Category 2 hurricane would rage across Tampa Bay and be diminished by the time it reached Orlando.

We felt sorry for the almost 2 million residents urged to evacuate from the Gulf Coast. We expected many to pour into our area for safe refuge.

Then our luck changed.

Hurricane Charley made a surprise shift at midday. It was headed straight for us.

Worse yet, it had strengthened. Now it was a deadly Category 4.

Streets emptied. Shelters filled.

Those planning hurricane parties were no longer in the mood.

We watched the news as Charley’s eye struck the mainland around 4 p.m. We saw the storm savage Southwest Florida.

Then it was our turn.

By 8:35 p.m. the walls of a Kissimmee hotel were shaking.

By 9:15, Orlando International Airport measured wind gusts of 105 mph.

Charley raged like an angry driver down Interstate 4 and eastward. Size or economics didn’t matter -- the storm tore up mansions and modest trailers, 30-year-old oaks and fledgling pines. Hundreds of thousands lost power. Some lost their lives.

Of course, we couldn’t know all that yet.

Huddled in closets or hiding under mattresses -- one man rode out the storm inside his refrigerator -- we only could glimpse our own private wreckage.

Lightning struck, and we saw horizontal sheets of rain. Palms were bent sideways by wind. Large objects careened down the street.

We watched until the sky grew too black. It was maddening, not being able to know what went on in the larger darkness.

Then we didn’t need to see. We could hear it:

Crack. Whistle. Shriek. Boom.

What each of us experienced in those moments won’t be forgotten. If we were fortunate enough to be surrounded by those we loved, we clung to them.

We all waited it out.

About midnight the storm ripped through Daytona Beach and disappeared into the Atlantic Ocean.

When the very air stopped roaring, some ventured outside.

Some just waited for morning.

We felt lucky again. Lucky to be alive.