any place providing sanctuary in a storm is a welcome place to be/ part 2

any place providing sanctuary in a storm is a welcome place to be/ part 2

fiction
Edward w pritchard


Sometimes America seems like one big amusement park to me.

For three days I have been trapped in my truck five miles South of Buffalo New York in a blizzard of a snowstorm that has dropped eight feet of snow on route 90 North on myself in my truck and a few thousand other cars and trucks misfortunate enough to have been driving North at exactly the wrong day and time of hour; in congregation we are stranded in the center of the white out, stalled, snow buried freeway.

Snow thunder rumbles for forty seconds at a time in the flash blizzard twenty miles south of the border with Canada and the windshield of your truck has acquired a permanent frozen mist from proximity to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls.

Snug am I in my truck. It is the sleeper model, with a bed, a refrigerator, a good radio, and a back up battery system. In addition to the heater from the trucks engine I have a small portable electronic heater from Radio shack. I also have a -50 degrees below zero warmth guaranteed parka from Sears, a gift from my daughter in Law. From time to time I exit the warmth of my truck circling my vehicle in shuffled tentative steps, bundled in my Parka, with both gloved hands intimately sliding over the frigid side walls and stalled cold engine of my truck to gather my bearings in the drifted snow threating to bury me permanently on Route 90 North here in my momentary sanctuary. Now and then a newscaster weather person knocks on the door of my truck for updates from me to his station's world audience of how I am temporarily adapting to the snow storm of the decade. Sometimes I hear myself on the Truck radio telling the world audience how I am conforming here in the sanctuary of my warm truck.

Thunder wakes me in my bed here in the back of the truck with a start and I am confused about where I am. Count the rumble of the snow thunder for forty to sixty seconds to determine the direction of the blizzard. It's critical important to me that the storm is moving south to North for my Home is to the south and I worry over my few loved ones. As I wake anxiously in my bed I dream I am floating on a small raft at Sea with a monumental storm coming to drench my Soul and my spirit.

How did I come to be here instead of somewhere else; why am I stuck dead in the middle of Route 90 North a few miles from the Canadian border confronting an epic-Winter snow storm stuck and stalled dead center in the middle of a snow buried expressway? Like so many other random occurrences that developed and happened to me unobserved in spite of it all I am at peace with my fate.

News on the radio South and West from Ferguson near St Louis, Missouri  is bad. Rioting is expected sometime this weekend. Police are on guard against protesters condemning the American way of life.

To regain my sense of belonging I listen to the Black Friday sale ads on the radio broadcasting serene bargains a plenty from Canadian and American retailers about to launch ten days of Black Friday bargains as a Holiday gift to North American consumers. Hope restored I plan a few purchases to center me to survive this storm and return to American society as a contented consumer.

Any place that provides sanctuary in a storm is a welcome place to be for me.

Sometimes America seems like one big amusement park to me. For three days I have been trapped in my truck. Rioting is expected sometime this weekend. Any place that provides momentary sanctuary is a welcome place to be for me.