MAGAPatriot007

The ice storm knocked the power out on our street around eleven at night. By six in the morning there was a limb the size of a canoe across the road, off the Hendersons' oak, and every house was dark and about fifty degrees inside. I did not know what you are supposed to do. I learned that nobody tells anybody. It just starts. 6:20, a chainsaw. Rick, who does trees. Rick does not live on our street. Nobody called Rick. Rick heard. 6:40, Dale had the tractor out, pushing the cut pieces off the road with the front bucket like he was clearing a table. By seven, a generator was running in the Pattersons' driveway because they have the baby, and an orange extension cord ran across two lawns to Mrs. Alvarez, who is ninety and sleeps with an oxygen machine. Nobody asked her. Somebody just ran the cord. Kevin came from four miles away with an armload of firewood and a thermos the size of a fire extinguisher. My job was to carry. Nobody assigned it. Somebody handed me a log and I understood. I carried until my forearms stopped reporting in. I lost count of the logs around ninety, started over, and lost count again. The county truck came at 11:15. A young guy in a reflective vest got out and looked at the road, which was clear, and the wood, which was stacked, and the extension cord, which was humming. He asked who was in charge. Everybody looked at each other. Dale looked at Rick. Rick looked at Kevin. Kevin looked at Mrs. Alvarez, who was on her porch in two coats. Nobody was in charge. Nobody had been in charge all morning. The county guy walked up to her porch and asked, very kindly, if she wanted a ride to the warming center. "No, honey," she said. "I've got people." She pointed at the street with her coffee cup. I was standing in the street.