Ice Storm

My first exposure to the hysteria that surrounds bad weather was in the South. In Pennsylvania, it is assumed that winter will be accompanied with its share of bad storms. In North Carolina, people always seemed to be caught off guard, even when they had days to prepare. Every storm warning provoked a last minute rush to the grocery store for milk, bread, eggs and toliet paper to stock up in case the electricity went out.

Early February 1996, halfway through my first year of graduate school the Piedmont Triad Region of North Carolina was hit by an ice storm that knocked out power to 100,000 homes and businesses for several days.

At the time I was living on the first floor of an old house on North Spring Street with a roommate from Atlanta, Georgia.

S was one of the more interesting roommates in my history of sharing a space with another human being. She waited tables at a local pizza joint and spent a good portion of her spare time lying naked in her bed smoking and watching cable television. She quit her job to move to Greensboro so she could be closer to her (married) boyfriend, who was a city police officer.

Day One
S decides, after several hours of ice that we do not have enough candles. I drive my roommate several miles over icy roads to the only open K-Mart to stock up on candles, flashlights and batteries, just to shut her up.

I wake in the early hours of February 3 to flashing lights and the sound of multiple sirens. I discover that the Charles Ireland House, a historical landmark separated from our apartment by two lots, is burning down. The firemen are unable to get the blaze under control because the water keeps freezing. The house is destroyed beyond repair and is eventually torn down.

Day Two
I somehow make it to work, finish my shift and spend the remainder of the day making arrangements to stay with a family friend and studying as the apartment gets progressively colder.

S decides it would be fun to spend another night in the apartment, sans heat. Unwilling to allow her to freeze to death on her own, I elect to stay also. I pile every blanket I own on my futon, dress in multiple layers and wool socks and climb into bed. Lucy, my kitten, also climbs under the covers and remains firmly curled into my chest the entire night.

Day Three
I have the day off. I make sure that S is still alive and discover that her fish tank has frozen solid. I pack my clothes, my kitten and some supplies into my car and head to a classmate's room to review some notes. Matt is kind enough to allow Lucy to run around his room while we review. After we finish, I bundle the kitten into the car and head for warmth and safety.

Aftermath
S refuses to remove the now dead fish from the tank. It sits for several months, until the smell is almost unbearable. I elect to find my own apartment.