Barry Did It

 

     You think your mother pushes your buttons?  Barry knows all your buttons. You think your boss breathes down your neck? Barry gets so close you can smell his acid stink.  Have you met Barry? He’d like to meet you. You can run but you can’t hide.

     Barry’s not your friend. He’s sneaky. He’s the type that lurks in shadows.  He hovers, waits and lingers in the air. Quietly restless, brewing, simmering as he builds up steam ready to surge.

     You must pay attention or Barry will send your mind, body and possibly your very soul, into a full-moon dog-howling tail-spin.

     Let me introduce you to this system enigma I call Barry. Barry is short for barometric pressure.

      Today Barry is clearly showing off.  He’s the weather channels featured ‘star of the day’.  I take notice of his dynamics as I watch Barry’s numbers drop like a rock.  I do believe he’s whispering warnings to me.  “Get the hell out!” (Or did the weather man say that?) 

     A humongous hurricane is coming straight at me.  It’ll be knocking at my back door by morning.  

     My head’s throbbing and pulsating. The pain collides with each beat of my heart. Lord help me, I feel Barry’s burden battling my body.

      Franticly scribbling a list on the back of an old envelope; dog food, junk food, blankets, boots, brush, bucket, ice-chest, ice.

     My arms feel uncoordinated today. I keep walking and knocking into things. Darn eyes water and won’t focus. The house’s way too bright, so I close the blinds.

      Band-Aids, batteries, pictures, pillows and phone numbers.   

Circuit breaker, credit card, CASH.  

     Tears run down my nose, chin and neck. I don’t want to die. Crying gives me some pain and tension relief. I holler and laugh. “Can you say drama queen?  Get a grip, girl.”

      Tooth brush, paper towels, toilet paper-two rolls, power tools, emergency map. Ohmygawd, what’s my evacuation exit plan?  

     Barry just keeps on pushing my buttons.

     Jam-packed into the mini-van I’m ready.  Yipping to claim the best view, young pups stand high on bulging rubber-maid tubs.  Older more seasoned travelers sprawl out on soft overstuffed bags.

           The neighbors’ windows are covered by plywood and their vehicles gone. I’m the last to leave. (I’m not slow, I’m detail oriented)

     Five Maltese, four Yorkies, two Jack Russell’s, one Boxer, a Toy Poodle, and the Beagles, Murphy and Miles, all accounted for.       

     Waddling down the middle of the road I see a short wide dog. Do I know a dog with rusty old age spots and muddy white splotches? A beagle/corgi mix?  As she gets closer she seems… dazed and ready to ‘pop’ her litter of pups.

      “Susie, is that you? Your people left you here? Come on baby you’re coming with me.  I’ll make room for you up front.  I’m sure they didn’t mean to leave you, that would be just plain mean.”  (I hope a tree doesn’t fall on their house.)

     Giving my beach-bum bungalow one last long look, letting out a heavy sigh, I put the pedal to the metal and drive like a bat out of hell.

     “Phew,” cracking the window, “I have too many stinky dogs. Who has gas? Okay babies watch out for a post-office, your momma needs to drop off the Netflix rental- ‘Ray’.  Hey, let’s sing … Hit the road Jack ain’t comin’ back…”  

     Hours later I pull into a dimly-lit rest-stop, I hear tornado sirens in the distance. The twirling hot winds push and pull at the tall skinny pine trees. The black sky drips on the steaming asphalt. A prickle of dread begins to creep though my body. I smell Barry breathing down my neck.

     Stiffly climbing out of the van, I pull up my big girl panties and trudge toward the rest rooms. Insects of unknown origins soar through the dingy yellow shadows bombing my sweaty face, arms, and bare legs.

     Suddenly, I’m cut-off by a burley armed guard. Pivoting to walk around her, I detect her right hand slither towards her gun. Confused, is it a crime in Florida to use the facilities at a public rest-stop?

     Impatient Susie quickly jerks at her leash knocking me slightly off balance.  The security guard slowly takes a step backwards; eyes wide, her complete focus is on the harmless dog as she blurts out. “She can’t be here!” 

    Whoa, this woman has dog issues.

      I secure Susie back in the van and quickly return to pee. Stumbling bleary-eyed out of the nasty damp cement bathroom enclosure...                                                                                                                                                            

     Great, there’s the same wacko rent-a-cop blocking my path.  

     Feet firmly planted, arms at her sides in ‘ready’ position, she is the epitome of a prison-guard wannabe.  “How long you here for? How many dogs do you have?” she barks.

     Rubbing my hands on the back of my damp shorts, taking a deep strangled breath, I disjointedly tell her my sad saga in fast forward without stopping.

      “There’s a category four hurricane coming.  I live by the Gulf of Mexico. It’s a mandatory evacuation area, I have close to a dozen dogs, some of ‘em rescues; you saw Susie my neighbor’s pregnant dog. I found ‘er in the street, I swear she’ll pop any sec. The hurricane should hit by morning but don’t know for sure. Your local radio doesn’t say a thing about the hurricane. Must be cuz I’m outa state. Have you heard? I’ve been driving for hours, I’m fallin’ asleep.  I’m getting a horrific migraine.” (Did she just roll her eyes?) “I finally saw your rest area, thank God, the dogs need to walk and I had to go potty-so-bad. I’m tired and hungry do you have vending machines here?”

     “You can’t stay; you’ll disturb the other travelers. You need to leave.”  

     Looking over the deserted parking lot, I stop; stare at my filthy feet, chipped toenail polish and ripped flip-flops. Slowly counting the insect bites on my mud splashed legs. I concede. If I turn into a raging hormonal hurricane evacuee, no doubt she’ll shoot me.  Barry has the irrational guard in a choke hold. (Better him than me.)

     Aimlessly driving northbound on the lonely dark freeway I fight to keep my strained eyes open.  My pack of dogs are dreaming, breathing comforting snoring sounds. Suzie squirms on the front passenger seat and whines. The green glow of the dash lights outlines the uncomfortable dog. My heart flutters. Susie, safe with me, just met up with Barry’s force. Susie is having her puppies.