Come on, Irene

The scariest movie I’ve seen in years is 28 Days Later, the 2003 British film where people turn into flesh-eating zombies when a science experiment goes awry. The apocalyptic images of abandoned houses, empty streets, ravaged mini-marts and darkened skyscrapers haunted my dreams for weeks, which is why I never watched the movie again, despite its intelligent social commentary. I can’t forget blue-eyed Cillian Murphy walking through vacant tunnels, only to be accosted by screaming dead men who wanted to eat his face.

The creepiest aspect of the movie is that it seemed relatively plausible.

This past week’s earthquake and now, Hurricane Irene, force us to surrender the illusion that with all of our modern conveniences, we’re somehow indestructible. Instead, we must face the fact that we are painfully mortal, like all the people who came before us. While we have vaccines and antibiotics and the Miraculous Internet, Purveyor-of-All-Knowledge, we have no power over the force of nature. And modern people hate being reminded of this. We really do. So we shop. You would think Supercrap, our local “fresh” market, was selling tickets for a Lady Gaga concert, the lines for canned items and goldfish crackers were so long. From what I hear, supermarkets all around are out of bread, gas stations out of gas, drug stores out of “D” batteries. Later, all of our houses and shops may go dark under the ruthlessness of hurricane winds.

I ignored almost all of the news coverage the past few days. I can’t stand the beady eyes of anchormen who perform ballet stunts in front of virtual maps. Fear is contagious, though, and it eventually caught up with me. If supermarket shelves and gas stations are cleared out, maybe I need to start listening and worrying about things I can’t control. (Luckily, the wine store still had essential supplies.)

So this morning, like the rest of our neighbors, my husband and I made a plan of action. While he took the kids to the store, I filled the bathtub and a several pots and jugs with water. While he practiced cooking on the gas stove without its electric start-up, I charged all of our computers and phones. I did laundry and ran the nearly empty dishwasher just in case. Rather than making me feel prepared, though, all of this made me feel more nervous for What Was to Come.

If all goes to hell, do I have the gumption to tackle zombies head-on? To hunt, kill, and eat our neighborhood’s myriad squirrels? To grow vegetables? To create my fall course syllabus by hand?

Really, where is SuperWoman when you need her?

On the flip-side, there are plenty of occasions when the power goes out during a rain storm, and I use it as a much-needed opportunity to slow down, light candles, talk, simplify our lives. Strange as it seems, when the house grows dark and the noise of the television or radio ceases, my body breathes a small sigh of relief. I welcome what comes, recognizing that in the grand scheme of things, my family and I—most of the people I know, in fact—are wonderfully fortunate. Maybe that’s what nature helps to remind us of: its, and humanity’s, everlasting endurance.

At the end of 28 Days Later, the characters spread themselves on green grass to attract the attention of an airplane flying overhead. They are bound to be rescued, thank God.

And if you’re reading this after Sunday, I assume you’ve been, too.

(If not, we’ve gone the way of dinosaurs. But it was a good ride while it lasted, no?)

Image: “Hurricane/Orkan” by marcusram via Flickr using a Creative Commons license.

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Tagged as: 28 Days Later, cillian murphy, earthquake, hurricane irene, superfresh