Wind howled around the school as I glanced over at Mr. D, wondering what we should do. The last student had just been picked up by a parent with a big truck, and they were sliding down the steep hill. Looking at our small cars, I didn't think either of us had a shot at making it out of the parking lot, let alone home.
The other teachers and administrators had children to collect and dogs at home, and so we'd volunteered to stay with the students waiting for parent pickup. Mr. D, I'd guessed, was living with his parents, though he hadn't shouted it from the rooftops. Not that it was anything to be ashamed of - he'd told me he was retraining as a teacher, switching careers from international business.
"Are you going to try to go home?" I asked, the anxiety slipping into my voice more than I'd intended.
We should have had a snow day, even had we only gotten the predicted snowfall amounts. But the high-up administrators hadn't wanted to disrupt parental work schedules on a weather event that hadn't started yet, adding another day to make up in June, if they could help it.
Once the snow did start coming down around 9 a.m., it fell faster than I'd ever seen in my life. And since my life included forty-plus Michigan winters and the worst winter ever recorded here, that was no minor feat. We were getting more than an inch per hour of very fine powder, and the wind was blowing it into steep drifts. It wasn't fluffy pretty movie snow - it was the scary kind.
The school day had been called off early, and buses came. Those kids were hopefully home and warm now, tucked up with their video games and pizza. Buses had massive tires and an early start on the storm, so they'd made it through.
We, however, now had a dilemma. Small cars can be great on the slippery types of precipitation we normally got, but I knew from experience that this would be too much snow for my front wheel drive.
When these things happened, there were always a handful of students whose parents were late. Even if they left work the moment they heard school had early release, two hours later they'd still be calling in from the road, frazzled and panicky apologies flowing. That was the nature of a snowstorm - a one-hour commute became several. One parent was a nurse who couldn't just run out of the hospital and leave her patients. We understood.
Someone had to stay with the kids. We'd played card games and told stories, trying to keep their minds off the worry and keep them from getting too excited. Middle schoolers were nuts sometimes.
I don't think either of us had really considered the position we were putting ourselves in. This was an oddly-placed school, a rural middle school in an otherwise suburban district. It took several dirt roads to get there. I'd guessed that the land must have been cheap - that's the only possible reason to build so far out from paved roads. As a substitute teacher, I opted for other schools once the dirt road got so bumpy it reminded me with each bounce how much I'd spent on my suspension recently. But today I was here, miles of dirt road away from home.
With the drifting going on and the fact that secondary roads probably wouldn't be plowed for hours, I didn't think my little car would make it around the hills and curves. Zero vehicles had gone by in the past hour, other than the truck that had picked up the last student, so I knew the snow was just falling and blowing around out there. Not a good prognosis.
"Well," said Mr. D, "to be honest, I'm not sure my Golf can make it."
"I was thinking the same thing. And I don't want to get stuck on a dirt road and have to sit in the cold. I have less than a quarter tank left. That was not wise of me."
"We should probably wait here until the plow truck comes by. I think I could make it down the hill, but I'm not sure even the turn onto the road would be safe. The snow is drifting right across there."
"I know. You're right." My voice fell, my disappointment clear. I'd been looking forward to microwaved leftovers, movies on my cozy couch, and blessed private silence after a long day.
"My boss just texted. The PM custodian couldn't make it in. We are the only people here."
"Can I swear now that the kids are gone? Shit. Merde, I learned in French today. I guess we should make a plan. The first thing I'll do is plug in my phone in case the power goes out. And jeez, this was such a dumb outfit for a snowstorm. I'll grab my other clothes from the car."
"You do look nice today, though," Mr. D said, glancing at my dress and ankle boots.
"Thanks," I said, with a semi-smile. I pulled on my coat and hood and prepared to bolt. "Would you open the locked door for me?"
Mr. D waited inside as I went through the vestibule and opened the outer doors. The wind swirled around me, sharply bitter and pelting my face with tiny shards of ice as I plunged through the piled snow. I was buffeted around when I slowed down, so I rushed my steps as I approached my car, holding my dress down. I thought to grab my car blankets, too, and even my snowpants, leftover from a sledding excursion with my nieces. It wouldn't hurt. Anything warm.
Too bad I didn't have decent food or more supplies though. If only it'd been one of those days when I'd stocked up at Costco but been too tired to carry all of the boxes out of the car. I was starving.
Mr. D let me back into the building. While the cold sprint had been invigorating, I was grateful to be back in the still air.
"Balmy out there," I said.
Lamest Michigan joke ever, I thought. Why did I always say such dumb things around this man.
"My boss texted again. I hate to tell you this, but the county just called shelter in place. No one is allowed to travel, only emergency vehicles, and they even pulled the plow trucks off the road until the snow stops."
"So in three minutes we went from this being a choice to a mandated thing. Got it." I sighed and rolled my eyes.
"I know. It sucks." Mr. D glanced up from his phone and looked at me vaguely.
"The people in the rally houses might take us in. If we want to walk there." This school was so rural that the rally point, the place we'd all go if the school had to be evacuated, was actually two neighboring houses with sizeable barns. Normally it was a nearby church or store, but here there was no other choice. They must be decent people.
"I'm sure they would," Mr. D said, "but it's a long walk. I saw the wind was blowing you sideways."
"They also probably only have a couple bathrooms, and everyone has wells here. So if the power goes out, ew."
"That's a good point. Plenty of bathrooms here."
"I grew up in the country. It was the grossest thing about power outages. Okay, so we are staying. We do have to plan for the power to go out. What is the warmest part of the school, maybe? Definitely not the library. It was 55 degrees in there today and everyone had their coats on. And while we ponder that, I might need to raid some fridges and cupboards. I'm starving."
This school was odd not just for the rural location but for its spider-like sprawling campus - with a very long glassed-in corridor linking three otherwise separate sections on a hillside. And though it was a fairly new building, some wings were chilly even on the nicest winter days. We'd need to think this through and gather supplies before it got dark. Just in case.
"You take charge. I like that. I noticed it the first time we worked together," Mr. D said, smiling.
