The Texas Freeze

“Judy, they say if you don’t like the weather in Texas, wait a week.” One of dad’s many colorful adages floated through my thoughts as I wiped the sleep from my eyes. Then, I was a child who complained about sweltering Austin summers when the pavement fried eggs and hair clung to the back of necks like stubborn noodles to a plate. Now, I was 28, alone, and at the mercy of the biggest winter storm to hit Texas this century.

The moment of reminiscing was short-lived and I darted out of bed toward my window. The blinds rattled as my shaky hands tugged at the tangled strings. I was eager to reveal if the forecasts would come to fruition.

They had.

The backyard was ordinarily covered in a thin layer of patchy grass, but that day, there wasn’t a blade of green in sight. Snow blanketed the ground so evenly not a single stone or leaf punctured through its coat. Succulents wore caps of snow like disguises. The juxtaposition made for a clever Instagram post, if only I still had Instagram.

My eyes gravitated to a depression in the yard, a spot known to collect water and produce ruthless mosquitos during warmer months. Frigid temperatures froze whatever water lingered. A thin layer of ice formed across its surface, concealing the contents that lie beneath. The frozen faux pond looked absurdly out of place, a feeling I knew all too well. For a moment, the clash filled me with hope, as if the winter winds were whispering anything is possible.

“This is your H-E-B pharmacy letting you know that your prescription is ready for pickup. ”

As if my mind had a mind of its own, the robotic sound of an automated call flew to the forefront of my mind, pulling me out of reverie. It was a message I received four days ago. My brows furrowed. Dammit. I should have picked up that prescription sooner. Procrastination was a thread of sabotage that weaved its way in and out of life since childhood. Betrayed by my own delays, I heaved a heavy sigh. I needed to venture out into the storm to pick up the medication. A daily prescription I couldn’t afford to miss, not these days anyway.

I journeyed to the backcountry of my closet where items from past lives rested in peace. I exhumed a stiff down coat lined with soft faux fur trim and heavy rubber sole Timberland boots. All its textures and weight felt foreign to me. After all, these items haven’t seen light since visiting my best friend Linda in New York three years prior. Like a soldier gearing up for war, I added layer after layer for ample warmth topping it all off with my mask. Countless times, the mask protected me from an unpredictable virus that paused the world. That day, it would protect me from the bitter temperatures that paused Austin.

My clammy hands gripped my doorknob attached to the warmth of my rental unit. I began the bitter two-mile trek without knowing if the pharmacy was even open. Snow engulfed each Timberland boot and I marched right past my Nissan Leaf, entombed in ice. Plagued with inexperience and Texas-sized fear, driving on snow-covered roads was never an option for me.

Allowing muscle memory to take over, I made it to the main road. A choreography of short, sturdy steps was key to avoid a wipeout. The streets were painted white with a ghastly stillness that brought apocalyptic fables to life. South Congress was an area typically filled with people snapping photos by the I Love You So Much wall and grabbing scoops of ice cream from Amy’s. Instead, it resembled an abandoned studio lot frozen in time.

“Seriously, 6 feet of snow, that’s it?” Linda would say if she were here. Teasing our city’s panic would be her way of lightening the day’s heaviness. “This would have been a delight up North. I guess Texas truly is a country all its own.”

My rugged walk continued as black ice turned sidewalks into minefields. An hour later, the H-E-B that housed the pharmacy appeared like a desert mirage of an opulent oasis. Specs of cars seen from a distance signified the store was operating in some capacity. Upon reaching the parking lot, a winding line of puffy coats and tired eyes greeted me. Like the pandemic, the storm activated primal instincts to hunt and gather supplies. As the line slithered through the parking lot, conversations floated to my ears. I overheard stories around burst pipes, power outages, and the new dumpster fire of a year that is 2021.

“What do you get when you mix a global pandemic with an unprecedented winter storm,” a gentleman asked his friend. “Another reason to buy toilet paper.”

I missed dad jokes. I missed my dad’s jokes.

After a few hours in line, it became clear what the entire hold-up was. Only small groups of customers were allowed in for an allotted period. The city’s rolling blackouts caused the building to lose all power. The entire store relied on a few treasured generators that kept registers functioning. Before my group could enter, the store manager offered explicit instructions.

“Here’s the deal. The power is out so you’ll have to shop with flashlights. Y’all will have 15 minutes to grab what you need. But please, we ask that you only grab what you need,” he explained in a slight twang muffled by his mask. “As you shop, think of your neighbors.”

The doors opened and customers scurried around me. For a moment, I stood there in disbelief. We were in a pandemic. We were in a winter storm. We were shopping with flashlights and we were running out of time. Was I in an H-E-B or an escape room?

I refocused my attention on my self-assigned escape room mission. Even in the dark, I beelined straight to the pharmacy. Before the pharmacist could speak, I blurted out my last name and birthday. Heat immediately rushed to my head, embarrassed I left out routine pleasantries. Even in desperate times, we all deserved civility and courtesy. After a few typed words on her register, the pharmacist disappeared into the darkness. Guided by her phone's flashlight, she returned moments later with my prized prescription.

“Oh thank god. You don’t know how much this means to me,” I exclaimed in appreciation.

“You don’t know how many people have said that to me today,” she earnestly replied.

The pharmacist handed me the bag as if it were in slow motion. Mission completed. Meds in hand, it was time to exit out swiftly so another customer could be bustled in. The walk home felt less dire. Although still pressed for time, I granted myself permission to slip.

After arriving home, I headed directly for the kitchen where a glass of water awaited me. Upon jiggling the bottle, a white pellet fell gently into my palm. On dystopian days like this, it was an easy pill to swallow.

With my coat still on, I drifted to the backyard. I was finally ready to take in the arctic atmosphere, earlier muddied with worry and dread. Gleaming icicles dangled from barren trees and began to drip like seconds on a clock. The impermanence of it all was palpable. Realizing some of the winter scene already thawed away, there grew an urge in me to mourn its loss. But sometimes, grief is sadder than death itself. So I sat and appreciated the time I had left. I narrowed in on the frozen faux pond I noticed earlier that day. The depression too would melt away soon enough.