Uh-oh (Notevember 2022, #29)

It had been a disastrous week. Literally – with news of local flooding, a typhoon in South Asia, and an 8.2 magnitude earthquake someplace I couldn’t properly pronounce. Figuratively, too; Denise had dumped me on Monday, moved out by Wednesday, and on Thursday morning I discovered someone had rear-ended my car. Not Denise, obviously – it wasn’t her style – but it still sucked. The insurance probably wouldn’t cover it. It never does.
   Now, to add insult to injury, I had dropped my ice cream cone. I had bought it in a half-hearted attempt to console myself, having reluctantly foregone dessert for months, in sympathy with Denise’s dieting. But before I even got a good lick in, a cocky seagull had swooped at me. It missed and just kept flying, street-level for whatever reason, but the damage was done. I had flinched and lost my first treat in ages.
   I know you shouldn’t cry over spilled milk, which probably applies to frozen dairy as well, but this was the last straw. So there I was, in an alley between a burger joint and a neon-signed basement church, crying my heart out. He restoreth my soul not, and the only cup that runneth over is one of tears. Whatever, Bible studies were never my strong suit. It did make me wonder, though, if this was God trying to keep me on the path of the sugar-free. Admittedly, having Denise stick around would make more sense for that plan. But the Lord works in mysterious ways, doesn’t he? Asshole.
   I wiped my tears and looked around, embarrassed in case someone had seen me. Fortunately, it seemed like there were no witnesses – or at least none that I could spot. I made to leave the alley and the plum gelato behind. The only consolation, I figured, was that the abandoned ice cream counted as my Christian charity towards those less fortunate – ants, say, or an enterprising raccoon. Maybe scoring some points with the animal community could prevent further bird attacks.
   How wrong I was. The moment I stepped out of the backstreet, I was almost pelted by a flock of starlings rushing past. Ducking back into the alley, I swore quietly and waited until the commotion was over. Twice in a day was weird. A coincidence, perhaps, but an uncanny one.
   Out on the avenue, a steady breeze was picking up, like a wake trailing the flock. I wasn’t the only one perturbed by the occurrence of low altitude avian traffic. A man in an aloha shirt was crouching a few feet away, clutching his cheek. I approached him with some concern.
   “Yo, my man, are you okay?” I asked. “Did the birds get you?”
   “Uh, yeah.” He removed his hand to show a scratch on his face, bleeding slightly. He dabbed at it with his fingers, then asked if I had “a napkin or tissue or something.” I did, but considering it was wet with salt water, I opted not to offer it. Just one of us getting salt on their wounds today felt like enough.
   “Sorry, I got nothing. What’s with these bird attacks, though? I’ve never seen them so territorial,” I pointed out.
   “What? No, they weren’t attacking me. I think they’re just scared.” He pointed southwest and slightly up. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to fly into that either.” My gaze followed his finger towards the sea.
   At first I didn’t understand what I was seeing. It was so large that it was difficult to determine how far offshore it was – maybe a mile, maybe five or more. I had never seen a storm like it. Dark, forbiddingly tall, and dense enough to look like a solid mass, rather than water vapor and electricity. Far worse, though, was the realization that there had been no warning of this on the news.
   “Fuck me,” I exclaimed. “Can I interest you in a tempest surprise? Why wasn’t this in the weather report?”
   The man shrugged. “I dunno. Are the meteorologists on strike?” He touched his cheek again. “Do birds carry rabies? I should probably get to a pharmacy and find something to clean this with.”
   “Man, you should have other priorities right now. We better find somewhere to shelter in place, and quick.”
He stared blankly for a moment, then went wide-eyed. “Um, the closest subway station is a few minutes away. But a basement could work. Know anything like that around here?”
   I racked my brain for a moment. Then, a mental image of a flashing neon cross. “Yeah, I think I do know a place,” I told the guy.
   Mysterious ways, huh, Lord? Fine, we’re even for the ice cream… Still an asshole, though.