Poltergeists: the blizzard of 2011

Chicago. The internet is still up. There's only one thing on TV tonight: the massive storm pummeling Chicago and the wider Midwest on its way to the East Coast. They're talking about the storms of '67 and '79, gearing up for what could be the worst storm in over 20 years. Occasional lake-waves up to 25 feet, gusts up to 60 mph. The news is calling it life-threatening.

As the glow of sunlight retreats behind a wall of white storm, I can see the indoor lights reflecting the vibrations of an angry wind at my windows. The double-paned glass is bowing and thrumming like a drum. I've taped down the main window facing the lake with a big X, like dad did when Hurricane Iniki hit in '92. In case the wind shatters the glass. Outside in the hallway of my twelfth-floor apartment, the eerie sound of a poltergeist wind rattles and whistles. And it's getting worse.


Our editing professor let us out of classes an hour and a half early in anticipation of the brewing gales; I watched the snow thicken through the windows of Fisk Hall, my classmates with cars staring anxiously over my shoulder. I trudged through the streets from the subway to my apartment, turning a corner where the Lake Michigan wind assaulted me. I couldn't move--stuck in the middle of the street, and that damn car was just going to have to wait for me because I'm only two blocks from home with no where else to go.

I have no desire to be a TV reporter tonight: in the empty halls of O'Hare Airport, standing with sandbags against a plastic-wrapped camera in Daley Plaza or locked in traffic waiting for those enormous waves to flood Lake Shore Drive. The whine of emergency vehicles is muted, and the cars creep along below with their hazard lights nodding patiently.
What was excitement over my first snow-day and a possible sledding expedition has turned into anxiety as a drip catches my eye--the snow is melting down the inside of my east-facing window.