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Short Story: The Eye of the Storm

Orli Katz

The night of the blizzard I made a lot of mistakes. It was a Motzaei Shabbos, following two days of being cooped up with malcontent children and nothing but dreary winter out my window. I was due for some major retail therapy. So, after tucking in my precious little ones, I shrugged on my coat, stuffed my feet into boots and headed out the door, tiny sedan key swinging merrily from my pocket.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

It was snowing, and rear-wheel-drive sedans and snow, like children and dry-clean-only, do not go well together. I got in the car anyway and, to assuage my guilt at my feelings of blissful happiness, I turned on a Torah CD called “Clash of Civilizations,” about the possibility of nuclear war with Iran. Carefully maneuvering down the snow-dusted driveway, I made a split-second decision to forgo my local outlet store in favor of the one in Watertown, almost twenty minutes away.

As I got onto the highway I thought twice about the wisdom of traveling out of town when a huge storm was predicted, and noted with slight alarm the massive snowplows rumbling on the side of the road, placidly waiting for the storm to hit. I brushed my fear aside.

Pulling up in front of Marshall’s, my favorite store in the universe, I hurriedly made my way inside, and immediately relaxed. Bargains were everywhere and the hunt was on. I was in heaven … until my cell phone rang.

“Uh, Orli?” my husband’s anxious voice broke through my blissful state.

“Hmmm?” I answered distractedly.

“I just heard that the snow’s coming down much more quickly than they had predicted, between two to four inches an hour. I think you’d better come home now.”

“Don’t worry,” I answered, calmly. “I’ll see you soon.” Another half hour can’t hurt, I thought as I glided down the hosiery aisle.


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