I Am a Hurricane Irma Refugee

By Cheryl Mattox Berry

I was one of the lucky ones. I snared a one-way plane ticket out of Hurricane Irma’s path and headed to my mama’s house in Memphis. After 25 years in Miami, I couldn’t live through another hurricane.

Hurricane Andrew was bad enough in 1992. I remember huddling in bed with my 2-year-old daughter. “I’m kerd (scared,) Mommy,” she whispered, clinging to me as the windows next to the bed rattled.

My hyperactive son, 6, slept through the whole thing. Thank goodness.

The potential devastation from Hurricane Irma scared me. We live near the water, and the threat of a storm surge swallowing my townhouse was foremost in my mind. (On Thursday afternoon, an evacuation order was issued for my complex.)

I thought about going to a hotel, where we hunkered down in recent years during a hurricane. They were all booked. I was going to hit the road and drive far away from Miami. Everyone else had the same idea, and roads were clogged. A three-hour trip to Orlando took seven hours.

All Wednesday afternoon, I scoured the internet, looking for a ticket. Five minutes after I booked a flight on SmartFares, I got a call from a number with a California area code. I thought it was a telemarketer and ignored it.

The person kept calling so I finally answered. He informed me that I didn’t have a ticket because the American Airlines plane had been overbooked. However, he had the last seat on a flight that left Thursday afternoon. That was even better. I hate early morning flights.

There was a catch: It cost $150 more.

I hit the ceiling and demanded that he honor the $414 rate I paid for the original ticket. I told him it wasn’t my fault that I was allowed to buy a ticket for a seat that didn’t exist. He caved in and sold me the seat. Yes, I was an angry black woman and worked that stereotype.

The trip was smooth as could be expected these days. No traffic on the road. No long lines at Fort Lauderdale International Airport. There was a 15-minute delay before we took off, but I made my connection in Charlotte and arrived in Memphis on time.

I leave behind my husband, Jim, who will move from the sports anchor desk to cover the hurricane for CBS4. He’ll be stationed at an emergency operations center, which is supposed to be safe. I feel guilty about leaving him behind, but now he doesn’t have to worry about me while he’s working.

Last night, I dreamed that I was buried beneath hurricane debris. I screamed for help. In the distance, I heard someone calling, “Cheryl Annette, Cheryl Annette.” It was my mom in the next bedroom.

I woke up and realized that I was safe in my mama’s house.

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