“No, no, no. This can’t be happening,” I grumbled.
After hearing her announcement, I raced over to the large digital monitors displaying flight departure and arrival times. She was right. Everything had been canceled. I stood in the longline filled with aggravated passengers who wanted to figure out how to defy Mother Nature and get to wherever the hell they wanted to go. I didn’t blame them. Hell, I was one of them. I tried to get the fuck out of Jacksonville for once and kick it with my girls, whom I hadn’t seen since I traveled to Georgia for a Friendsgiving at Kaneesha’s new place last November.
I’d managed to find time to do everything I needed to do to prepare for my trip. I took a day off from work to get my hair braided and visit the salon for a much-needed waxing from head to toe, along with a quick French manicure and pedicure. I’d even convinced my neighbor to come over and walk Butta and make sure he had enough food and water in his bowls while I was away for two days.
Taking time off work was something I rarely did, given the always-demanding nature of my workload, let alone taking an actual vacation. I’d been drowning in paperwork and appeals and cases for months, and I was ready to break free, if only for a couple of days. I needed this girls’ trip in more ways than one, and Mother Nature was fucking with me.
The line seemed to inch forward half a step every fifteen minutes. While I waited to find out more information, I whipped out my phone and hit the group chat to deliver the bad news.
Me:
Y’all! My flight just got canceled because of this stupid ass tropical storm.
Neesh:
Shit. It ain’t no tropical storm anymore, girl. My flight from Georgia just had to turn around and do an emergency landing. They’re saying it’s a full-blown hurricane, and it’s only going to get worse.
Brit:
I didn’t even make it to the airport before they canceled my flight.
Me:
How is it in Tampa right now, Brit?
Brit:
Raining its ass off for the most part. I’m about to run out and try and grab some last-minute supplies before it starts to flood.
Neesh:
Y’all Floridians stay safe out there.
Me:
I REALLY needed this Fourth of July trip to be a thing. We haven’t all gotten together since Thanksgiving.
Brit:
Please don’t bring that up. I still can’t get the taste of Neesh’s burnt-ass turkey out of my mouth.
Neesh:
Shut the fuck up! It was Cajun-style, bitch!
The three of us continued to send GIFs and laughing emojis to each other while reminiscing. It brought a smile to my face, even though I’d be cooped up in the house watching the rain pour when I could’ve been on somebody’s beach or under somebody’s fine-ass son.
I wasn’t the type to let my hair down or let my wild side take over too often, but if the right man happened to come along while I was chilling on the beach or at the bar, I was open to seeing where the night took us. Quiet as it was kept, I hadn’t hadsex in over six months. Most days, I was so preoccupied with work that a nice, thick dick with a lil curve was the last thing on my mind. Besides, as long as my rose vibrator didn’t kick out on me any time soon, I’d be all right.
After finally making my way to the front of the line and being instructed on where to find my checked bag, I headed toward baggage claim with the hundreds of other people trying to get home. Of course, traffic was a nightmare. Between the gridlocked congestion of cars trying to get out of the airport and the rain pelting the ground so hard that it started to flood, my anxiety was on ten. Being alone with no plans on the fourth took celebrating my independence to a whole other level, and I was dreading going back home to face an empty apartment. At least I had Butta.
Shit, Butta.
He hated storms, and if the power ended up going out, I’d need candles and extra dog treats to console him. I decided to stop at the grocery store, a couple of miles away from my apartment, to pick up some doggie treats, extra batteries, and candles. I wasn’t a Florida baby, but after being a resident for over five years, I’d become accustomed to the storms. They were hardly ever as bad as the weather report made them out to be, even if my windshield wipers were on the highest setting right now.
Relax, Sawyer. We haven’t gotten hit with anything terrible in a couple of years, anyway. This will all be over soon.
My phone began to vibrate in the center console, snapping me out of my intrusive thoughts. The first thing I noticed was the picture of my older sister, Soleil, and me from last Christmas on my phone screen. We were wearing matching ugly Christmas sweaters and red Rudolph noses and sticking our tongues out at the camera like a couple of unruly teenagers.
