The Day the Cold Arrived
IT WAS THE DAY THE COLD ARRIVED. I felt the frosty dew break off from my eyes as I forced them open. I remembered what the National Weather Service told me:
Outlook: Dangerously cold wind chills are expected from Wednesday
through midday Thursday. Light snow accumulations are possible around
Thursday night.
Discussion: The combination of cold temperatures and wind will result
in dangerously cold wind chills from Wednesday through midday
Thursday. A weak weather disturbance moving through the area around
Thursday night may result in some light snow accumualtions [sic]. Another
low pressure system may bring rain to the area early next week.I feared for my life. It was 6:15 now. I usually wake up at 6, but my first alarm didn’t ring, likely because sound waves travel slower as it gets colder — even sound was not resistant to these sub-arctic temperatures.
“OK Google,” I said to my Google Home Mini, “Good Morning.”
“Good morning James, it is January 30, 2019. Currently, the temperature outside is unreported. There is a Special Weather Statement from the National Weather Service: ‘The arctic air has moved into central Indiana.’ Traffic to work is light, as usual. Please be careful driving to work today.”
I got out of bed and saw my breath come out of my mouth, moving slowly through the air like fog. I went to the bathroom to shower. I left my sink and shower faucets on a drip last night to prevent the pipes from freezing, but this morning, I realized a major shortfall from my efforts: where the water line was in my toilet, was now a solid layer of ice. I speculated that if I used a plunger, I would catch myself a walleye.
Nevertheless, I believed an effort to use the restroom to begin with would result in a tragic end. If you could make snow by pouring a bucket of water outside, I fear what would happen if I tried to pee.
I finished the rest of my morning routine as I took a hot shower — the water was lukewarm at best. And I brushed my teeth, which gave me brain freeze. This is the reality of living in the Midwestern Siberia.
Every morning I make a pot of coffee— pour-over coffee, as does any pretentious college writer. For fifteen minutes every morning, it is usually the only peace I get until after class. Generally, I enjoy two cups of hot, single-origin light roast. But today, today was the day the Cold came, and the only liquid that I could muster out of my ChemEx was a bitter-tasting slush, packed with frosty crystals of frozen coffee. Regardless, it had to happen. An addiction waits for no one. I pinched my nose, and drank as much as I could. This is when I knew that it was over.
Every day, I drive a 7 to 10 minute commute out to Indiana University’s Memorial Stadium parking lot. I was leaving at 7am today, about 15 minutes earlier than usual since I drank my coffee quickly and wanted to deal with any issues regarding my car. Thankfully, I drive a Ford Expedition with all-wheel drive, but my neighbors were not so lucky. I saw many scraping frost off their windshields, popping their hoods to jump their car, and one person who tried to open the door to their Honda Fit, completely yanking off their frozen door as the rest of their chassis shattered into a million icy pieces. But I could not stop. It’s a dog-eat-dog world. I had to get to class.
I arrived at the Stadium at 7:29, and I saw the A and W Limited buses waiting for me. Since I had to get to Hodge Hall, I basked in the joy of being able to pick the bus of my choice — what a privilege. I left my car and approached the buses, feeling my tongue seize up from the immediate frostbite. Both buses honked loudly. The drivers called out at me and looked back at the passengers — “Buses closed! We can’t move! It’s too cold out! Walk or go home!”
I couldn’t believe my eyes. The first students vacated the bus and briskly dispersed into the parking lot — but hardly anyone reached their car before they were transformed. As though they were looking into the eyes of an arctic Medusa, they froze in place — on the sidewalks, the road, and opening the doors of their car. I ran back to my car, refusing to look back as though I were Lot, fleeing from a frigid Sodom and Gomorrah.
Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, neither stay thou in all the plain; escape to the mountain, lest thou be consumed. — Genesis 19:15–17
I drove away from the stadium, and drove, and drove, and drove, watching the students, professors, and even townies freeze in their places. I came home. I grabbed the sheets and the towels and anything else that would keep me warm. I made a fire. I locked the door, knowing soon that the looting would begin. I sat in my bathroom, tending to my fire. All the lights around me were off. If any hunters, gatherers, rioters would break into my apartment, at least they would go for my roommates first.
I knew though, I knew. We all knew. It would have been better to keep us all at home and off the streets. “Class Cancelled” — Two words, so easy to convey. And it was not our fault, either. We could not have been more clear. They heard our calls, they could have stopped this. But by the wrath of hubris alone, they chose not to act.
Now, here I lay, as the end of days begin, on the Day the Cold Arrived.
And here lies a wretched corpse, of wretched soul bereft
Seek not my name. A plague consume you wicked caitiffs left!
Here lie I, Timon, who alive all living men did hate.
Pass by and curse thy fill, but pass, and stay not here thy gait.
- William Shakespeare, Alcibiades, Act 5, Scene 4
To the Indiana University Administration, please cancel school tomorrow. But even if we freeze to death, at least we’ll die as Hoosiers.
Writer’s Note: If you liked this, consider signing this petition. It won’t do anything, but it’s a start. If school is not cancelled tomorrow, bundle up and go to class. Even as we look into the face of adversity, we must stick together on the battlefield.
