The Outer Banks of North Carolina, specifically Emerald Isle, has been my family’s vacation destination since before I was born.
I mostly know this because I’m familiar with the story of my conception, one summer day in the Tar Heel State, when my dad was a young Marine and my mom wasn’t quite yet my mom. Why do I know that story? Well, just read anything I’ve written about my parents. There’s not a lot they don’t tell me.
In 2011, my mom secured a two-week rental, a huge house on Emerald Isle’s beachy neighbor, Pine Knoll Shores. She and my dad would stay for the duration with my brother’s three daughters, ages 10 to 14. My family was invited, along with my aunt and her family, my sister and her husband, and a few cousins.
Don begged off. Work, he said.
I see now he was incredibly intelligent – prescient even – to pass on that trip. He also tried to warn me. Did I really think any good was going to come of this trip?
I did think something good was going to come of this trip. This was the vacation spot of my childhood. I was eager to build those same memories with my children.
I should never be eager to build those same memories with my children.
I decided to spend the full two weeks on Pine Knoll Shores. I would take my kids to my favorite restaurant, the inexplicably named Sanitary Fish Market. They could see a giant (dead) man-eating clam. We would eat hot hush puppies, dripping with butter.
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We would explore the Aquarium at Pine Knoll Shores, where they could learn about hometown-boy-done-bad Blackbeard, the dreaded pirate. They would swim in the Atlantic, unchecked by lifeguards. You know, swim out past the breakers. Watch the world die.
And you know what? All of that came to pass. Even the world dying.
Day 1 of our fateful trip. My parents and I had rented a minivan that would accommodate the eight of us – me, my two kids, my parents, and my brother’s three kids. We left at 4 o’clock in the morning.
Allow me to say two things here. One, my brother and his kids’ mom did not accompany us on any leg of this trip. Did they, like Don, have some foreknowledge? To say my brother was too smart to go would be ranking his intelligence above mine.
So let’s go with foreknowledge. My brother has ESP. Sure. That works.
Two, this drive should have taken us 8 hours. It took us fourteen.
My parents took turns driving while I managed the gaggle of children. During Willie’s shift, I noticed we were headed north.
With Indy napping blissfully in the passenger seat, it was up to me to point out that North Carolina is, in fact, south of Pennsylvania.
Willie was adamant. Indy had told her to go this way.
I get it. I do. Indy used to drive buses for Greyhound. He literally knows how to get everywhere. And as such, I knew that Indy knew that in no universe does North Carolina lie to the north of Mr. Penn and his woods.
I told Willie she can’t go ever go north to reach the Outer Banks from the mid-Atlantic region. Unless her plan was to drive through the Arctic, down and back up through South America.
She assured us we were headed in the right direction.
I woke Indy.
We weren’t supposed to be going north.
Willie insisted Indy had told her to go north.
Indy reminded Willie he had told her to go south or east.
This is how my father gives directions. Take X route south or east. Take Y route north or west. Now, I knew, that when it comes to directions, that south and east are always paired for Indy. Likewise for north and west.
Apparently, I have known Indy longer than Willie has known him. She was positive – positive – Indy had said north or east. She’d had the option of going north or south. She went north since there was no east.
I pointed out that we were still moving, still going north. Away from the Outer Banks.
By the time we reached our house, the children – I’m including myself here – were cranky and hungry. I was ready for pizza. Shedding the dust of travel in the pool. Bed.
Willie was ready for the Sanitary Fish Market.
Have you ever been locked in a car for 14 hours with five kids ages 3 to 14, violent motion sickness, and two parents who seem to have awoken married to each other only that morning? No?
Then don’t judge me for going along with the Sanitary Fish Market Plan.
Sadly, it did not take long for the Sanitary Fish Market Plan to unravel. Nobody cared about the giant man-eating clam. No one wanted to eat the hot hush puppies. The consensus among the children was that hush puppies look weird and are they made out of small PUPPIES I’m not eating something made out of DOGS and I just want to go BED and the clam is STUPID!
I asked the waitress to put our food in doggie bags. I told Willie we had to go. I tried again to highlight the impressiveness of the man-eating clam because I have more than a little bit of Willie in me. Sometimes I just can’t let go of a bad idea.
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Day 2 in our tropic port. Willie volunteered to get groceries. I compiled a list, then Indy and I rounded up the five kids to head to the beach.
Day 3 went exactly the same way. Exactly the same way. Willie went grocery shopping. Indy and I rounded up the kids.
Day 4. Willie went grocery shopping. Again. Indy and I rounded up the kids. Again. But this day was different.
There was an earthquake.
We spent that afternoon swimming in our pool. In the evening, we learned Virginia had experienced a 5.8 magnitude earthquake. So powerful, vibrations had been felt all the way to North Carolina.
Wow. I had felt nothing. I assumed we were too far south.
We weren’t too far south, Indy said. He had felt it. We were in the pool.
Why didn’t he say anything? His entire complement of grandchildren – at the time – were in that pool. And his favorite kid. Why hadn’t he said something?
“Wasn’t strong,“ Indy said. “We were safe.”
Sure. We were only in a pool sandwiched between the ocean and a three-story house. Has he never seen The Impossible? The Poseidon Adventure? Deep Impact?
Well, no. He doesn’t watch movies A) in color or B) filmed after 1944. He also doesn’t worry about anything. Ever.
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Day 4 also differed from Days 2 and 3 because of the hurricane.
Don texted me early that morning. Irene is coming your way, he said. Keep an eye on the news. Pack a “go” bag.
Day 5. The weather started getting rough. The ocean had become too tumultuous to swim. The kids, Indy, and I stuck to the pool. Hour by hour, my Weather Channel app assured me that Irene had our island dead in her sights.
I suggested we leave.
“Pah,” scoffed Willie. “We’ve been coming here for 40 years. There are always hurricane warnings. The locals don’t even leave. We’re staying.”
Don was just as resolute, but in opposition to Willie, which is basically the story of my life. Get my kids off that island, he warned, or I’ll come do it myself.
All day I pleaded. I reasoned. I kept the Weather Channel on the TV. Mandatory evacuations were just a matter of time. Please. Please let’s go.
Willie refused to budge. Forty years. Hurricane warnings are constant. Nobody leaves.
That night, I lay in the subterranean bedroom I shared with my kids. Hourly, I checked my Weather Channel app. As the wind and ocean kicked up outside my window, I began to check quarter-hourly.
Irene was headed right for Pine Knoll Shores.
In the morning, I pleaded again.
Nope, Willie said. We’re fine. My cousins that had arrived Day 2 concurred with my mom. I was being dramatic. Histrionic, even.
Because, you know, I’m the one who overreacts in this family.
Fine, I said. Stay. I’m renting my own car and getting myself and all the kids out.
“Well jeez,” Willie sighed. “If you feel that strongly about it, we’ll go.”
Really?! That’s what it took to clinch it? Threatening to leave? Not the Category 1 cyclone gunning for us? Not Sam Champion urging us to go? Not local meteorologist Skip Waters predicting mass destruction? We’ve been watching Skip Waters for 40 years. Skip Waters wouldn’t lie to us!
I sent my nieces to pack necessities. I grabbed my “go” bag. Nine o’clock in the morning. I was ready.
But apparently, before we could leave, Willie had “some things” to do. Maybe Indy and I could take the kids to the aquarium? You know, a three-hour tour?
We finally left late in the afternoon, headed for a hotel Willie had booked while we idled at the aquarium. Two hours from our beach house – which we hoped to return to – it certainly held promise. Indoor pool. Complimentary breakfast. Twenty-four-hour snack shop. It even had a Target nearby.
A Target with a Starbucks.
Just as we crossed the bridge to the mainland, my phone rang with an alert. Mandatory evacuation of all Outer Banks. We had beat the exodus by mere minutes.
Day 7 of our uphill climb. Leaving my nieces with Indy at the hotel, Willie and I trucked off to Target for supplies. I was also going to get two – no, four – days’ worth of Starbucks.
But the Starbucks was dark. Empty as a deserted isle. Panicked, I flagged down a Target employee. Why wasn’t the Starbucks open? Where was the staff?
With her charming Southern laissez-faire, she shrugged that the Starbucks staff had just not come in that day.
I demanded answers. Did you call them? Did anyone call them?! Please call them!
Sometimes, she shrugged, that just happens with Starbucks.
An untold number of days in a hotel with five kids and no Starbucks? I was clearly devolving from The Skipper on Gilligan’s Island to Piggy of Lord of the Flies– subjected to the decisions and self-preservation of others. No Starbucks?! What am I, Superman? HOW WILL I SURVIVE?!
Dejected, I moved onto my shopping list. Willie was securing a few days’ worth of meals that could be prepared in a hotel room. I was securing supplies for the moment the Lord of the Flies tried to put my head on a stick.
Non-perishable food. Bottled water. Flashlights. Batteries. Duct tape. Fortunately, I already had my Cabela’s multipurpose tool. Everything from a knife to scissors to needlenose pliers in one handy $5 package.
Willie balked at my purchases. The hotel likely had a generator. Why bother with flashlights? The snack shop has water. Sodas, even. And what was the purpose of the duct tape?
“The duct tape,” I said flatly, “is in case we need to tape cardboard over the windows. Or stop people from eating our food rations.” My message was clear. I was willing to duct tape anyone who came for my supplies during the storm.
“Would you duct tape me?” Willie asked.
I’d duct tape her first.
We returned to the hotel. I stashed my supplies. I settled the children in bed. I went to the 24-hour snack shop, where I picked up a Snickers bar and discovered that – mercifully – the snack shop had Blue Moon. Lots and lots of Blue Moon.
The storm hit our hotel in the wee hours. I listened as it buffeted and pummeled our inland hotel. I watched as the lights went out. For an hour, the hotel remained dark.
No generator.
Sadly, Irene portended the end of our tropic island nest. We were unable to return to our house in Pine Knoll Shores. We went home, never more happy to be back from a vacation. The drive home was almost as bad as the drive down. Due to power outages, I was relegated to using the shade of a tractor-trailer to, um, powder my nose.
A lot of people were relegated to powdering their noses under that tractor-trailer.
Really, Willie. Why would you photograph me in that get-up?
But one problem remained. We had left many belongings at the house. It would take weeks for the rental agency to return everything to us. My parents speculated that maybe they would return to Pine Knoll Shores to expedite the process.
So here is where I remind you that I am a control freak. Sometimes – sometimes- I try to control other people. I was not thrilled at the idea of my parents going back, and I told them so. We could all wait for the rental agency to send our belongings. End of discussion.
Except the next day my phone rang. It was Willie. But when I answered the phone, I immediately realized she had butt-dialed me. Willie was asking Indy how they were going to explain “it” to me.
I later learned that “it” was their plan to fly to North Carolina and retrieve our belongings. Willie’s accidental call had occurred while she and Indy were waiting to board their flight.
“Tell her the truth,” Indy urged.
Willie disagreed. If they told me the truth, I’d be angry. She didn’t want me to be angry.
“So lie,” Indy shrugged.
But Willie was opposed to lying to me as well. Because I’m so smart – her words, I’m just repeating them – I would figure out they had lied. So what should they tell me?
“The truth,” Indy repeated.
But if we tell the truth, Willie replied, I would be angry with them. She didn’t want me to get angry. What should they tell me?
“Lie,” Indy said.
My parents continued, completely unaware that I was listening to every single word.
I hung up after three cycles. For all I know, they’re still having this conversation.
This is all a decade-plus in the past. When I sat down to write this, I texted Willie that I was writing about our last OBX vacation.
“Why?” she asked. “Did something happen while we were there?”
Yes, Mom. Something happened there.