I am running all over the house looking for my toothpaste. My Uber comes in 5 minutes. I have everything ready for my trip to MA. It took so many preparations to get to this point, yet I can't find any toothpaste anywhere. I scream in frustration. I guess I am leaving for MIT and Emerson without toothpaste. 

“Sorren!” my mother yells from upstairs, “Come up here, I want to say goodbye!” 

As I rush upstairs, something catches my eye. Gleaming in the sunlight, streaming in from the window, lies my grandfather’s old watch he gave to me. I pick it up, turn it over, and on the back, written in gold contrasting with the silver, it says “Bar Harbor Maine,” where we used to live with Grandpa before the car accident.

“Are you coming?” yells my mother from upstairs again. “Don’t make me call twice!” 

I grab the old watch and stuff it into my pocket before rushing upstairs. 

“Finally!” my mother says, and before embracing me, she tells me to peer out the living room window surrounded by a new wooden border with a flower pattern.

Staring out the window, mesmerized by the fact that light snow has begun to fall. The delicate flakes land in every direction. Just beyond the giant oak, we have in our front yard, I see that the road is, covered, in a thin blanket of snow. The snowflakes twirl and spin in every direction. As I watch, I look down at my watch and realize that my Uber ride is 10 minutes late because of traffic and a car crash due to the slippery roads caused by the snow. Two out of the three lanes are blocked and traffic is at a crawl.

My ears perk up as my consciousness detects a deep gurgle which turns into a rumble as I notice the orange of a snowplow followed by a salt truck. Hopefully, there'll be fewer accidents, I tell my mother. Another 10 minutes and the Uber is still not here, my flight is in three hours, my phone reminds me. 

“I wish that Uber would speed it up and get over here, I am on a tight schedule!” I wearily say to my mother.

“Don’t worry!” she replies, “The roads are getting extremely hard to navigate.”

I have to agree as I look out the window and see more snow and white in all directions. The wind howls, and I jump back. Hail starts falling. 

Boom, boom, crack! The hail replies as it hits the roof of my house and the road all around us.

“Gosh!” I tell my mother, “This does not usually happen in Maine, does it?”

“No, I’ve never seen anything like it!” mother yells over the noise outside.

I’ve never seen anything like this all my life, I think as I stare out the window. Suddenly, a massive hail chunk hits a huge branch off a dead tree and takes our patio down with it. Splinters of wood fly in all directions. One hits the window I am looking through and the window cracks and groans in protest. I jump back, trip over a fallen lamp, and OUCH! I somehow manage to twist my ankle.

“Oh NO, are you OK?” my mother says panic creeping into her tone.

Thank gods it was not serious. My mother helped me wrap gauze around it and gave me a pack of ice. I don’t think the Uber is ever going to come, if the driver had any sense, they would have taken shelter somewhere else. I voice my thoughts out loud while more booming and cracking come from outside. The lights flicker. Another loud crash. If you can imagine it, the snow falls even harder, and even larger hail starts to fall. Another crack and the smashing sound of glass. I run to the kitchen and look out the window overlooking the sunroom. 

Since it is only early fall, we did not remove any of the furniture in the sunroom. We were planning to clean it out last week, but with me leaving and everything it must have slipped our minds. The smash I heard was the last of our furniture and sunroom for that matter. 

It looked like a tornado came through. The roof is decimated, with only a few planks of wood left and so was the bottom. All of the chairs, the sofa, and the table had all fallen through the gaping hole in the floor. My mother is freaking out now and to be honest, so am I. If the sunroom is gone, how much longer before the hail starts piercing the roof? Our house is not made for this or so I thought. 

My mother calls for me to follow her to the attic, and that is the last place I want to go, with all the booming of the hail. It turns out that since our house was built a very long time ago when these types of storms were common here, our roof has a reinforced metal top that we can open and close at the click of a button. But, as I said, these types of storms were common here about two or three centuries ago. Who knows if it still works or if it is even still there, with all of the renovations I expect have been down here. Cause, despite the olden look of the outside of the house, the inside is pretty modern. But, this is our only hope.

 If this does not work, I do not know what we will do. We might even have to go into the underground bunker and that does not sound fun. I pull down the ladder to the attic and my mother rushes up. I follow in close pursuit and see the button. It is behind a wood panel camouflage with the overall look in the attic. My mother lifts the panel and clicks the button. For a second nothing happens.

Suddenly, a loud CREAK! And a CLANG! Runs throughout the house, as the metal shield clicks into place. I realize I have held my breath and start to cheer, my mother joins in. But as soon as it starts it stops. The power flickers, then goes out.

I start to wonder how bad all the cars on the road are faring and decide that I have to do something. I can’t stay here while people are dying just outside our doors. First of all, since our house can properly accommodate them, I decided, and mother agrees, that we have to let our neighbors into our house. I know for a fact that their houses do not have a protective roof and they need it to survive, but how do I get them here? My mind goes through hundreds of possibilities before settling on one. I rushed down the stairs, flashlight in hand, and came back up with a few pieces of wood, a saw, and a 4-inch thick piece of metal my father bought for some reason. 

He is currently in Florida for work and won't coming back for another week or so. In Florida, right now, the weather is extraordinarily hot. Even though it is winter, it is around 112°F. To be honest, it seems that the weather everywhere is going haywire. I push these thoughts aside and get to work. 

First, I cut the wood into a few pieces to make a sort of rectangular umbrella with four hand holds since the metal is fairly heavy. The next thing I do is, with a few smaller pieces of metal, hammer it to the wood. Then I weld those pieces of wood with the metal on top to the bigger metal top. Ta-DA! A DIY metal umbrella! The only problem is, I need two people to hold it. 

My mother helped me bring it upstairs, but I don’t think we can leave the house unattended with the storm and all, while we walk around grabbing people. I problem-solve and add a wood beam going across so I can balance the weight and carry it by myself. Next thing you know, I am out the door into the windy, and hostile environment going around and picking up any of our neighbors who need help. 

As I walk down the street, I see lots of fallen trees and other people with house damage. Like us, many people lost their patios, but some very unlucky people lost over half their homes. These houses are where I go first. The first thing I hear as I approach one of these houses is a child crying. I turn the corner and peer in, what I see will never leave my mind.

Blood is flowing out of the hole that used to be the child’s ear. Her parents are trying to tend to her wounds, but they have wounds of their own. 

I gently call out, “Hello? Do you guys need any help? I was just looking for people I could take to my home as a sort of refuge if you lost your home to the storm.”

The child’s parents whisper their reply and I almost miss it, “Ou-our daughter, sh-s-she needs help, w-we lost our med-medical su-suppl-supplies on the other side of our hou-house.”

I quickly ran to her side and used the bandages I brought to stop the bleeding. Then, I instruct them to help me lift the metal umbrella and help the child underneath. We all then march back over to my house. As we walk back up the hill and past the many huge, uprooted trees, an idea strikes me. 

What if I add an extra protective layer of metal on top of our car? As we approach my house, I see another car parked in the driveway. Confused, I decided to take the back door inside so I could get a closer look. The car is a blue 2011 Toyota with many, many, dent marks marking every inch of the car. I then realize that this is my Uber. I quicken my pace and help Sally, John, and little Melissa into the house (my neighbors). Climbing the stairs I hear loud chatter and the clink of silverware. I see my mother talking to a skinny man with a well-shaven beard wearing a plain red t-shirt and jeans. 

“Hey mom, could you maybe help Sally and John? Oh and Melissa.” I yell over the constant thump of the hail. 

“Oh my gods!” my mother gasps and runs to their side. She then takes them down the hallway to the bathroom. I am left alone with the Uber driver. I quickly tell him my idea about the reinforced roof and he agrees with the idea. He warns me that the roads are slippery and we may have to go very slowly. I am OK with that as long as I can head in the right direction. Towards my collages preferably. 

I grab more metal sheets from the garage and using my umbrella we install the new roof just as my mother finishes up with our neighbors. I tell her my plan, while under my instruction, the Uber driver loads up my luggage into the car. My mother starts to tear up and gives me one last hug as I step out the door and proceed towards the car. By now, most of the roads in my neighborhood are clear and the snow has started to slow down a little. 

The fall of the hail is still coming down strong, though. After about 2 hours of driving, I see the sign for New Hampshire, and as we cross the state line, something bizarre happens. First, I see all the news crews, then realize that the hail has stopped, and, as I roll down my window, that it is hot here. We just came from freezing temperatures, and here it is 80 or 90℉! I am so surprised that for a moment, I forget to breathe. But, it passes. I wish I could call my mother! Oh, if only there is electricity back in Maine!

Instead, I stare out the window for the rest of the drive. Once I arrive on campus, everyone is so surprised to see me that, at once, I'm pestered by hundreds of questions. I sit down outside, by the Charles River, and tell them all my story while they congratulate me on my feat.