Displace, it’s a simple word; just two syllables. Encarta defines displace as to move something from a usual place or force somebody to leave home. On October 29, 2012, Hurricane Sandy ravaged the eastern coast. My home, my block and my life as I knew it has forever been displaced.
High tide was predicted to be hours away, however, the water was already in my backyard and creeping towards my house. There were bins scattered everywhere, in hopes that the worst may not come and maybe what is inside the bins will not get wet. Checks, childhood pictures, clothing, CD’s and a massive amount of paperwork were all enclosed in these bins. In my room, I made sure to place all my of shoes and my Nationals backpack off the floor and into a dry bin. I stacked everything else on top of my bed. When all was packed, the evacuation began. I took a last glimpse of my home and wondered if it would still be there when I return the next morning.
The storm ensued and could be heard throughout the hotel room where I resided that day and night. Trees could be heard wrestling with the wind until the tree was defeated and the wind took them down. Car alarms rang and the sight of the news reporters flailing their umbrellas was on the television. I went to sleep that night with these noises radiating in my head and anxiety coursing through my body.
I was awoken the next morning by my father’s ringtone. He was given bad news that our neighbor’s house had flooded which ultimately means ours had too. We gathered our things and silently drove home. As we got closer to our area, we began to see the damage, there were cars washed up on lawns and boats inside people’s kitchens. As we made the right down Jetmore Place, we could see that half our block was still flooded and a pile of boats were cluttered at the dead end. The closer we approached our home, the worse it looked. Dirt, tires, lawn chairs and even Halloween decorations piled up on our front lawn and none had belonged to my family. After observing outside we began to approach the inside.
My father opened the door to our ranch-style home and the moment of truth was upon us. I entered slowly and was greeted by the left over puddles of water on the wooden floors. I raced to my room to find my bins toppled over and submerged with salt water. All my shoes were destroyed, as was my sacred Nationals backpack. I picked up the backpack, which was at least ten pounds heavier than normal, and a tear slid down my cheek. The backpack I received for participating in the highest level track meet with my name printed perfectly on it was ruined by a vicious beast. I continued my search to find my favorite pair of black combat boots had turn a shade of white from the salt. My bed was soaked and the drawers of my dresser were still flooded with water and floating clothes. I could not handle the sight any longer, but I had to remember that I was not the only one with this damage. The other bins outside of my room had toppled over as well and we were left with almost nothing.
The clean-up lasted for days and my block began to resemble District 12 from the Hunger Games. My house began to empty as we tossed all the wet furniture and objects outside. From shoes to desks to frying pans, it was all outside. During our clean-up, strangers would drive slowly down our blocks to take pictures and videos of the damage. My sister and I called them “sight-seers” and we wanted nothing more than for them to drive over a nail or two. Many sight-seers would gasp and some would even cry but all in all, it was not tourist season and people should help instead of watch.
Before the storm my family and I would donate to the Red Cross; however, now they would come down our block and donate to us. They would deliver pizza and cleaning supplies and always a warm smile to keep you going. Also, neighbors were helping each other and ranting about the horrid response of LIPA and FEMA. It is always good to get a good laugh out of a tough situation. Many friends offered me their homes and hot showers. Somehow the ugliness of a hurricane helped bring out the beauty in some people. Just like it is said in the Katy Perry song, “after a hurricane comes a rainbow”, after Sandy comes a time to rebuild. Everything can and will be replaced and someday all Sandy will be is a great story to tell your children.