The Disaster

During the last year of my time in Ohio, I had a persistent, uncomfortable feeling that I should not be there. Of course, this feeling was prompted by a number of factors: my disappointment and disillusionment in the school I was attending, the overwhelmingly conservative personality of the town in which I lived, the flat land, the effect of Ohio humidity on my desert-fired pores. But coupled with those aspects was something like a faint buzz in my head, a sensation that I can only compare to the sense one gets before looking over one's shoulder.

Since my teenage years, I have had these sensations on occasion. These "gut feelings" have steered me away from otherwise disastrous incidents and, I believe, have saved my life. One day back in the late 1990's, for example, before leaving on a drive from Logan to Salt Lake, I knew, knew, that I had to drive the car. There was no question about it--no one else was supposed to drive that vehicle. Fortunately, I was able to persuade the owner of the car to let me take the wheel without making her think I was insane, and, on that day, we were involved in a rather nasty wreck. Neither of us, however, sustained any major injuries; I wasn't injured at all. The car was destroyed. (Lesson to the Reader: If I ever ask to drive your car, you should try to persuade me to stay put.)

I don't know why I felt I was supposed to drive that car. Perhaps it was less of a personal endangerment-warning, than some vindictive act by a Toyota-hating gremlin. But I've learned, on the rare occasions when these feelings arise, not to question them.

Three years after I left Ohio, the Blanchard River, which runs directly through the town of Findlay, overran its flood stage by about seven feet, causing the most severe flooding in that area for nearly a century. The place where I lived was located only a few blocks from the banks of that river. Reports from friends in the area are that the single-level home I lived in was completely inundated, flooded under several feet of water. Had we stayed there, everything we own would have been lost.

So, was the faint buzzing in my head some kind of premonition, or merely a growing sense of discomfort with my circumstances at the time? I cannot tell you that, but I can say that my first thought on seeing the images of Findlay like the one above (from the Toledo Blade) was, "That was it. That was the disaster."

To explain: another of the strange things going on in my head is the sensation that I will experience (or survive) three events before my death. One of those events, so I have felt since my teenage years, was that I would survive a disaster. (Although, since I wasn't actually there during the flood, I'm not sure I can claim that I survived anything.) This event was the first of the three, all to follow in order, though I have no idea of the length of time between the events. The next, which I don't feel comfortable revealing here, would (will?) involve a major life change, one that would alter nearly every facet of the life I live now.

So it's hard for me to say whether these feelings have any credibility, or if my brain is slowly failing. And, really, I suppose the end result will be the same. But the feeling, the sensation, persists--sometimes weaker, sometimes stronger. When I looked at the pictures of Findlay, my scalp was buzzing like a fridge whose warranty has expired. My gut tells me that's one down, two to go. Needless to say, I'm nervous as hell.

Here is a large set of photos from flooded Findlay. Do you feel the buzz?