Triggered

It smelled like Florida. It definitely wasn’t Florida; it was Binghamton. But I knew that smell, and that smell was the smell of the Sunshine State. That smell of humidity surrounding you; of thick and heavy air; of the impending storm.

Day 3 of Family Disney Adventure 2006. On today’s agenda: early morning Magic Hours at the Animal Kingdom then Downtown Disney for the shops and shows. It was the first time I can remember ever noticing the unique feel of the air around me. The sun was shining all morning long and all the animals seemed just as jubilant. A few clouds began to show themselves as it started to get blistering hot and we took the moments of shade as blessings.

The smell hit me when we left the LEGO store after my hour long perusal of my favorite toys. It was like some giant Mickey Mouse decided to dim the house lights for a show. The fluffy Toy Story clouds were gone and all that remained was a blanket of gray sky in every direction.

I’m not sure if there’s an actual meteorological term what happened next, but the first expression that came to my mind that day was “flash-pour”. About a quarter of a mile down the boardwalk, I began to see people running for cover, presumably to get cover from the rain about to fall, but I was wrong; the rain was already coming down.

Slowly but surely, with each passing moment, I watch as a wall of falling water rages toward me. I faintly remember my mom yelling at me to get back in the store, but the adrenaline already had me. I feel the tingle start in my mid-back, shooting straight to my knees, locking my legs in place. It works its way up my spine, tickling every last vertebrae on the way to my brain. It hits my neck and arms simultaneously; hundreds of hairs standing at full attention.

The roar of the oncoming waterfall becomes deafening, the wind blowing my hair and open shirt behind me. A few seconds pass; an eternity.

The tingling finds its way to the top of my back; brain stem; whole head. A single drop of water from the careening wall of water lands on my sunburned nose. The adrenaline explodes. My body is numb. I close my eyes and smile as I have never smiled before. The blanket of rain washes over me for what feels like a lifetime. And just as quickly as it came, it’s gone.

I turn my head just enough to see the rains going away, hoping it will come back. Ever so gently, my heartbeat calms, the endorphins wane, and I am left standing, soaked, with a smile. I laugh a little as I watch my mom, who apparently did not find shelter fast enough, come walking over to me carrying her bag. She says,

“Umbrella?”

And the only thing I can say back is:

“Ever notice that smell in the air?”

That was Florida three years ago. This is Binghamton and I know that smell. I know that although, for the moment, the pretty and puffy clouds rule the midday sky, at some point later today, I’ll be smiling again.