Party on, even in the darkness

Hurricane Isabel turned that Thursday gray and rainy and dark, with a wind that came in loud bursts across the afternoon. We huddled around a useless radio, holding a newborn and trying to keep the boys from being too curious about all that noise outside.

The next morning, when Riverview residents emerged like cave dwellers blinking in the Suffolk sun, trees blocked every street in the neighborhood, an obstacle course made of downed 100-year oaks and debris that used to be houses.

I remember such things from the first days after Sept. 18, 2003. That and trying to figure out what was going on but failing, thanks to dead technology and blocked roads and diversions born of insane rumors. I remember the absolute dark of those first few nights, the brilliance of the stars once the clouds cleared, and a quiet like after a snowstorm.

What my kids remember best is the party.

When I dragged myself home one evening, I found the Luzzattos still mostly amused by the novelty of the 18th century. Where I'd spent a couple of days battling computers and cell phones, the rest of the house had begun to embrace technology's absence and the dark.

But on this night, next door, there were lights. From the porch, we could hear shouts and something that sounded vaguely like music. We grabbed the baby and the boys, a bottle of wine, our neighbors and headed over.

We arrived to find a party.

There were guitars and singing that grew louder with each sip. Beyond the light, in the yard, kids played games that I remembered from childhood evenings, games that today's tethered kids don't play much.

The children squealed well into the night, serenaded by moms and dads and songs older than they were. We laughed and shouted and held each other up. After days of lugging dead branches, of entertaining bored kids, of cold showers and uncooked food, we needed this.

In the coming days, generators would begin buzzing all over Riverview. Washed-out light would glow from every other house, making it harder to see in the dark of the street. The next week would bring us even nearer to normal - by the next weekend, electricity would be restored to Riverview - but we needed that party that night. That's why we remember it.

In the five years since, the parents have talked about repeating those festivities more than once. So have the kids, who seem to remember that night even better, who seem to realize how rare it was.

For the adults, there are always excuses. Our kids are older; they do more stuff. Our lives are crammed every day to overflowing. Some of the families have left the neighborhood, including us.

So much of life is about repeating good moments, about finding our way back to our friends. Each day, though, that evening grows more distant, both in fading memories and in the prospect for another like it. Even as Hanna heads for us, along with siblings Ike and Josephine, even as another high hurricane season kicks into gear.

Whenever we talk about hurricanes here, we talk in terms of Isabel, about how long it took Hampton Roads to return to normal. But I have to remind myself that for one night early in Isabel's aftermath, normal was far away, and I should always be glad.

Donald Luzzatto is an editorial writer for The Virginian-Pilot. E-mail him at donald.luzzatto@pilotonline.com.