RALEIGH, N.C. _ In the photograph that delivered his face onto phone screens and into living rooms across the nation, Robert Simmons Jr. wears a look of anguish.
He is riding in a jon boat out of his neighborhood in New Bern, the neighborhood where generations of his family have lived in the same house off of Garden Street. His great-grandfather built that house.
Floodwater from Hurricane Florence surrounds the boat. Simmons is hunched over. He looks weighed down: by the hurricane; by the sight of his flooded neighborhood. Most of all, by concern for his father, Robert Sr. They are close, and in the photograph, they are now separated. That, most of all, is the root of Simmons' anguish.
A kitten is perched on Simmons' right shoulder, looking into the camera. The kitten is wet, his fur sticking together. Zoom in on the image, and it becomes clear that the cat is wearing a kind of defiant expression. He seems unfazed by the chaos, undaunted by the storm. The tiny animal almost looks tough. In the moment, Simmons says the kitten's name is Survivor.
Shortly after the picture was taken, the boat ride ends. Simmons starts walking away, toward a stretch of road on higher ground. It goes unnoticed that he is dragging his left leg and walking slowly. The hurricane shelter he is seeking is more than a half-mile away.
Travis Long, the visual journalist who has been covering Hurricane Florence with me, tells Simmons he should ride with us. Travis and I have been in New Bern for several hours, shadowing rescuers with small boats. That's how we met Simmons. He takes a seat in the back of our rented Ford F-150, and we drop him off at the shelter a few minutes later. I double check his name to make sure I have it right for the story I'll write.
"Robert Simmons?" I ask.
"Robert Simmons Jr.," he says, emphasizing the junior, with Survivor seeking refuge in his jacket.
He walks away, into the shelter. A woman helping outside says there are 400 people staying there. I wonder if we'll ever see Simmons again. He disappears into the building, and I take out my iPhone, wipe it against my damp shirt to try to dry it, and look back at the photos I've just taken. I'm looking for something I can post to Twitter to promote the story I'm already organizing in my head.
For whatever reason _ maybe Simmons' forlorn expression, maybe the kitten sitting on the shoulder, maybe the foreboding floodwater surrounding them, maybe all of those things _ the image immediately resonated. It went viral, and to some, Simmons became the face of Hurricane Florence's wrath.
Narratives emerged, too. To some, Simmons was a hero who'd saved a small animal from a hurricane. To others, he was a man of questionable character because he'd left his father behind. Some wondered whether he experienced a happy ending. Others wondered how his father fared through the storm. Still others asked about the kitten, and whether it was safe.
I wondered about Simmons, too, and about the moments that led to his seeking refuge. I wondered how his night went after we said goodbye. I wondered about the man behind the weary expression.
And so now, four days later, Travis and I find ourselves back in New Bern, seeking answers. The flood has receded. The sun shines over a blue sky, and a long rebuilding process, for some, is under way.
