Tornado

Girls, get your clothes on, quick, I believe a tornado is coming!” Areta’s mom yelled nervously, then left the room.I remember taking time to put on my bra, of all things, which I didn’t really need anyway, while my friend, Areta, just donned a pair of shorts to go with her pajama top and ran for the living room. The wind was howling so loud outside and the windows in the bedroom were moving like they were breathing. It was 3:15 am. I recall running to the living room, past the huge upright piano and sitting on the couch, shaking, trying to get my tennis shoes on. Tom, Areta’s dad stood at the front door of their double wide mobile home, just moving his head in bewilderment from side to side, saying, “We’re gonna have to run for it to Mrs. Claire’s cellar.” The thought of stepping outdoors into that piercing sound from the wind and the beating rain caused my stomach to turn. I was holding my comb in my hand, when, in an instant, the house moved forward then backward, in jerking movements. Mark,(Areta’s little brother) Areta and I were falling over each other on the couch from the force of the rocking motion. It happened again, only faster and with more force and the sound was so loud I couldn’t hear what Tom was yelling from the front door. I was sitting on the end of the couch next to the window. I glanced out and could not see a thing, but something was hitting the glass. I covered my head with my arms, still holding my comb in one hand. I was falling. This thought entered my mind in that second, 'Well Lord, I guess I’m coming to see you.' I don’t remember anything after that, everything went black, until I came to and discovered I was sitting on the ceiling next to the light fixture, in what used to be the living room. The upright piano had landed within inches of my feet. I was crying----and shaking. Areta took my hand and I could feel Mark’s elbow nudging right up against me. He was crying too. Somehow, I could feel water spraying on me from the rain. How could this be? I looked to see the front door was gone----in fact, the whole wall for that matter was gone where the door used to be. Tom Jr., Areta’s older brother, 18 years old, grabbed my hand and uttered in a loud voice, “Come on, let’s go, NOW!” I couldn’t move for fear. “No,” I replied, terrified and in shock. “I’m staying right here.” “Oh no you aren’t.” he replied rather harshly. He grabbed me by the waist and flung me to my feet, all 84 pounds of me. I dropped my comb. Suddenly it didn’t seem important to me that my hair was frizzing by the second and the curls were, by now, even out of my control from the use of that comb.Tom Sr. came up from behind me, just as I was trying to steady my feet through rubble of the demolished wall and parts of the floor dangling over my head, where I was attempting to make my way to the grass outside. With each of them on either side of me, and my arms locked in theirs, it was all a blur, and I vaguely remember the haze of obscurity, while my feet barely touched the ground from the force that lifted me like a feather, as we sprinted through the beating wind and rain to Mrs. Claire’s cellar. I was 14 years old, spending the night with my best friend, the night that tornado tore through their home at 3:20 in the morning and implanted a fear in my heart for many years to come, every time I heard the wind bellow and wail and hurl rain anywhere in my direction.Fear----it’s a terrible thing. Something not so easily cast aside. One night, two years later-----the wind was mimicking the very force I remember from that tornado I had encountered. I laid literally shaking in my bed, feeling foolish that a 16 year old girl could harbor such dread in the face of such a storm. I prayed, I cried, and finally to no avail, I threw the covers back and tiptoed hurriedly to my parents bedroom at the other end of the mobile home where we were living.I gently tapped my mom on the shoulder, but it didn’t matter how calmly I tried to be as to not startle her, she still jerked and was jolted awake.“What? What’s wrong?” she whispered.“Ma-ma, I can’t sleep because of the wind. Please let me get in between you and Daddy. At least just for a little while.”She pulled the covers back and I quietly crawled into my haven of rest, snuggled next to my mom and dad. “Dawne, you’re shaking.” She spoke in a hushed tone.“I know Ma-ma, I can’t help it.” I could feel a tear rolled down the side of my face and onto the sheet. It didn’t take long though, before my body calmed and I went to sleep. Now, here I am faced with yet another storm in my life. The wind is howling and tossing me to and fro and where can I go to find a haven of rest? I’m grown, yet the fear that grips me is just as it was the night that tornado tore through my friend's house and left us in devastation and homeless. Where’s the hand that reached down to pick me up and run for cover? Where’s the comfort I felt the night a battle was raging inside of me from a storm stirring on the outside, as I found peace in the shelter of my parents’ bed? I lay in bed and close my eyes. I place my right hand to my chest and feel the beating of my heart. And then I speak in a whisper to myself, “Peace.” Yes, peace. I can walk through this tornado in my life and face the winds as they blow knowing I can and will find peace.