No doubt, I love sitting in a group of people who are sharing stories about their families or childhood. It is so awesome to hear the funny and the dysfunctional and even the trying.
As I often search my memory bank for something to share in those times all I hear are crickets. Big, fat, awkward, crickets chirping in place of anything that might be appropriate to share. There's so very, very little that would ever be appropriate to share in those times. So, I always feel a tad bit alone in a group of people.
Each time I hear people talking about tornadoes, which is a lot right now, I remember my own brush with one. Again, it would be totally inappropriate to share the story in it's entirety with a group of people. To leave out the worst parts of it would not allow all of the pieces to fit together in a way that made sense.
It is hard to remember the exact year, I just know I was in high school. I lived in a town full of fools, no surprise I am sure. Even though it was in the heart of Tornado Alley, they placed a firm belief in an old wives tale. It was said that a town with a fork in the river on the east side of town would never be touched by a tornado.
Because of this foolishness, it was rare for anyone to take a tornado warning or siren seriously. Rarely did we ever head to the basement for safety. In fact, most people set on their porches and watched storms pass by.
My parents had a police scanner, as did most people in the small town. It was a way to perpetuate town gossip, but I digress.
The night the tornado hit our small town was a windy, stormy night already. As was the norm of so many of nights, I had endured hours of being beaten and raped. I had barely gotten the energy to throw on a shirt, one that barely covered me. My dad had opened my window and blind before he left my room. Not out of kindness, but because he loved to torture me with things I didn't like.
Just a side note...the shirt I put on was a Bart Simpson one that said "I'm Bart Simpson, who the hell are you?" My mom thought it would be funny for me to wear that to school my freshman year to see if I would get in trouble. She succeeded. If anyone were to question my memory, I'd offer them a list of irrelevant details like this. I retain a gross amount of vivid details for years and years.
Amidst the roar of the winds and through my physical pain, the background noise of the scanner began to blare into existence. I still remember the first conscious moment I had of what was being said. "The son-of-a-bitch just jumped the river." The siren was already going off, yet we were all oblivious.
Everything from that point on seemed to happen in slow motion. I heard the roar, more than the wind. My blinds rattled as I heard my mom run to my brothers room, herding them down to the basement. As my dad ran past, he pulled my door shut. The pressure inside the room built as I heard neighbors running through the house to the basement. Our house was one of the few on the block with a basement.
For what seemed like hours, I tried to open my door. I could hear it coming. Since I had just been tortured for hours, I was fighting the wind and my own exhaustion. I barely got through the doorway as it slammed again behind me.
Ever the self-proclaimed hero, my dad had run outside to help a young lady into the house. We were all headed to the basement, even though I could see the disappointment in his face. I knew his looks. He was surprised I got myself out of the room and disappointed I would find my way to safety.
We watched out the small window of the basement as the tail of the tornado twisted down the street. It was early in the morning and we waited what seemed like forever for the all clear siren. One by one, we filed out of the basement to a dark and eerily calm world. It wouldn't be clear until daylight what damage had been done.
Our tornado was tiny compared to what you see on the news these days. The damage was minimal. No loss of life and only minor injuries. The property loss was small with a few camping trailers turned over, roof parts ripped off and broken windows.
I think the worst loss was the security the town people had in their urban legend.
Me, I lost nothing that night that I hadn't already lost years prior to that. The lack of caring my parents had for me, that was gone long before. That night was just a sad reminder that my life was meaningless to them, I was not worthy of being saved.
I can't go through tornado season, a severe thunderstorm, a newscast about tornado damage or a storm forecast without thinking about that night.
Not long after that night, the town was full of "I survived the ..... tornado." I never had one. Maybe because my shirt should read, "I survived a tornado and a whole crap load more in my crazy life."
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