Twister

I was only five years old when I witnessed my first tornado. It chewed through parts of Dallas, Texas, then made its way northeast barreling with intensity towards Garland, Texas, my hometown. I stood on the porch with Mother watching it churn, growing nearer and nearer. I stood in awe, both fascinated and frightened, feeling my adrenalin surge through my body. Mother grabbed my younger brother and I, yanking a mattress off the bed. We hovered in the southwest corner of the house listening to the tornado’s roar. The tornado was an F4. It picked up houses and buildings in nearby downtown Garland like they were nothing and disintegrated them in the air. It picked up cars like they were toys, tossing them down the streets. It ravaged the town, leaving a huge swathe of destruction in its wake; nothing that stood before it lived to tell the tale. I can still recall the sound of destruction; it was no different than setting off bombs in a sequential, long line. The devastation was just the same. The tornado passed; we and our home were unscathed. Yet, I can still hear Mother’s words echoing in my mind. “Whenever you see black and green clouds and a funnel, take cover in the southwest corner of the house. Tornadoes travel from southwest to northeast. That way the house will fall behind you.” I’m not sure how accurate her advice was. At the time I figured it was, for Mother had grown up on the Kansas prairie accustomed to seeing tornadoes. a twirl of perfect black dancers dressed in windswept gray danced violently to the roar of heaven’s drums. lightning lit up their stage. music of the wind hailed them. they were honor bound to appear.