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The school called and told everyone to come get our kids. They were closing early. Their building wasn’t strong enough to survive what was coming. I jumped in my car and rushed down. We barely made it back in time.
About 30 minutes later, the sirens went off.
Maybe you know what it feels like to scroll your own doom. We did it in real time while sheltering in the bathroom, watching local forecasters meltdown on live television as the funnel cloud passed right over us, then touched down a couple of blocks away. Social media went nuts.
We wished for a basement.
My spouse closed his eyes, we all moved close, and then it hit me. This was the first time I’d ever seen true fear on his face.
Me?
This wasn’t my first date with a tornado. I’ve spent big chunks of my life in the alley, listening to sirens and watching trees dance around in the wind, but I can tell you it’s getting worse—way worse. The statistics can tell you, and so can events like this past weekend, which left dozens dead. Across the country, it was a weekend of violent twisters, wildfires, and dust storms.
Everyone on television talks about the sound a tornado makes and the color the sky turns. For us, it didn’t get loud or green. The storm reminded me of La Llorona—the further away she sounds, the closer she is. The thunder didn’t rumble. It sounded like something was tearing open the sky.
When the tornado looked at us…
It got quiet.