Journal 29

Nature was in control the night the tornado blew through my childhood town. I was eleven years old, and we were living in a one level three bedroom house, complete with a quaint living room and a miniscule kitchen. It was tiny and cozy, but the complete opposite of anything that could be considered safe during a major storm.       Mere hours before it hit town, my family of six was sleeping soundly in our beds. I never really understood what was happening when i was awakened by a loud knocking on our door, the sound of  anxious voices, the whistle of the wind tearing through the trees, and the frantic running of my parents feet through out house. Me and my sisters bedroom door flew open, the light switch was turned on hastily, and my dad's voice broke through the silence of sleep. " Get dressed--HURRY--and don't forget to put on socks!" Me and my sister shot out of our beds like lightning. Faith jumped off the top bunk,  the loud thump making me flinch  and stared at me, her eyes like dinner plates, "What's happening?!" I looked back at her and shrugged. We tore through our room, throwing our pj's to the floor and yanking jeans and long sleeve shirts on our bodies. We didn't put on socks. We grabbed our blankets and pillows and ripped through the hallway to the living room where  my other sister Lydia was lazily lounging on the couch, half-asleep, and oblivious to everything going on around her. The next few seconds were a chaotic blur. My parents appeared out of their bedroom, my mom carrying my youngest sister, only a baby, in a carrier. My dad's face was wrinkled with worry, his arms full of other supplies and paraphernalia.  My mom swiftly handed me my youngest sister and took Faith and i by the arms, pulling us towards the door. With a yank, the door flew open, smacking the wall with a loud clap like thunder, and we raced to the van, the wind ripping our hair and clothes back. We were in the van in seconds, and my mom left us in, then raced back to the house to help my dad carry Lydia and the other supplies we brought. I looked out the window. The trees were dancing terribly, their leaves shaking almost with fear. Leaves and papers and hay was flying through the air. The sky was dark, stained black as embers and looming over us like a massive monster. The next few seconds, again, were a blur. My parents raced from the house, and were in the van. Before i even comprehended it, we were driving. "Where are we going?" I asked. My dad replied back gruffly, "the church. There's a basement there we'll be safe in." So we zoomed across town like a speeding train. When we got to the church, we filed out of the car as fast as was possible, our arms full of our things and our hearts racing, stomachs tight like knives. The few pain staking seconds it took for my dad to put the key in the lock, drop it, then stuff it back in again to unlock the door was torturous. But once we were in, sweet relief flooded through us like streams. We ran to one of the basement rooms and made camp there, throwing our blankets on the floor, cuddling up, trying to keep the jitters at bay. I remember my dad pulling out a storm radio. He let it drone in the background as my mom got me and my other sisters singing, to distract us from the storm. I don't really remember if i fell asleep that night. All i remember is the sound of our voices, singing softly, and the beautiful sunlight that was there to greet us in the morning.