| Biographical Non-Fiction posted September 11, 2022 |
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Thoughts as a child about a tornado I was in.
After the Storm Had Passed
by BethShelby
When I was ten, a tornado ripped through our little town, turning my life upside down. I’ve written a lot of stories about it, telling of how my mom and I went for the ride of our lives and ended up unhurt, but with unbelievable tales to tell of our harrowing experience.
Since I’ve said it all before, I’ll approach it this time from a different angle. After realizing everyone I cared about was still alive, my thoughts were not what you might expect from someone who’d just lost everything they could rightly consider their own. I didn’t have a lot of possessions, but everything I had, including my clothes, shoes and toys were scattered over several hundred acres and clinging to the tops of what few trees remained. In spite of all this, the idea rolling around in my head was, for a little town where nothing ever happened, things were looking up.
As soon as the storm had passed, and we’d cleared our heads enough to walk a straight line, we slouched our way down the muddy road to my grandparent’s house which was only minus most of its tin roof. Mom went about the process of trying to calm my grandmother, who was wringing her hands and moaning, “What are we gonna’ do? We’ve lost everything.”
My aunt appeared from the storm shelter in a state of shock, holding a roll of red crepe paper she’d picked up somewhere. The dye from the wet paper appeared like blood dripping from her body. We first thought she been badly injured.
Mom had me pull off my wet jeans and shirt, and she’d attempted to dry me off under the one remaining corner of my grandpa’s tin roof which was still sheltering part of the room from the rain. My wet hair was plastered to my head and face. I was barefooted, but Mom wrapped a semi-dry flannel blanket around my body to ward off the February cold and stop my teeth from chattering.
A neighbor managed to drive his truck through the mud and rubble to see if we were still in the land of the living. Mom told me to go with him, and he’d take me to some place dry. With the heat of the truck circulating, the discomfort of my still wet panties became noticeable, and I decided to wiggle around in the blanket and rid myself of the only piece of clothing I still owned. It didn’t bother me to give up my last item. I figured if we were going to have to start over from scratch, why not make the transition complete. It was later, I learned he’d spent some nights in the doghouse while trying to explain the abandoned panties on his floorboard.
It's pathetic when someone finds their life so boring the thought of spending the night in a borrowed bed is an exciting adventure. At school the following Monday, I suddenly became the center of attention among my classmates who were a bit envious of my skyward adventure. Their lives in this little town were boring too. My mom, who was far more verbal than I, soon had me ready to scream with her version of our journey through the funnel. Reliving it the first two or three times, I could handle, but after twenty recitations, the story was getting old.
Friends and neighbors were generous, and there was some insurance money available. Living in a temporary location was like a mini vacation. After the rubble from our old life was cleared away, it was exciting watching a new house go up. I can’t remember missing a thing from our old house. To my dismay, we did salvage the old upright piano which seemed to be too heavy even for a tornado. This meant, if the keys ever dried out, the torturous lessons would continue during hours when Daddy wasn’t home to have to listen.
Having a new house, new furniture, and all new clothes was like a dream come true. This time I had a room of my own, and this house even had indoor plumbing. The year was 1948. Life was good.
I remember the day we moved into our new house. I’d simply forgotten about all those outdoor cats we’d had before the storm. Fortunately, Dad hadn’t forgotten and had been leaving out food. All of them appeared to still have some time left on their nine lives contract, since the storm didn’t do them in. They probably all flew into the clouds and landed back on their feet as cats always do. I assume they camped out in the nearby woods awaiting our return. That night when the lights came on, we heard a chorus of meows as those wayward felines paraded back home and took up residence on the new back porch.
A few weeks later, Mom let me have a sleepover, and I brought a friend home from school. She was blown away by my twin beds. “This is just like the movies,” she told me. “When couples get married, they all have beds like this to sleep in.” Yep, it was still the good ole’ days. Times have changed.
True Story Contest contest entry
When I was ten, a tornado ripped through our little town, turning my life upside down. I’ve written a lot of stories about it, telling of how my mom and I went for the ride of our lives and ended up unhurt, but with unbelievable tales to tell of our harrowing experience.
Since I’ve said it all before, I’ll approach it this time from a different angle. After realizing everyone I cared about was still alive, my thoughts were not what you might expect from someone who’d just lost everything they could rightly consider their own. I didn’t have a lot of possessions, but everything I had, including my clothes, shoes and toys were scattered over several hundred acres and clinging to the tops of what few trees remained. In spite of all this, the idea rolling around in my head was, for a little town where nothing ever happened, things were looking up.
As soon as the storm had passed, and we’d cleared our heads enough to walk a straight line, we slouched our way down the muddy road to my grandparent’s house which was only minus most of its tin roof. Mom went about the process of trying to calm my grandmother, who was wringing her hands and moaning, “What are we gonna’ do? We’ve lost everything.”
My aunt appeared from the storm shelter in a state of shock, holding a roll of red crepe paper she’d picked up somewhere. The dye from the wet paper appeared like blood dripping from her body. We first thought she been badly injured.
Mom had me pull off my wet jeans and shirt, and she’d attempted to dry me off under the one remaining corner of my grandpa’s tin roof which was still sheltering part of the room from the rain. My wet hair was plastered to my head and face. I was barefooted, but Mom wrapped a semi-dry flannel blanket around my body to ward off the February cold and stop my teeth from chattering.
A neighbor managed to drive his truck through the mud and rubble to see if we were still in the land of the living. Mom told me to go with him, and he’d take me to some place dry. With the heat of the truck circulating, the discomfort of my still wet panties became noticeable, and I decided to wiggle around in the blanket and rid myself of the only piece of clothing I still owned. It didn’t bother me to give up my last item. I figured if we were going to have to start over from scratch, why not make the transition complete. It was later, I learned he’d spent some nights in the doghouse while trying to explain the abandoned panties on his floorboard.
It's pathetic when someone finds their life so boring the thought of spending the night in a borrowed bed is an exciting adventure. At school the following Monday, I suddenly became the center of attention among my classmates who were a bit envious of my skyward adventure. Their lives in this little town were boring too. My mom, who was far more verbal than I, soon had me ready to scream with her version of our journey through the funnel. Reliving it the first two or three times, I could handle, but after twenty recitations, the story was getting old.
Friends and neighbors were generous, and there was some insurance money available. Living in a temporary location was like a mini vacation. After the rubble from our old life was cleared away, it was exciting watching a new house go up. I can’t remember missing a thing from our old house. To my dismay, we did salvage the old upright piano which seemed to be too heavy even for a tornado. This meant, if the keys ever dried out, the torturous lessons would continue during hours when Daddy wasn’t home to have to listen.
Having a new house, new furniture, and all new clothes was like a dream come true. This time I had a room of my own, and this house even had indoor plumbing. The year was 1948. Life was good.
Having a new house, new furniture, and all new clothes was like a dream come true. This time I had a room of my own, and this house even had indoor plumbing. The year was 1948. Life was good.
I remember the day we moved into our new house. I’d simply forgotten about all those outdoor cats we’d had before the storm. Fortunately, Dad hadn’t forgotten and had been leaving out food. All of them appeared to still have some time left on their nine lives contract, since the storm didn’t do them in. They probably all flew into the clouds and landed back on their feet as cats always do. I assume they camped out in the nearby woods awaiting our return. That night when the lights came on, we heard a chorus of meows as those wayward felines paraded back home and took up residence on the new back porch.
A few weeks later, Mom let me have a sleepover, and I brought a friend home from school. She was blown away by my twin beds. “This is just like the movies,” she told me. “When couples get married, they all have beds like this to sleep in.” Yep, it was still the good ole’ days. Times have changed.
 Recognized |
This is true story about a tornado I was in at ten. My portfolio has other stories about the storm I may reactivate later. This is told in a lighthearted way. I hope you enjoy.
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