Two summers in a row, during my middle school years, whatever age that was, I spent a couple weeks out on a farm in rural Illinois. I flew into St. Louis, we drove two hours into the Land of Lincoln, and that’s all I know. Far from anywhere except cornfields and horse farms, it was pretty much heaven for me.
I remember a lot from those four weeks on my grandmother’s cousin Dotia’s farm. Dotia and her husband had several dogs. A hen house. Hundreds of cats that just kept breeding. Three horses. Free riding lessons. Fun boy cousins I got to pal around with. Farm food and home cooking. Lots of land. A hammock. A riding tractor. Candy in jars throughout the house. Ice cream. An old white farm house. A big porch with a swing. Fireflies!!
Oh. And tornadoes. I don’t know how I decided to be terrified of them (perhaps it’s instinct?) but I just was. I was already a fan of watching the clouds in California, thinking they could be smoke from a forest fire (also not uncommon in a drought-prone state and a totally normal fear by a 10-year old’s standards). Why not stare at the clouds expecting tornadoes? New state, same anxiety.
One day Dotia and I were driving in her maroon Buick-type grandmother car to the small town of Winchester. It took a good amount of time to get there – it could have been twenty minutes, it could have been two hours. I’m not sure because I was busy staring at the clouds overhead. Waiting. Any second now a funnel would form, I knew it would. Then we’d be out on the highway in the middle of cornfields and screwed. Someone had to keep watch and it wasn’t going to be this lady driving us ten miles under the speed limit on a farm road. Luckily, we made it back to the farmhouse in one piece. I’d like to think my watchful eye had something to do with that.
These summers were just the beginning of a fear I wouldn’t fully realize until I moved to Texas in May of 2006. By the way, May is peak Tornado Season.
Now, I’ve jumped out of a plane with a smile on my face and sheer joy in my heart. I could give a crap less about birds. Small spaces? Um, I work in a cube. Blood? Guts? Needles? Earthquakes? Whatevs. I’m pretty confident that my fear of tornadoes isn’t anything to be ashamed of.
Because let me tell you. When it’s dusk, the air is warm, thunder is shaking your windows, lightning is cackling, the rain has suddenly stopped, the clouds become an eerie yellow-green color and all you hear are the sirens going off as you sit alone in your second floor apartment of an old two-story building that has no basement and all your neighbors are gone! – deep breath - it’s really easy to think that being afraid of tornadoes is totally acceptable, even if nobody else seems to notice the weather or hear the sirens.
I called my friend during one siren incident, trying to be casual.
Me: Um, so hey, what are yooouu up to?
Her: Oh just watching TV.
Me: Oh, cool (Hello! I hope it’s the local news!)
Her: What about you?
Me: (fake yawn) Oh, not much. Hey, are those tornado sirens? (plays dumb)
Her: Yea I think so. Funny, I didn’t even hear them.
Me: (long pause) Really? (long pause that practically screams “I’m terrified and about to cry, how could you not hear them?”)
Her: Well you can come over if you want…
Me: (casually) Hmm, well, I dunno, I mean – Okay!
Click.
By the time I pulled into her driveway, went inside, and chugged a glass of wine, the sirens had stopped.
To answer your question, no, I have never even seen a tornado. But the fact that they’re out there is enough to make me strain my neck looking up at the sky, fighting back anxiety, pretending to act cool when really I’m on the verge of finding an underground parking garage to take cover in.
To make me sound even crazier, I have recurring dreams involving tornadoes. Never the same dream, but always the same theme: There’s a tornado. It’s coming. It almost gets us. Then I wake up. Seriously I have these dreams at least once a month if not more. I’ll probably have one tonight.
I’m also pretty sure one will be tearing through my neighborhood soon. No, they haven’t hit this area in who knows how long. Tornadoes, if you haven’t noticed, really like outlying trailer parks, rural redneck towns, and the like. Sure, writing that is just asking for it. Then again, I also had a conversation about terrorists and plane crashes while sitting on a plane that was about to take off last week. And lived to tell!
Next time the sirens go off, I guess I’ll just do what everyone says to do – get in a bathtub, take shots of tequila, and pray for a safe, if not fun ride in a flying bathtub.
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