Is that a TRAIN

With extreme speed the wind brushed against my face, blew my hair into my eyes, and tangled it around my head and neck. I clawed at the long red strands as I watched clouds begin to swirl, moving into a large circular motion.

Twelve O'clock, noon and the skies were as dark as night. The few clouds that showed up against the dark sky, were as huge grayish white pillows running across the sky. The wind became swifter and colder in a matter of seconds. I ran towards the house for shelter as fast as my legs could carry me. Then the rain came; large hard drops that pelted my unprotected head with a fierceness I had never experienced.

I slammed through the door; ran about the house closing all the

windows that were opened to beat the heat and humidity.

The wind whistled through the walls of the old clapboard homestead

with a vengeance. Down the six steep steps to the basement, I ran, spotted the old

handheld radio and quickly grabbed it. Rolling through the channels there was

nothing but static. I tore the back off to check for batteries… empty.

Stumbling across the bold orange, black, and yellow striped indoor/outdoor

carpet, I headed back up the stairs, toward the kitchen.

My anxious pull on the utility storage drawer was more aggressive than intended; it flew across the room, slammed against the opposite wall as its contents soared around the room. I located the batteries and began to move in that direction… Then, out went the lights.

I had lived in that house my entire life—thirty-five years—but it was

still difficult to find my way across the room on my hands and knees in the

dark.

Finally, I made it across the room, in the process I rammed my head into the cabinet door, the batteries lay within reach. After slamming the batteries into the old radio, I ran back to the basement to find a flood. Water rising, now licked at the second step from the bottom.

Suddenly, the rain stopped, and the wind stopped blowing. It was too quiet. I looked out the back door window, The sky, still black as night made it hard to see what was going on in the sky above. I looked all around, nothing but blackness.

There was a deafening sound. I looked around to find the source, but it was too dark to see anything from my viewpoint. The leaves on the trees rustled then fell to the ground.

The noise was so intense, I thought I was hearing things. A low whistle accompanied by a chukka, chukka, chukka, mixed with a loud scream that grew into something painful. I covered my ears with my hands, unsure if the scream came from me or elsewhere.

I ran from the house and across the street to my neighbor's yard and the safety of their basement home.

As a child, both of my parents worked nights. They had instructed me as well as my

three siblings; “if there is ever a chance of a tornado, run across the street to the Williams’ house, their entire home is a basement and the safest place to be in a bad storm.”

We lived in the Midwest where I still resided, and people had called our area “tornado alley.”, because the tornadoes almost always came right through our neighborhood. This caused destruction with much expense for replacing things like roofs, sheds, cars, and trucks and sometimes even livestock.

As an adult, I still take my parents’ instructions to heart and run to my neighbor’s

house when necessary.

Alice opened the door and dragged me in. That’s when I saw the source of the eerie sound...

"Is that a TRAIN?" I asked Alice, my neighbor, even as the question sounded ludicrous to my ears. A train in the sky, that was impossible, wasn’t

it?

"No, Opal dear. Thats a funnel cloud." Alice

answered.

"A what?" I looked out the window after she shut the

door behind me.

"A Tornado. She dragged me away from the door.

“Come, we must hurry," She rushed us into the middle of the house, sat me on the floor next to a sofa placed against the wall, and covered us with a heavy blanket.

 The train was now overhead… I remember being in many tornados as a kid, but I don’t remember hearing anything like the noise I heard then. I was more afraid during that storm than I had ever been before.

After the train-sounds left, and the rain started coming down again, Alice went into the kitchen to make us some sweet hot cocoa, with marshmallows. Alice was the daughter of the people that I had run too many years ago and the coco recipe was one of her mom’s. I would never have told my own mother this, but it was the best I had ever had.

When we heard the all-clear sirens, we opened the door and looked out at the sun shining afternoon. Alice’ yard had no large trees for branches to break off of, or leaves to clutter her lawn, but the family always had a huge garden with potatoes, carrots, lettuce, tomatoes, and many other things like stalks of corn, and assorted colors of peppers. Unfortunately for Allice, it looked like there was going to be a lot of canning going on at her house, very soon.

There were trees that grew to the side of their house-along the roadside, but they were evergreens, stout and dense. I remember hiding behind them to block the wind as we waited for the school bus. There was an entire row of six and on frigid days, other kids would walk to the Williams’ yard just to use the tree block, sometimes seven or eight of us all huddled there together for warmth. The evergreens were planted there as protection from high winds and storms. It seemed to work, at least it worked that day.

I looked across the road toward my house and noticed the roof would need some shingles replaced, something I had learned to do at an early age, since we lost them so many times. Most insurance companies want to charge a premium for living in that area now, due to recurring claims, but it’s worth it most of the time. If it's only a few shingles I normally wouldn't have bothered with the claims, I would just do the job and have done with it. That practice also kept my policy premiums down.

When I got home, I toured the house looking for damage, which was aplenty. Two broken windows, our shed had blown over the fence into my next-door

neighbor’s yard, crumbled against one of their trees into a large metal ball.

Other than the flooded basement, the rest of the house looked in surprisingly decent shape. The water in the basement would recede in time, and with the application of a little mold repellent, the standing water cleanup should be fairly, easy.

I now know what a tornado sounds like. I guess I’ve been lucky over the years; that was the only time I was that close to a tornado. I used to hear stories from folks in the area talking about seeing and hearing a tornado, each tale was just a little different. Some said it was like an airplane coming in for a landing; others said it was like a car crash with metal tearing and brakes squealing.

I only ever heard one person say, it sounded like a freight train; wheels rolling over tracks, breaks squealing, and cars swaying from side to side as they took the curves.

I can attest; that is the sound I believe a tornado to be like, a TRAIN.