Jennifer Brown: Torn Away

“Dear Jesus, please be with us in our time of sorrow and need…” Kolby’s mother had begun again, her eyes shut tight, her palms facing upward. Kolby glanced at her, seemed to consider saying more, but thought better of it and hung his head. A couple people gathered around his mom and muttered “Amen” every so often, listening as her prayer tumbled through our devastated portion of the street.

The hospital was at least five miles in the opposite direction. If it had been hit, and Bending Oaks had been hit, that meant this tornado had reached in and swept away a huge chunk of Elizabeth.

It also meant that Marin’s dance studio had been right in the tornado’s path.

Nobody knew what to do. We stood gathered around Kolby and his mom and sister for a long time, and more neighbors joined us, one by one.

Someone’s son had been sucked right out of his bedroom while he rummaged for a weather radio. Someone hadn’t heard from her husband, who was driving home from work. Someone wondered if his wife, a nurse working a rotation in the PICU, was okay. Someone had heard pounding and yells coming from beneath a car and was sure there were still neighbors trapped inside their homes. And speaking of homes… nobody had one anymore. Where would we go? What would we do? That became our mantra: What are we going to do?

Then the sky opened up and raindrops tumbled onto our arms and our cheeks and pattered against the boards we stood on, releasing an earthy smell. And we had no trees to huddle under. We had no umbrellas. Our only shower curtain was covering poor Mrs. Dempsey. So we stood in the rain, squinting against it, our shoulders hunched, for as long as we could, adding to our mantra: It’s raining now, and we have nowhere to go, what are we going to do?

A couple of the men were able to wrench open a car door, and a few people climbed inside. The windows fogged and it was like they were gone. Saved.

And then the wind picked up and began to drive the rain sideways into our ears, and our hair began to drip, and it felt good, but it also felt cold, and we couldn’t help wondering what was next for us, especially after Kolby’s mom began praying, “Dear God, please let there not be another tornado on the way,” and it wasn’t clear if she was actually praying for this or just stating the same fear that had begun to trickle into all of our minds.

Some of the neighbors worked together to prop a piece of wallboard up against the side of what was left of their house, and they huddled under it, their clothes soggy, their feet sinking into the now-saturated debris. Tears began to flow along with the rain as the reality of what had happened to us truly began to sink in.

Kolby’s mom and sister joined them, and soon it was Kolby and me standing in the street alone, blinking at each other through raindrops clinging to our eyelashes.

“There was this guy,” he said, now that it was just the two of us. He blinked off into the distance, took a breath, and turned his gaze back to me. “It was like… like he’d been hit by a bomb. He was in half, Jersey. I didn’t even see where his legs had gone. I think they were buried.”

“Oh my God. What about Tracy?”

“She didn’t see it. Mom kept walking with her. But I can’t stop seeing it, you know? I don’t think I ever will.”

I touched his shoulder lightly, then, embarrassed, pulled my hand away.

“I puked,” he said. “And I feel like such a pussy for puking. It’s…” He shook his head. “Forget it.”

The rain drove into us. I didn’t know what to say to him about the half-man or about his puking. I didn’t know what he wanted from me. Our relationship had always been about playing pickup games of baseball or tag or building forts and riding bikes. We didn’t talk about puking, or crying, or being scared.

And I was. I was so, so scared.

“I’m going inside,” I said, like I’d said to him a million times before. Like I was tired of playing hide-and-seek or wanted to watch TV or eat dinner or something else totally ordinary.

“Inside where?”

I gestured to what was left of my house. “Basement. In case…” In case of another tornado. “In case my mom comes home.”

He shook his head. “You shouldn’t go back in there. It’s not stable. Look how it’s leaning. And the ceiling’s been ripped out.”

“It’ll be okay. It’s better on the inside.” Which was a total lie, but the more the thunder roared above us, the more Kolby’s haunted eyes transferred that image of the half-man into my soul, the more his mom prayed into the wind, the more frightened I became. Please, God, don’t make me have to go through another tornado. Not again. Not alone.

My heart started pounding and I started breathing heavy and I knew I needed to get back into the basement, back to where I’d been safe, right away. “I’ll come out when the rain stops.”

Kolby grabbed my arm and I gently pulled away from him. I smiled. Or at least tried to. It felt like a smile, anyway.

“I’ll be fine, Kolby. You should be with your mom and Tracy right now.”

A bolt of lightning crashed and we both jumped.

“You want me to go with you?” he asked, though I could tell by the way he stared anxiously at the house that he wanted the answer to be no. I could tell he felt torn between protecting me and protecting his mom and sister.

I didn’t want him there. Kolby was a great friend, and a part of me wanted to latch on to him and hope he could keep me safe. But for some reason, the devastation behind that leaning half-wall of my house felt too personal, too embarrassing. It was my family’s life, all bunched up and bundled and twisted into heaps, and I didn’t want him to see it, even though I knew that most of our stuff was probably lying on the street right now, getting turned into mush by the rain, and that most of his stuff was, too.

“It’s okay. I’ll be fine,” I said. “When my mom comes, tell her I’m inside, okay?”

“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “But if you need anything…” He trailed off, probably thinking exactly what I was thinking, which was What? If I need anything, what? What can you do? You lost everything, too.

I nodded and turned back toward my house on shaking legs.

There was more thunder, and my heart pounded as I climbed the steps and slipped in through the front door.

My brain expected to find the scene on the other side of the door exactly like it had always been. Brown carpet, vacuum lines still scratched through it from Monday’s chores. The TV on. The wall of mirrors behind the dining room table—a throwback from when the house was built in the 1970s—reflecting our mismatched garage-sale table and chairs. The white linoleum with the pale blue flowers stretching into the kitchen, the light of the dishwasher blinking to indicate that the dishes inside were clean. The hum of the refrigerator and the air conditioner.

Instead, it was raining. Inside my house. The wet plaster of the fallen walls smelled chalky. The only sound was the rumbling of the sky.

I tried to make out something familiar. And finally I did. The television stand was missing. But the television sat there in its place, as if someone had picked up the TV and taken the stand, then set the TV back down. Of course, what use was a TV when there was no outlet to plug it into?

Marin’s purse was still on the chair where I’d left it. I opened it and looked inside, leaning my head over it to try to keep the relentless rain out.

It was filled with three packs of gum and a tube of iridescent pink lipstick that Mom had handed down to her. Marin’s treasures.

I looped the purse over my arm and headed along the path I’d cleared earlier, trying hard not to step on anything sharp or dangerous, picking my feet up high with each step and placing them down carefully. There was so much broken glass.