Open Writing

The night glided in with low clouds that muted the setting sun’s display. For Mabel, it was another addition to the mundane.

She went about her usual routine with microwaved leftovers consumed in front of the five o’clock news. After cleaning up, the television continued to blare attempts at entertainment.

Mabel smiled once or twice, but the voices and the pictures were just background noise for the time spent with her memories and regrets.

With the ten o’clock news came a last check on tomorrow’s weather. The prediction of thunderstorms rolling through during the night made her cringe. She hated lying alone in her bed shivering from the flashes and their growls. With the passing of the storms, a cold front would move into the area.

After setting out her clothes and her Quickie Market vest, she readied for bed. The last thing to do was click the clock’s alarm to on. It would warn her of the new day. Then into the cold covers she slipped where a world of wishes and what might have been waited.

What had awakened her? She could not be sure, but Mabel was awake. Had it been the pelting of the rain, sounding more like hail or the wind tossing her plastic trash cans about and slamming the front door screen?

She headed to the front door to secure the screen knowing she would not be able to afford to replace it. There was nothing more annoying than a bent screen door.

As she opened her front door, a gush of wind blew her backwards. Her hold on the knob was the only reason she didn’t fall. Alarm buzzed through her sleepy, groggy brain. She became aware of the massive tree limbs that were being tossed about as the trees bowed and cracked. A bolt of lightning confirmed what her mind had already conceived. There racing towards her was a funnel cloud.

She shoved the door shut with the weight of her body. All the instructions of what to do galloped through her memory. Find a small well supported place, like a bathroom. Barefoot she ran across the living room and down the hall. Slamming the bathroom door, she grabbed the towel from the rack. As she huddled in the bathtub, she pulled the curtain down around her.

The screen’s banging became frantic with the increase of the wind’s intensity until one final screech. Mabel heard it slap the front of the house before bouncing across the roof. Windows shattered as the house creaked and popped. It was then that the tapping, like a dozen carpenters hammering, began. The tornado was stripping the wood from her frame home.

Mabel could not hear her own heart beat over the whirling sound. In her panic, she managed to wrap the corners of the shower curtain around the spigot and the faucet and to hold on tight.

She screamed as the floor moved beneath the tub, but the scream was never heard. The air from her lungs was sucked out, muting any sound. From childhood school drills, her body formed the position. Her knees found her chest and her head went down. Thin fingers laced across her exposed neck. A sharp punch to the side of her head, and she knew no more of the horror.

Morning came in little shafts through what used to be her home. Stomach churning pain was followed by the grim reality of her situation. By the grace of God, she had been spared. She was trapped in a small pocket within the debris. Slowly she began to wiggle free from the towel and the curtain. She tried to climb out of her cage, but each board she touched would shift. The debris would close part of her pocket.

Returning to her fetal position, she cried. Tears created by the night’s horrors rolled down her face. Her head still throbbed, but her mind was clear. Then, she did something she had not done in a very long time, she prayed.

It was during this sacred time that a hint of voices from somewhere near made its way to her. Summoning all of her strength, she yelled.

‘Wait, I think I hear something.’

She swallowed and tried again.

‘Ms. Mabel, where are you?’

Stretching and standing on tiptoe, she managed to raise her arm in supplication above the wooden slats. 'Please, help me. Please.'

© Mary Clemons