olbigjim

A Piedmont Lantern Story

Folks in Piedmont like to say they have seen plenty of bad weather, but most of those storms were nothing but loud thunder with poor manners. What rolled in on the second day of April, however, was the sort of storm that made even the old timers stop sharpenin’ their garden hoes long enough to mutter, “Lord have mercy,” and then go hide under their beds.

An EF5 tornado does not simply arrive. It announces itself like royalty in a mean mood. The sky turns the color of a spoiled bruise. The wind gets fidgety. The birds vanish like they owe somebody money. And somewhere in the distance, a train begins to roar, even though every track for five miles is sittin’ quiet.

Now, on the mornin’ this particular twister got the notion to visit Piedmont, Jimmy Matthew and Jim Leroy were sittin’ on the tailgate of an old Ford pick-up truck at the edge of Terrapin Creek. They were mindin’ their own business, which was a rare and beautiful thing, because those two had less talent for peace and quiet than a bag of fighting roosters.

Jimmy Matthew kicked his boot in the dirt.
“You hear the weatherman say we got a chance of bad storms this afternoon?”

Jim Leroy nodded.
“He said rotation in the atmosphere. That means tornaders.”

Jimmy Matthew snorted.
“Tornaders only hit Oklahoma. Everybody knows that. Alabama ain’t never done nothin’ to deserve that sorta punishment.”

The sky darkened in protest.

Jim Leroy squinted toward the west.
“That cloud right there looks like it wants to argue about it with you.”

Now, most storms get offended when you talk bad about them, but this one must have been downright tetchy, because the moment Jimmy Matthew waved his hand dismissively, the wind stood up like a man who had finally had enough.

Trees bent.
Dust swirled.
Terrapin Creek slapped its banks like it was the one that was insulted.

Jimmy Matthew shaded his eyes. “Huh. That one’s lookin’ a li’l bit rough around the edges, ain’t it?”

Jim Leroy whispered, “Maybe we oughta go find some kinda shelter.”

Jimmy Matthew, who had the survival instincts of a stray cat but none of the grace, puffed out his chest. “Shelter is for folks that run. We ain’t runnin’. We’re Cartwrights!”

The sky rumbled with laughter that didn’t sound friendly.

A siren wailed in town. The radio in the truck crackled to life without bein’ touched and shouted, “Take cover now,” in a voice that suggested even the radio was panickin’.

Jim Leroy gulped. “Jimmy. Look.” He pointed toward the angry sky.

The western horizon had opened wide like a set of terrible jaws. Inside it spun a massive funnel cloud, thick as a silo and angry as a hornet’s nest dropped down a well. The thing touched the ground with purpose.

It was comin’ straight for them.

Jimmy Matthew blinked. “Well. That don’t look a bit good.”

Jim Leroy grabbed his arm. “Run.”

But the boys didn’t run. Not at first. They panicked in circles, which is the least efficient way to flee a natural disaster.

Jimmy Matthew yelled, “Where do we run?”

Jim Leroy screeched, “Away from the humongous wind monster! That seems like the most sensible idea!”

The tornado bore down on them with a roar so deep it rattled their teeth. Trees snapped. The ground vibrated. Debris flew past like it had somewhere to be and was already late.

Jimmy Matthew finally gained enough clarity to shout, “The culvert! C’mon!”

They sprinted across the field, legs churnin’, lungs burnin’, and hearts hammerin’ like festival drums. Behind them, the tornado was frothin’ with debris. It swallowed a barn, spit out half the roof, and then set its sights on the truck.

Bless it, that poor ol’ Ford never stood a chance.

It went airborne, twirlin’ elegantly for a moment, then sailed over the creek like it thought it could fly. Jimmy Matthew hollered, “My Dr Pepper is still in that truck!”

“Fergit about it!” Jim Leroy wailed. “That Dr Pepper is deader’n Kelsey’s nuts!”

They dove into the culvert just as the funnel roared past overhead. The sound was like a thousand lions dragging a freight train across a sheet metal roof. The ground trembled. Dust filled the air. Jimmy Matthew prayed aloud. Jim Leroy prayed silently to keep from distractin’ the Lord.

The tornado barreled on, leavin’ havoc and ruination in its wake.

After a long moment of silence, the boys crawled out, shakin’ like a pair of old, unbalanced washing machines.

The world was a wreck. Trees pointed in directions trees have got no business pointin’. The truck was now firmly wedged halfway up an ancient pecan tree. A cow stood on a porch roof, lookin’ downright bewildered by her situation.

Jimmy Matthew wiped his brow. “Well. That was rip-roarin’.”

Jim Leroy stared at him. “Rip-roarin’? Jimmy Matthew, that storm didn’t just pass by. It was madder’n hell at you personally.”

Jimmy Matthew nodded slowly. “Yeah. I kinda felt like that, too. Reckon I ought not talk trash about tornaders.”

Jim Leroy snorted. “You reckon?”

They stood there in silence, watchin’ shingles rain gently from the sky like confetti.

Jimmy Matthew finally whispered, “At least the cow survived.”

The cow mooed indignantly.

Jim Leroy sighed. “Jimmy. That cow is on top of a porch.”

Jimmy Matthew shrugged. “Don’t that still count as survivin’?”