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CYCLONE
by George Lester |  |
My mother walked into the bedroom where Sam and I were about to doze off and I
knew by her expression that something was terribly wrong. Her voice trembled as
she told us that she had been listening to a radio station in Waco, 30 miles to
our northwest. The announcer said that a twister had been sighted and it was heading
south east and all in that direction should exercise extreme caution. It was already
dark outside as we hurried to the porch to look anyway. With every flash of lightning
we searched the clouds trying to see if we could spot the cyclone. That’s what
we called them in those days. We soon realized it was useless to stand out there
looking into a black sky and getting wet from the driving rain. Some people in
Spunky Flat had storm cellars. They were used most of the year for storing canned
goods and potatoes. We never got around to building one. At that moment we deeply
regretted it.
That night I learned that there are many levels of fear.
I had experienced the daily kind, like when you are not prepared for a test in
school or the next level, when you fear a confrontation with a bully. I suppose
there are many levels on up the ladder but that evening I think I went all the
way to the top rung. As the three of us huddled in the middle of the living room
feeling the house shake with each strong gust of wind and covering ours ears to
protect them from the deafening claps of thunder I felt fear as I had never felt
it before. There was no way of knowing whether or not the house would explode
at any minute. We were all fully prepared to accept the fact that this could be
our last moments on Earth. Gradually the storm diminished and all was quite and
still.
We sat there for a long time afraid to move. It was impossible
to turn off the sheer terror that gripped us for so long. Still shaking, we ventured
outside to check the damage. Except for a few shingles blown off the roof it appeared
the old bungalow had weathered the tempest just fine. We had escaped doom. Then
the strangest thing happened. I was disappointed. I felt a deep depression. That
night I didn’t have a ready answer. I guess it was years before I finally figured
it out.
I suppose it goes back to the days of the cave man. Each day human
beings had to be on constant watch for predatory beasts. A lion, a bear, or any
of nature’s hunters that considered Homo sapiens fair game, was a constant threat.
People lived with that kind of fear and it was an integral part of the human psyche.
Maybe this is the reason people enjoy scary movies or go to those fright houses
and death defying rides at amusement parks. Extreme fear evidently causes the
adrenalin to flow and gives us a high that is addictive. Law enforcement officers
who face danger every day find it very difficult to adjust to a routine without
constant peril after they retire. To some, life becomes unbearably dull.
That
night my adrenalin must have been flowing at its peak. The let down was so severe
I was in a state of depression for hours. I never shared my feeling with anyone
about this post-crisis trauma. If my mother and brother felt the same way I couldn't
tell it.
By now you may be wondering why my father didn’t go through
the same scare we faced that night. He never knew anything about it. He slept
like a baby through the whole thing. |
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