Stormchaser


Over my right shoulder is a window. I sit in the front-right quadrant of my fourth- grade classroom, the spot with the best line of sight to whatever interesting thing happens to be outside. Normally it’s a cloud formation that bears a resemblance to a popular figure from whatever cartoon was serialized that season, but this afternoon sky wasn’t nearly as mundane. As dark as a black bear’s fur and just as thick, the clouds that masked the sun that day put butterflies in my stomach and fear in my eyes.

Inclement weather is something to be feared almost exclusively by those farther south on the tornado belt, the section of the United States with the highest amount of tornados - I’m almost positive the poor fellows in Kankakee county attribute most of their deaths to whatever windy doom occupies their weekly forecast. But if a weather system was feeling rather ambitious, we in the greater Chicago area would experience a little gusting and blowing. That was to be expected, but the ceiling of blackness that obstructed my quarter-to-three sky watching today was something special.

As I probably should have predicted, the teacher noticed my skyward gaze and directed my attention back to the lesson at hand. Something about long division. However, my mind was occupied by thoughts on what would come from the scene outside my right-hand window. 20 uneventful minutes passed by until it was time to pack our things and wait for the release bell. My expectations were that we’d receive some announcement regarding what I assumed the administrators, too, had seen outside. We did, but not quite the announcement I had expected or hoped for.

We were to be released five minutes early.

I later learned this was in a misguided attempt on the part of the principal to get us to our after-school destinations ahead of the storm. This decision would later cost the man his career.

At my school kindergarteners who walked from school were assigned an escort for the first two weeks to bring them to the crosswalk 200 yards, a rather large distance for little five and nine year old legs, from the school doors. I was the escort for the first week, delaying my departure from school by a solid five minutes. Those five minutes would prove to be the buffer between life and possible injury or death.

As I neared the large intersection consisting of the main road of my relatively small town and the road that led to my school I once again looked to my right. Roaring towards me was a wall of black death. This was a tornado, and the adrenaline coursing through my veins directed me back towards the school. The one 200 yards away.

In the loudest voice I could bring my terrified nine-year-old, prepubescent vocal chords to expel, I commanded my kindergartener charges to high tail it to the school building. So we ran, the wind literally at our feet, in the pursuit of safety. Through what must have been divine intervention we, planted our wet sneakers in brick-and-mortar sanctuary. Immediately we were directed to a “safe position”, a hallway wall, to do as we were trained, to cower on the ground with our hands above our necks. I saw almost all of my peers, as well as my sister and many others - the busses had not left, instead redirecting their riders to the school building.

There were some unaccounted for. Walkers who had not been delayed five minutes as I had. It turned out they had dodged fallen power lines and falling trees, and eventually were taken in by kind-hearted residents of nearby houses. The windy demon that I had stared down miraculously left them alone, and had passed the school by as well.

In about ten minutes we were told we would be released to our parents or guardians. My mother was at the school with our minivan, distraught as was humanly possible. My sister and I, drenched both in rain and tears, were more than happy to hop into the car and drive home to our home. A tree had fallen on the line that fed us power and there were some large pieces of wood to clean up in the back yard, but otherwise nothing had come of harm to our house.

I cried more. But these were tears of happiness and relief, for I hadn’t died. In light of the events that I had witnessed, that was an accomplishment. To this day, though, I have no clue how to use long division.