FORCES OF NATURE
It was going to be a two-shoe day.
Howard the Weatherman woke with what he referred to as
That Certain Dread and a bad taste in his mouth, to boot.
The birthday party for his youngest granddaughter the
previous evening was the cause, even though it was just ice
cream and cake and no booze, befitting his solid Southern
Baptist background.
The feeling lingered on the fringes of consciousness
until he was fully awake.
Glancing over at his sleeping wife of forty years, he
considered waking her and telling her about his dream. No,
he would prepare for work first, and let Neva sleep a while
longer.
He eased out of bed and padded into the adjoining
bathroom. He allowed the shower head to spray stinging hot
water over his face and body, all the while he was reciting
his usual morning prayers: "Father, I thank thee for this
day that thou hast made. I will rejoice and be thankful in
it."
He continued with his intercessory prayers for his family
and friends, and for the nation as a whole. "And so I
beseech thee, Dear Lord, heed my prayers. I pray in the
name of my savior, Jesus Christ." Normally, his prayers
would have ended at this point with a heart-felt "Amen", but
this morning he added softly, "And Lord, if it be thy will,
spare us the agony of this day, and keep us safe from harm.
Amen."
Neva was up and in the kitchen when Howard stepped out of
the shower. Wrapping his robe around him and combing his
thinning hair, he walked down the hallway past the empty
kids' bedrooms and into the kitchen.
"Morning," Neva said, setting a cup of coffee at his
usual place. "Sleep well?"
Howard paused before replying, "Fine." There was no sense
in telling her now. "You?"
"Fine, until you began tossing and turning. What was
that all about, Howard?" She sat across from him and studied
him over her coffee cup.
"Nothing. I don't remember," he evaded, knowing full
well what Neva was going to say next. Why did he even try?
"It's the dream again, isn't it?"
He sighed, then nodded. "I knew I couldn't keep it from
you. You know me too well."
She smiled softly.
"Honey, it's going to be a bad one today."
"They're all bad, Howard. Even small tornadoes that
don't send people to the hospitals, or kill them. Property
damage, schools, businesses, all suffer."
Howard finished his coffee and shook off his wife's
gesture of handing him a plate of bacon and eggs. "I'm
gonna be late if I don't leave now. I should have the
official National Weather Service information the first
thing when I get to the station. Then I'll have to butt
heads with our new station manager about interrupting the
regularly scheduled programs for weather bulletins."
"It's going to be that big?" Neva followed him into the
bedroom.
"Stay close to home today, honey. I want you close to
the cellar."
Howard wouldn't have wanted it known that he had a
"fraidy hole." Having been born and raised in southwest
Oklahoma known as Tornado Alley, he had spent many hours in
the safety of his parents' cellar while monster winds roared
above, snapping power lines, tossing huge trees like
matchsticks. To this day, Howard could recall the pungent
smells that filled the old cellar: his mother's canned
peaches and preserves, and potatoes by the tow sack full
mingled with the faint odor of field mouse droppings.
Howard thought back to one particular day when he was
still in high school. He had told his family early in the
morning that there would be a tornado that day. His family
had come to respect his gift, and they followed Howard's
calm statement of fact: "There's gonna be a tornado
sometime this afternoon."
He had dreamed of a tornado the night before; he saw
dreadful winds ripping huge trees apart, snapping power
lines and shrieking its way across the land. Sometimes he
woke in a sweat, panicky, while he tried to still his
thumping heart and not wake his brother who shared his room.
He lay quietly and reviewed the dream, feeling clammy and
cold and sweaty all at the same time, until finally he would
dispel the feeling – which he soon began to recognize as a
certain dread – until it came time for the storm to present
itself on the horizon.
Sometimes the Certain Dread came upon him minus the
accompanying dream. Or, he had the dream but didn't
remember it. Even as a high school student, he would be
sitting in school, gazing at the object of his affections,
and scheming a way to get her off to the side in the hallway
so he could talk to her. Just talk to her about anything at
all except what he really wanted to say, and that was that
he loved her and wanted to marry her and live with her the
rest of his life, but he was afraid she would laugh at him,
because he was, after all, only seventeen.
But while Howard was trying to figure out how to speak to
his vision of bliss, the feeling came over him and dispelled
any other emotion he may have had. It almost overwhelmed
him, causing his head to spin and his heart to pound just as
it did in the nightmares. He knew for sure he had to get
out of school, go home and warn his family that a twister
was on its way and to go to the cellar.
So strong and certain was this feeling that he got up
from his seat during French class conjugating verbs,
causing Mrs. Dosser to frown and ask him where he thought he
was going.
"I have to go home, Mrs. Dosser," he said simply, and as
he passed Neva's desk he whispered to her to come join him
in the hallway. Astonishing both himself and Mrs. Dosser,
she did just that.
As she stepped out of the classroom, he told her,
"There's a tornado coming. Don't ask me how I know, I just
know. Go home. Tell your family to get to safety. This is
gonna be a real bad twister."
"They're all bad, Howard." Yet she nodded, as if she had
known all along about his strange gift. "The others?" She
glanced back inside the classroom.
"You think they'd believe me?"
A moment's pause, then she placed her hand on his arm. "I
believe you."