Waking Up
Chapter Three
The next morning I woke up on the sofa, squished against the end with Nana asleep on the other side. We had fallen into a deep sleep of cries in the middle of the afternoon. Even though I had well over eleven hours of sleep, I felt tired and groggy.
I stretched when I stood up and checked the microwave clock. It flashed seven thirty in the morning. Light seeped from the open windows and from the cracks underneath the back and front door. I scratched my head and yawned.
I hoped the day before had been a dream, a nightmare. I walked to the front door and swung it wide. I heard a crack and I saw the bottom of the door chip off, the hinge already snapped in half. The light was bright, illuminating an only slightly trashed neighborhood. I was almost given hope when I didn’t seem much of a mess. Then I remembered it was only Nana’s neighborhood and past that hadn’t been destroyed to ruins. Pen Pal Inc. and my middle school were still thoroughly kicked and beaten down.
I closed the door to keep the light out and shut the window by the sofa to keep Nana from waking up. Seeing that Nana was in a very deep sleep, I switched on the TV, getting only scribbly black and white lines across the screen. The signal wasn’t picking up. I jabbed the channel buttons, trying to get a report of missing people, of how far the tornado went, something, but the TV would just not cooperate. Suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of utter rage, I punched the TV screen as hard as I could with my curled up fist. Shattered glass sprinkled down by my feet, rising the anger I felt to an even higher level.
I whirled around and stomped from the living room, and out to the front yard. I needed some air because my ire was boiling my blood. The air was fresh, despite the little particles od dust and dirt floating around with the early morning wind. The grass still shone green, the trees still swayed in the wind. A few branches were flattened against the road, the telephone wires up above were clearly shredded, broken, and not able to be in use. The roads were pretty much cleared except for the few piece of wood and glass and metal that were widely scattered about. Nana had been lucky. I had been lucky. But I did not feel lucky.
Really wanting to hear the news, I thought of where I could get it. I needed something battery powered or written. Then I got an idea. I hurried around to the backyard of Nana’s house and to the cellar doors. I opened them up and stepped down the crackling ladder until I reached the cold, cement floor. It was protocol to have some sort of safety item in your cellar and Nana had thrown about every single one of Luck Mark City’s safety packages down there. After opening up almost each one, I finally found a wind up radio. I found a station I liked and wound and wound and wound. Finally, I could make out some words so I scurried back up the ladder and out of the cellar. I sat against the side of the house, continuously winding. There were two reporters, Jeremy Cork and Laura Baker. They’re station was somewhere in the hills that was protected from practically everything with the exception of rare mud slides.
“Well, Jeremy, that tornado really ran far yesterday, don’t you think?” Laura commented.
“I’ll say! It lasted for fourteen minutes, going through…Luck Mark City, Linden City, and Barker Wood. It died by hurling some of the last of its contents into Oklahoma. “
“That’s right,” Laura said. “Kylie ruined over 300 homes, 500 cars, and 250 buildings and counting. Deaths are still be counted, and those injured are still being taken in, but so far the count of dead and missing people is 143. Man, that’s a lot.”
“Did you know that only the west half of Luck Mark City got hit? The transition between west Luck Mark and east Luck Mark only got brushed and then east Luck Mark barely got bruised at all.”
“The most the east side got was a few floating ashes and dirt pieces, right?”
“That’s what we have reported.”
“All right, then Jeremy. We have to have a few sponsors speak, but when we come back Tina Torrance, flung from the tornado into Oklahoma will speak with us from her hospital bed. Stay tuned.” As a plumbing commercial sang it’s jingle, the radio started to die out again.
I let it die out, set it on the ground next to me, and allowed my head to hit the house side behind me. What had happened in so little time? I loved nature, I did. I love the shattered trees and fallen branches. Nature was nature, ugly or pretty. But nature was also that thing that had ate up my parents, ruined my school, and destroyed my city. How could I love something like that?
“Tammy?” I heard a voice call, one that was not Nana’s. I got up from the ground, not bothering to wipe the dirt off my pants, and went around to the front. Charles stood at the front of the lawn, in a new pair of denim overalls with his hair brushed. Obviously, he had had a fine night.
“Hi Charles,” I mumbled, looking down at my ripping socks.
“I thought I would find you here when you weren’t on Parsley Street….I found my parents,” Charles commented. “They were in our church, like I said, safe and sound. Our house is still is pretty good shape, actually. My dad is working on repairing the window sills today. My mom is going to clean the dirt and debris off our lawn, too. They said I could walk around as long as I prayed as I went,” Charles said. He seemed happy. He should have been. His family was safe, he was safe, and his home was safe. I tried to smile.
“That’s…great, Charles,” I replied, still not looking up at him.
“Did you find your parents?” Charles asked me, clearly sensing something wasn’t right.
“…No…I found my Nana,” I replied, wiggling my toes in my worn socks. Charles moved forward on the lawn, toward me.
“I am so sorry, Tammy. That’s really awful,” Charles consoled me, giving me a hug. I didn’t feel like hugging back, so I stood there, my arms hanging limply at my sides. Suddenly, a siren whooped from down the street. Detached, both of us moved to the sidewalk and poked our heads down the street. A cop car was rolling slowly down the street, an ambulance and fire truck following closely behind. At an open space, all three vehicles parked on the side of the road, and about three people from each car got out.
Two police women held flashlights and whistles, leading four firemen holding axes and shovels. Last came two men paramedics and one woman paramedic, pushing a gurney, and each holding a big red first aid kit. They all went up to each house on the block one by one. They knocked on the doors and if there was an answer, they talked to the resident, checking in, Charles and I assumed, and then if all was good, moved on. If no one answered, all nine workers shoved their ways into the home, calling and searching throughout the house. Every house they forced their way into, they came out with nothing and nobody. By the time they reached Nana’s house, no one who they were checking in on had had a disaster and no one had to be rushed away.
One police woman, with a name tag, Sloane, came up to me and crouched down so she could look me in the eyes. She smiled a wide, toothy smile. She looked from me to Charles as she spoke, her voice sweet and soft.
“Hi, there,” Sloane said. “What are your names?”
“Charles,” Charles said quickly.
“Tammy,” I said quietly, not caring to interact with these people.
“Do you guys live here?” Sloane questioned.
“No,” we both replied.
“Where do you live?”
“I live on Apple Mint Road,” Charles answered. Sloane looked over at me, her smile not faltering the slightest bit.
“Parsley Street,” I responded. Sloane looked back at her other coworkers.
“Sweeties, why are you here then?”
“I’m visiting her,” Charles said.
“I’m visiting my Nana,” I said.
“Your Nana lives here?” Sloane asked.
“Yes.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, she’s sleeping right now,” I replied.
“Charles,” Sloane said, looking over at him, “is your family okay?”
“Great, they missed the tornado because they were in the church cellar on the far east side of Luck Mark City,” Charles replied proudly.
“Good, do they know you’re here?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Sloane turned to her coworkers and asked them, “Apple Mint Road is on the east side on Luck Mark, right?”
“It’s in the transition between east and west,” one of the paramedics replied.
“So, it barely got brushed?” Sloane responded, more to herself than to the others. The others nodded as Sloane turned to me.
“What about you, darling? Is your family okay?” When I didn’t respond, Charles stepped in for me.
“She’s living with her Nana right now because she can’t find her parents.” Sloane’s smile immediately dropped into a straight line. She looked intently at me and so I looked intently back at her.
“Did you look for them?”
“No…they were at work and…they didn’t get a chance to go into the cellar. Their boss…said…” I had started crying again, too much to continue my words. Sloane didn’t seem to expect an answer.
I heard a fireman ask another fireman if Parsley Street was in the transition from east to west Luck Mark City and even though he wasn’t talking to me, I said, “Yes, it is. My house is probably fine.” Not that it mattered because I wouldn’t be living in it.
“Excuse me!” a voice hollered a little bit a ways from us. Everyone turned to see who was calling. A frantic woman danced down the street, her arms waving above her head. She looked like me, dirty and recently awaken.
“I need your help!” the woman cried. I did not recognize her, surprising as it was, fore all the people of Luck Mark City were always familiar to me, as I’ve told. The paramedics and firemen hurried to the woman, their tools at the ready. As she explained her dire situation and all of them rushed off to help, Sloane and her partner stood with me and Charles.
“Aren’t you going to help?” I asked, wanting to be alone and out of the limelight.
“Is there anything you need, darling?” Sloane inquired. Suddenly, I became quite annoyed with how she kept calling me ‘darling’ or ‘sweetie.’
“You can stop calling me that now,” I hissed and ran to the back of the house, past the abandoned radio. Charles came running after me, thanking the officers as he went.
“Tammy…I know you are afraid and that—“
“Charles, I’m not afraid,” I snapped, standing by the orange tree. About a dozen not ripe enough oranges had fallen to the ground, small and very green. Nana would not be happy and then she would probably blame me for not picking off all the oranges.
“Tammy…” Charles tried to say, but I would not let him.
“Don’t patronize me, Charles,” I snarled. “You don’t have any idea what it’s like, right now. Besides, I’m not your charity case.”
“I’m just trying to help,” Charles tried again, concern showing in his eyebrows and lips.
“You don’t need to help, Charles. I am not your…your…project,” I growled, angry that Charles was trying to help. Everything then seemed annoying or maddening. Nothing made sense and crying seemed like my only escape.
“I wish Alice was here,” I murmured bitterly to myself. Alice was Charles and my other friend that we had met in the fifth grade. Alice had curly black locks and her style consisted mostly of jumpers and dresses. While Charles shared the same hobby of singing as I did, Alice shared the same hobby of paining as I did. Alice and I had been thinking of joining the painting class at the West Luck Mark City Rec Center together in about a month. Who knew if that would happen now….
“Me too, but she left for her grandpa’s funeral last week, remember? She’s lucky she wasn’t here…” Charles said softly, looking at the wall behind me.
“You can go Charles,” I said. Charles’ eyes darted to mine, looking hurt. He bit his bottom lip and turned towards the side gate. I watched him unlatch the gate and look back once more before he continued down the side of the house and away from me. I stood watching the side gate even after Charles had left. I started crying, standing completely still, not moving my feet nor my hands.
“That was quite something.” I whirled around towards where the voice was coming from and saw Nana standing on the other side of the sliding screen door. She leaned on the door frame as she slid open the door and took one step out.
“Morning,” I mumbled, feeling sullen all of a sudden.
“Get in the house,” Nana snapped, making room by the door to let me pass.
“No.” I didn’t want to and Nana couldn’t make me. When I said that, Nana’s eyebrows shot to the top of her wrinkly forehead. She pursed her chapped lips and her wrinkles tightened around the neck.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Get inside the house,” Nana barked. Nana never took sass and I knew it. Too tired to dispute the issue, I lazily walked up the cement steps and into the house.
When I passed Nana, going into the house, Nana smacked me in the back of the head. I clutched the back of my head, the stinging reverberating through my head to my sinus pressure points.
“I hate you!” I out of nowhere screamed and ran to what was then my room, the guest room. I slammed the door behind me and pounded the back of the door with my clenched fist. She had hit me! She had hit me! …She had hit me. …Yet she had hit me before without a reaction from me. What was different then? My parents were dead. My town was gone. I had fought with one of my best friends. I didn’t have a school. I didn’t have a real home. I started sobbing again, but that time that escape didn’t work because I could still see and perceive.
I still saw the bed with the wooden and carved frame, contrasting with the pale green bedspread. The paisley pink carpet with dotted brown, coffee spots still circulated through my brain and so did the old ‘70s rock band posters, the set of ’89 encyclopedias, the entertainment center with the mini TV sitting on it, it’s steel antennas sticking out like alien horns, and the vanity, completely empty, nothing but a dusty mirror.
The window above the bed had yellow, floral drapes, caked with musty, white dust, shielding light very well from the room. I pulled apart the dirty drapes, waved away the flying dust, shook the dust from my own hands, and looked outside. I had a perfect view of the left side of the front lawn. Patches of yellow spotted the wide lawn, piles of dirt where to-be flowers were going to be planted covered the whole lawn, as well. I could see the emergency workers down the street a few houses, their vehicles still at the beginning end of the block.
I knew exactly where I was, but I had never felt so lost.
I am really enjoying this story. I read all the chapters in one night and can't wait for the next one! The characterization is great. Maddie, do you know the ending before you start writing?
ReplyDeleteThank you!!! :) I do know the ending before I begin. Usually, I spend 10 minutes planning the route and ending of my story before I start in. It really helps because then when I'm writing, I feel like I am actually going somewhere with the plot.
ReplyDeleteThank you for reading!