Sleeping through the Storms

   Summers in Huntsville, Alabama brought danger. Before the days became night, the sky cleared itself from nature's burden. In those days, familiar moving black dots were not covering the beginning and the end of the sky. Only the roaring of airplanes and the cackling of the helicopters were seen and heard during the mornings and afternoons. During those days there was heat. The type of heat that made Mama realized that she must turn the thermostat all the way down. There was no wind. No whistle in the air. Even the trees' limbs were still.

   Although, I was four years old, I knew what all of these revelational signs meant. I could not manage to say tornado, but I knew it was coming.

   At nights, the stars could not be seen. They were hiding, hiding behind the black sky. In those nights, my father, my mother, and I crammed up in the guest bathroom. I sat inside the bathtub, while my father sat on the floor, with a flashlight in his right hand and the portable white radio in his left hand. As his eyebrows made frowns on his forehead, he would calmly suck his teeth. Mama sat on top of the cushioned closed lid of the toilet. She held a green book that was composed of bible stories.

  That green book calmed all fears. As soon as my mother opened the book and read the beginning sentences to me; all was forgotten. The growling of the earth could not be heard. The hard floor of the tub did not hurt my body. Instead, my eyes seemed to be heavy and soon they would close, leading me to a safer world.  
   Image by Google.