Wednesday, November 1, 2017

305. Tornado Sight (May 4,2011)

From a four-way stop a dirty asphalt road split the land in two and vanished over the rise of a hill. The words “AlBERtA DR” were scrawled near the intersection in large white sprayed-on letters.  Over the curb a few sparse weeds leaned. Beyond them stood the white walls of an abandoned home.  A bare tree lay across what remained of the porch and the yard, cutting off entrance to the home and burying under it shreddings from other plants, houses, furniture, and garbage.  The porcelain shards of a broken toilet bowl caught in the tangle of the dead, browning moss that had clung to the tree’s branches.  Yellow caution tape fluttered past two small pillows lying in the dirt and splinters.  A dripping t-shirt hung from one of the man branches of the felled tree.  Near the curb, an old sign post jutted from the ground at an angle, splitting a stray slat of wood in two.  An empty dollhouse lay next to it.  Beyond the house was a pile of broken bricks, cracked and shattered boards, bent steel beams and many other objects.  In the middle of the heap stood an orange metal door frame holding tightly to the upturned white vehicle that was wedged into it.  The tail of the vehicle held a position higher than anything else, excepting only a few thin planks of wood.  Metal pipes flattened the lower branches of the nearby fir tree.  Lodged beneath wood and bricks, a lone tire sat beside a dented washing machine.  A red and white checked tablecloth caught on a protruding beam, while plastic bucket lid slid down the assortment with the shifting breeze.  The mound spilled forth from the shattered floor of a second story bedroom which had only one wall.  A mattress could be seen clearly from the street, set comfortably against an empty closet with no doors, and no back wall.  Three of the ground-floor walls remained standing, with windows containing broken glass, the fallen pieces lying on the ground among broken bricks and an overturned armchair.  The rest of the second story lay in the rubble on the ground with the torn out corner of the ground floor.  Tree branches poked through the fluttering curtains of the bedroom window.
A

He walked down the filthy road, trying hard not to step on any shards of broken glass or splintery remains of the trees or houses.  He wondered where all the water bottles and other garbage had come from.  Surely these people didn’t always leave their trash lying around.  He saw the tree lying on top of the house and knew they would need the chainsaw to remove it.  There was no way their hammers and hand saws would be able to cut through the massive trunk or the web of branches.  He wasn’t even sure the house was worth the effort and the danger.  There was no telling what lay hidden beneath all the papers and loose limbs that surrounded the tree.  It would take a while to move the whole thing, but he was getting paid to be there so he would try the best he could.  He climbed carefully through the colossal roots, noticing with a touch of reverence that they stood even taller than he did.  His footing became less sure as the ground transformed from packed dirt to fragments of brick and timber.  A low whistle issued from his mouth.  This job would be even more difficult than the other.  Picking up odds and ends like the pillows, toys, and small debris wouldn’t be so difficult as long as they wore their gloves.  Even the tree could be managed with caution.  However, the pile he faced looked unstable.  Any little shift of a brick could send the whole mound cascading down on them, including the car.  He picked his way carefully around, examining the angles at which the beams lay and the amount of stressed weight the broken walls held.  Stepping back toward the road, he beheld the more solid walls around the corner and made his way toward them.  Testing their strength, he slowly scaled the holding corner, using the window ledge as a step.  The floor seemed sturdy in his corner, so he ventured a little further out and exited the closet through which he had come.  The floor had once been beautiful.  It was smooth hardwood, recently refinished.  The floor creaked as he shifted his crouching weight and he quickly stood, hitting his head on the tree branches that poked through the fluttering curtains of the bedroom window.



I had come this way so many times before.  I didn’t think I would need the street signs anymore, but there was so little left standing.  It was hard to tell one yard from another.  Everything was rubble.  There were a few poles sticking out of the ground here and there, but all else was pile after pile of unidentifiable debris.  I only knew I had come to Alberta because someone had painted the name onto the street.  It looked like the same paint that was on the searched houses.  Sarah and I got out of the car as quickly as we could, but then there was nothing to do but stare.  She had spent the night with me and this was the first time either of us had seen her house.  I finally began to move, and this must have triggered something in Sarah, because she headed toward the tree.  I gathered up the things I could, things that looked salvageable or useful.  It wasn’t much.  A couple of pillows, a frying pan, one of Mrs. Callimar’s china plates that somehow had stayed in one piece.  The dollhouse would cheer Ellen and Mary Ann up and give them something to play with.  There was so much commotion at our house now with three families there.  Anything might help.  Sarah was still at the tree when I joined her.  I was surprised to hear her laughing.  It was a light but hollow sound.  “Jason’s t-shirt. He’s going to hate to see this rip in it. He got it from Charles Barkley himself.  He wears it all the time.” I took the shirt from her and put it with my small pile.  We still needed to see if the Jepsons had anything left.  Moving around the tree we stopped in our tracks.  The Jepson’s house was completely gone.  All that remained was that stupid orange doorframe, their little white car, and a pile of what used to be there house.  We ran to the other side and saw Mariah Teak’s bed sitting comfortably in the corner of her little bedroom.  Her stupid little boy-band posters were still tacked on the wall.  And yet, the Jepsons’ house was gone.  It had knocked out a corner of the Teaks’ house, but it was gone. There wasn’t a wall standing.   Even the trees were gone.  I gazed at where the one we had helped Teddy Jepson plant a few years ago had been, but instead of being where it should have been, it was across the yard.  The tree’s branches poked through the fluttering curtains of Mariah’s bedroom window.

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