Tornadoes

Let me tell you about where I live. it's a city of about 93,000 people. Some of them are rich, some of them are poor, some of them are scraping by. 30,000 of us are students. Every year, when the weather gets warm, we get some storms. The tornado sirens go off sometimes, but we don't ever pay much attention to it.

One week ago today seemed like another one of those days. A storm had come through that night and thought that was it. There was something else behind it, but finals were a week away and there were bigger fish to fry.. I was sitting in my last Wednesday class when the sirens started to wail. Class dismissed. You're all free to leave, but taking shelter is recommended. I stuck around. The same thing happened the week before that.

The warning was originally until 4:45pm, then 5:30, then 5:35. The basement in the building that I was in does not like to cooperate with cell phone reception. I felt my phone vibrate and had a voice message from my dad and from my sister. When I called them back, they both said the same thing: "Stay where you are. This is about to get bad." Everyone was sitting on benches and on the floor, ducked into classrooms and standing by the door smoking cigarettes. The alarm in the building went off; "The University of Alabama is under a tornado warning. Take shelter until the storm has passed." At around 4:50, I slid into a side room in the basement. We were all huddled around the one guy with a computer that was streaming James Spann on the internet. As far back as I can remember, I've watched and listened to James Spann report on bad weather. There's something about those suspenders that make him seems trustworthy. The campus warning went off again. This time, it said that there was a tornado on the ground. It was heading toward campus. Take cover immediately. Good thing ten Hoor was built during the Cold War to double as a fallout shelter. The camera on top of the Tuscaloosa County courthouse showed us the tornado. It was on the ground. It was coming right for us. Momma called and told me to take cover. I tell my Momma that I love her every time that I talk to her. This time, I was legitimately scared that it would be the last time that I ever said it to her. James Spann keeps talking for a few more minutes. Things like "once-in-a-career storm" were heard from him. Darkness. The power goes out. Surprisingly, the two little girls in the hallway remain fairly calm. When I was that little, I didn't get off of the toilet until the sirens stopped wailing.

After a few minutes, we nervously ventured outside. I text Hannah to make sure that she was okay. No one's phones were working properly. I was nervous until she texted me back a few minutes later and said that she was fine. I started making phone calls to friends. Nothing. No response. Were my friends okay? As I ventured out of the building and started to make the hike to my apartment, all you could hear was the wail of sirens. We had heard that the hospital was hit, that the mall was hit, that entire businesses and neighborhoods were gone. This was within twenty minutes of the storm touching down. I was relieved to see that my apartment complex was safe. No electricity. I can deal with that. That just means empty the fridge and take a cold shower. I didn't know what to do, so I just started walking. Tree limbs and power lines were down. I get to the Strip. No power in Jimmy John's, but people are lined up out the door getting sandwiches in the heat and the dark.

I see Hannah. Visual confirmation that she was alright. I see Raquel. One of my best friends made it out alive. Morgan calls from Jesse's a little while later. Two more are safe and sound. We try to see some of what happened, but you couldn't get anywhere. I drive up toward the hospital. I heard it was hit and I wanted to see. There was a line of people out the emergency room door. Police wouldn't let you cross the bridge over McFarland Boulevard because of a gas leak in Alberta. Behind the hospital was Cedar Crest, one of the neighborhoods that was destroyed. I saw a girl walking away from there up Bryant Drive. She was bawling.

Not knowing what to do, I went to work. We had people lined up out the door trying to get food. We were one of the only places open. I spend the next couple of days working to keep distracted. Thursday night, my power was still out. There were rumors of looters. I live half a mile away from the affected area, but I still slept with a baseball bat. My power came back on around 4am Friday. The smoke alarm in my apartment is electric instead of battery. It beeped and I jumped up in bed. "Shit, what now?" I thought my place was on fire then remembered how it was wired up. I jump out of bed and see that the timer on my microwave and the display on my stereo are both on. "I HAVE POWER!"

When I left town Friday afternoon, I saw the view from Hargrove Road. My jaw dropped. My heart sunk. Complete neighborhoods were gone. No one in this city has ever been able to see from 2nd Avenue straight to the hospital. There were always houses and oak trees in the way. Not now. You can see all the way to the hospital. Entire neighborhoods are gone. Right now, the death toll stands at 40 people in Tuscaloosa, over 200 across Alabama as a whole and 300 across the South. We know that there will be more as they continue to dig through the rubble. I heard someone working for the Tuscaloosa County Sheriff's Office that the search and rescue teams could still hear people screaming under the rubble. I hope they were able to dig them out in time.

Friday night was the first time that we got together after the storm. One thing that you never forget is the looks and the hugs from your family and friends when they realize that you're alright. I've never hugged my mom or sister so hard in my life. My dad told me that he was terrified when that thing hit Tuscaloosa, afraid that his oldest son was going to die. "Well, I'm alright Daddy. I'm here in the truck with you." "I know, boy." I'm 24 years old. I've never called him anything but Daddy, except the joking and occasional Timbo or Old Man. He still calls me boy. When I got to Jesse's house Friday night, my brother ran over and picked me up. "I'm so goddamn glad you're not dead." "Me too, little brother. Me too." Everyone embraced, thankful that we are alive. We toasted our beers to Tuscaloosa, "TO ONE GREAT CITY!" and to Alabama.

I've lived here for three years in August. It took some time, but I love this city. Attalla is my home first and foremost, but Tuscaloosa has become a home. I cannot describe the joy in knowing that the people that I'm friends with here are alive. A few people that I know lost some of their belongings, but that's just stuff. You can replace stuff. You can't replace people. You can't replace friendships. It's going to be a while before there is some semblance of normal here again, but we're trying.

No matter how long it takes, I love you Tuscaloosa. One Great City.