The Writers' Circle

**Storm Central**


     I live in what's commonly called tornado alley, just northwest of the Red River. We kids were raised in this area for most of our lives. We learned the tornado drill at an early age. It goes something like this: walk; don't run, stay low to or underground and never, ever try to outrun one. To this day let a siren sound, kids and adults alike go nuts. We gather up the important stuff, you know, purses, photos and the family pet, so what if it's a fish. If you're lucky enough to have a cellar, get there quick because the neighbors who don't have one aren't far behind you!
      Everyone has a different opinion on what you should actually do. Take my sister and I for example. Lisa and I were raised in the same house, went to the same schools, had the same friends and we are only a year apart in age. Yet, while I have a healthy respect for them, she runs for cover if the weatherman even mentions the word tornado. 
      How do you explain our difference of opinion? I blame it on my parents. My father would watch them with an air of casualness, usually in the yard. My mother, on the other hand, headed for the basement, usually taking Lisa with her. I was a Daddy's girl so I stayed in the yard, at least until the hail started.   

      They don't scare me, much; I'll go to the cellar if the siren blows other than that I don't worry about 'em, much. I'll stand on the porch and watch them form; listen to every weather report while correcting the resident meteorologist. He isn't from here anyway, so we all know he doesn't know what he's talking about. Anyway, who wants to stay underground when all the action is in the yard? And if I went to the cellar every time the siren sounded I'd be there every Friday at noon when they see fit to test the damn things!


      My sister, whom we call Chicken, on the other hand wouldn't even consider visiting a house during tornado season, unless it has a cellar of course. As a matter of fact, everyone within a two-mile radius wants to use her "fraidy" hole. I do have to admit though; it's probably the best-stocked hole in the ground I've ever had occasion to hunker down in. We've been known to stay down there after the all-clear sounds; well, we need to finish the card game!
     

     Chicken sees a funnel in every cloud, swears it wasn't thunder, because thunder can't be that loud and every lighting strike is a "blue flash" that must have been the transformer atop the nearest electric pole! She even plans, in advance, the fastest route to the nearest fraidy hole. Rand McNally has nothing on her! Never try to outrun it hell! She's in the fraidy hole before it hits town. 


     And no that is not how she got her nickname, that's another story!