T-Town - One Year Later

A while back a writer friend of mine told me about a contest being run at Esquire magazine - in honor of their 78th year of publication they were looking for stories that were exactly 78 words. As Doug said, 78 words is hard! 


Anyway, here's my entry. (And no, it didn't win. And I didn't read the story that did.)

April 27, 2011, Tuscaloosa, Alabama

5:15 a.m.: Sirens: Check television. Storm past. Back to bed.

5:45 a.m.: Phone: No school. Back to bed.

7:45 a.m.: Jay: Have fun on your day off.

Me: If we keep the roof and power.

5:45 p.m.: Television: Sirens again. Check television.

Weatherman: Huge tornado. Over Tuscaloosa. 35th Street.

Jay: That's Katie's apartment.

Me. Oh my God.

8:15 p.m.: Text: Katie: We're all ok.

Me: Still have roof. And power. And daughter. 

A lot has been said over the past couple of days - the one year anniversary of that storm. The media - television and print - have been talking about it a lot around here. There have been some public ceremonies and stuff, commemorating the day. And some friends have asked me about it - and I'm glad to tell my part of the story, to elaborate on those 78 words. But, here's the deal... I can't really explain it. I am still, after all this time, at a loss for words. (And that's odd for me, since I consider myself a 'writer'.) I understand, now, why soldiers don't really want to talk about their experiences. I think I understand, a little bit at least, what PTSD is all about. There are sections of town that I just don't drive through without tears. I can weep over the sight of one lone tree in the middle of a field - no branches left on its massive trunk but with hundreds of green leaves sprouting all over it. I was sitting at a baseball game a week or so ago and the wind picked up - not even any storm, really, just some clouds and wind - and yet I could feel my anxiety spike. I don't know. I just don't know... 

Joey

Late one evening, a long time ago, on the way home, four year old Katie piped up from the backseat.

"Wishing on a star doesn't work," she informed us, in that special tone reserved for children who know more than their parents.

"Oh?" I asked, weary from a busy day and distracted by all the items still on my to-do list. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, I wished on a star that Joey would get a new eye, but he didn't."

It's a good thing Jay was driving.

Before you get the wrong idea, let me explain: Joey is a teddy bear. One of those big ones - roughly the same size as a small child. Roughly the same size as me, when my father won him at the state fair when I was two years old. That makes him old, too. Just like me.

Joey's been loved pretty hard over the years - not a bad thing for a teddy bear; just ask the Velveteen Rabbit - and he's pretty ratty looking. His original eyes, long since forgotten, have been replaced more times than I can count. Apparently I had managed to ignore the fact that Joey was in dire need of yet another button-eye replacement surgery. And now, not only did I have to fix this problem, but I somehow had to replace my precious daughter's innocence. Wow.

When we got home, Jay took care of bath time with both Katie and Burke while I flew into panic-mommy mode. Joey had one eye - a nice big, black button from an old pea coat - and I knew I had put its mate somewhere safe for when I had time to sew it back in place. The problem was, now I couldn't find it. Desperate for a solution before the end of Katie's bath, I found two rather gaudy but matching buttons, salvaged from an old pair of slippers, removed the single old eye and stitched the two 'new' ones in place just in time. Katie emerged from the bathroom, damp and smelling like only freshly washed little girls can smell, dressed in her Little Mermaid PJs.

I didn't say anything about Joey, and it wasn't until after the ritual of selecting a bedtime storybook that Katie noticed him, propped in his usual place on her bed. I was holding my breath - I thought the new buttons looked awful, and I worried that Katie would be disappointed.

Instead she turned to me, a huge grin on her face. "Look, Mommy! Joey has two eyes tonight! And they're blue, just like mine!"

Now, I know what you're thinking: Teachable Moment. We should have talked all about asking God for the things we need, rather than wishing on a star for the things we want. And I agree. We should have. But we didn't. And, looking back on it, I don't really thing that was the point. Remember, Jesus said to us: "Is there a man among you who will offer his son a stone when he asks for bread, or a snake when he asks for fish? If you, then, wicked as you are, know how to give your children what is good for them, how much more will your heavenly Father give good things to those who ask him!" God knows what we need. And He gives it to us. Even when we wish on a star instead of asking Him.