Tornado Season

“If there really was a tornado, more people’d be on their porches watching.” 

The horn of the siren spun somewhere further into town, droning soft then loud, calling them inside. But Matt held the door wide. 

Katrina nudged him a little. “Well, go on then. Let’s see.” 

The water slashed sideways under the roof of the big porch, exploding on the concrete and wetting their ankles. Still, there was plenty of cover, and the thick humidity was cut with a coolness from the splashing. 

Blaring alarms from the National Weather Service shouted for attention from their phones. Everything around them felt powerful. The trees spun in erratic circles, wide and wild. Items from the barn blew across the yard. Katrina checked the radar and moved around Matt to reach the door to head back in. It was a struggle to open with the wind blasting against her efforts. 

”Matt, get in here!” The rain shot forward, crossing the porch in waves.

“Just a second, I want to see if I can find any funnel clouds in the lightning flashes.”

A tremendous blaze crossed the sky lighting up the entire porch and meeting the ground nearby, a thunder clap following that shook the windows in their frames. She didn’t have to ask him to move a second time.  

Rolling thunder threatened, and the power flickered off. 

“I’m sure it’ll pass quick.” Matt grabbed Katrina’s nervous shoulders. “Relax. It’s gonna be just fine.” 

“I know.” She leaned into him. Then a pause. “But what if it’s not.”

Seated against the back wall, they watched the dark room light up every few seconds. Bang! Flash! Each crack electrified the walls, everything coming alive. Matt jumped at every thunder clap, startled in his skin even though he knew it was coming. 

“Stop it!” said Katrina, giggling at her own fear. “You’re scaring me!” 

“I can’t help it! This is terrifying!” His big shoulders bounced as he laughed at himself as well, and they fell into a fit together. Simultaneously gasping at each frightening sound only made them laugh harder until they could barely breathe, wheezing and collapsing into each other. 

Gradually the space between the thunder and lighting widened, and their conversation filled the room instead of the storm. The wind slowed. The sirens spun themselves quiet. 

“I think it’s over,” Matt kissed Katrina on the forehead and gave one last chuckle and a grin. His phone dinged a text alert as he stood up off the ground. He reached for Katrina’s hand to pull her up. 

“You know Jim? He said he’s on the way over with his chainsaw to help clear the roads. I’m going with him. Sit on the porch and wait with me until he gets here.” 

Hammering raindrops hit the roof and the concrete, but otherwise the storm was quiet. Katrina called her parents, and Matt texted updates to friends. He stood when headlights turned down the path. 

“Love ya,” he said, with a pattern of habit, but meaning it. “Stay here, don’t go out on those roads.” 

“Text me if you have to stop and clear anything. And drive by your mom’s place.” 

They parted ways. Matt jogged heavily to the truck, boots creating tsunamis as his big feet crashed through the gravel drive, disappearing into the night.

She leaned her head back on the chaise lounge and smiled, breathing in the scent of the fresh rain. 

She didn’t know that would be the last time they saw each other. 

When Matt didn’t come back, didn’t answer his phone, she called the town sheriff. In the movies when the officer comes to the door, the wife or mother immediately knows. Before they share the news, the tears are streaming and she sits weightless in her grief. Katrina didn’t have that experience. They had to tell her three or four times before she heard them clearly. 

Matt and his friend had stopped to clear a fallen tree on a main road, not realizing a line was down. The power company found them, electricity pulsing through their still bodies until the system was able to be shut down. 

She sat on that porch for a long time, listening to the rain. The sheriff sat with her until her mom arrived. Her mom sat with her until the morning arrived. The morning sat with her until the evening arrived. 

She sat on that porch for a long time before she crawled into bed, melancholic and numbed, trying to solidify every memory before it changed with time, as memories do. 

Friends came by with condolences, dropping off comfort food and frozen dishes, offering prayers and love. She accepted each visitor, but silently retreated further from them. It did help knowing they would be there when she felt better, but in the moment she quietly rejected their love.

The morbidity came suddenly. Her imagination fired. He was in the morgue, laying in the dark. Alone, cold, naked. Maybe his eyes were slightly open, dead. She thought of someone opening a door to let the light in, and then beginning  to do whatever they do to prepare the body. Not Matt. The body. Some stranger touching him, lifting his arms and legs to dress him for the funeral. Putting makeup on his masculine face. She hoped they wouldn’t shave his stubble. 

His family was in charge and they had made all of the arrangements. Even though they were deeply in love, she wasn’t his wife.They chose his suit and tie and shoes, and nothing was quite right. They were kind and included her in the process, but she couldn’t overstep his mother’s right to grieve over her son. 

It was an open casket. The funeral home always lets the family in first to pay respects, and his family invited Katrina and her mother to join. There was no privacy, no space to breathe. Everyone politely pretended to chat when the others took their turns saying goodbye. Walking to the casket, his mother held his father and cried into his arm. Katrina walked alone. 

It took courage to walk to him, but she did and looked in his casket. Heavy oak and soft white tufted silk. He was clean shaven. Light foundation, slightly too rosy cheeks. His hair wasn’t right. She fixed it, and when her hands touched his dead, deflated face, energy from somewhere within her lurched into her throat. She sobbed a silent cry, and the grief she had not yet allowed forced itself to be heard and flowed through her unwilling heart. She felt his love as she sobbed, and, somewhere deep inside of her, he awakened and came back to life in the softest way. 

The pain which had originally destroyed her, slowly began to put her back together. She took all of his shirts out of the closet, burying her face and deeply inhaling into each one. That smell brought her to her knees. but memories of comfort surrounded her. She kept a few items, took a few to his mom, and packed the rest into a box for church donations. She kept accidentally buying the chunky peanut butter he liked out of habit. She fumed at how it reminded her of her pain and at the interruption of her new life, until she remembered how he loved it when she got angry. His eyes would crinkle and he would wink. She would punch him on his arm and whine for him to stop. Each moment of despair, turned to a happy memory. Each resentment from the loss, faded to acceptance. Slowly, and broken by waves of retreat. But it happened.. 

And just like that, a night came where she slipped into bed, the cotton sheets cool on her skin as she snuggled into the pillows. As her arm reached for his side of the bed to look for her book. Kate realized she hadn’t cried. She hadn’t even thought of him all day. Her tears soaked his pillow. 

She was forgetting him. But then, she remembered that little moment of life that had appeared for her deep inside at the funeral. 

“Hey honey! Come inside, that storm is getting bad.” 

Katrina was reclined in the soft pillows of the chaise lounge in the back sunroom. The rain pattered on the glass, and shots of lightning flashed through the sky. The open window let in a few splashes across the room. It’s not so bad, she thought. But she raised herself up anyway . 

He stood in front of the stove. 

The room was filled with the smell of his cooking, pork sizzling in the skillet and him stirring a pot of something. His body was strong as she slipped behind him and slid her hands across his waist , and wrapped her arms around his chest. He leaned back into her. 

“Hi,” he said warmly, “want to taste?” She moved to his side and took the spoon he handed her. It was spicy and flavorful, southern comfort food. 

“I was thinking about Matt.” 

“I figured. You talk to him?” 

“I did.” She moved to stand beside him. “Is it weird that I still do that?” 

He turned to face her. He lifted her chin so she looked in his eyes, “Never.” Then turned back to turn the sausage.

“The rain helps me hear him. Something about the smell. We laughed so much before he left, and the smell of the rain brings me back to that part. All the details come alive.” She chuckled, sticking the spoon back into the pot for another taste. “It was a really good night, outside of his death.” 

He looked into her, soft crinkles around his eyes when he smiled. A little tilt to his head at her dark humor. His eyes dropped back to the pot of whatever he was making, and he stirred quietly. 

They never ate at the table. The living room was so much cozier. They sat on opposite sofas, snuggled into their comfortable spots. Typically one of them was chatting away, sharing the details of the day, or asking esoteric questions of the other for thoughtful discussion. There was rarely a tense silence, but it hung in the air with the humidity

“What’s going on over there?” She spoke with the gentlest voice, eyes softly in his direction.

He inhaled to speak, but nothing came out. He exhaled slowly. 

She had known this moment would present itself soon. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for it. 

“You want to know if I’ll ever be able to love you like him.” 

“No, that’s not it.” He didn’t look up. He put sausage on his fork, lifted it halfway to his mouth and let it hang there.  Another deep breath, and his eyes met hers. “I’m lying. Yes, that’s what I was thinking.”

“You’ve never asked that before.”

The fork dropped back to the plate. He continued, “I wish I didn’t wonder, but it’s hard not to compare. I’m sorry.”

She felt a wave of grief. She was cheating. She was forgetting. She was defiling his memory. 

But the knowing arose, the one she had been fighting for  months. It filled her. It pushed the grief out of her, through her pores, through the tears that were forming at the rims of her eyelids. 

It had been there for a long time, growing with the mundaneness of life. Every bill paid, every morning alarm, every piece of mail opened, the longing for more had grown. This warmth, this kindness, this life with him. 

She felt  that soft voice nudge her to speak . 

“I do love you.” She had said the words before, but this was the first time she meant it. 

“I know. I love you too.” 

“No Charlie, I love you the way I loved Matt.” Her tears finally fell. Charlie stared at her for a long time. Smiled. Then lifted the fork off of his plate and took his bite.

They did the dishes, talked about Charlie’s plans for the upcoming project at the office, and Kate told him about her new outfit she had planned for her mom’s birthday. She dried the last pan and went to sit, but Charlie grabbed her hand.

“Let’s go outside. Smell the rain.” 

He turned toward the patio, and she followed . “You can tell me all the stories again. Start at the beginning. I want to know the whole love story of Matt and Kate.”