Maddy
Saturday 7th July 2010
17:15pm
Cedar Ridge is home to some pretty spectacular things, but my Dad’s fried chicken has got to be up there on the leaderboard. I’ve tried to recreate it but there’s something that Dad does - some kind of extra ingredient that he puts in. I always beg him to tell me how he does it, but he always says ’with love, Madster’.
My actual name is Maddy but Dad calls me Madster. He’s the only one that gets away with calling me that. He’s standing tall at the kitchen side, getting himself everything he’ll need to make the greatest food on Earth. I’m standing as close as I can get to him without it being a complete violation of personal space. His tanned hands glide over to its target easily, he doesn’t even have his spice jars labelled - he just knows. Dad side-eyes me and then chuckles at my proximity, his shoulders bobbing slightly as small laughs ripple through his body.
“Back up, kiddo,” Dad says softly, “the chicken isn’t going to run away if you don’t have eyes on it”.
My eyes roll theatrically, which only earns another chuckle. It rumbles out of him like thunder, each chuckle is a deep boom. My eyes trail past Dad and out to the large kitchen window to our right. Outside, our front porch creaks with the wind. Cedar Ridge is very open-plained, it’s vast and the view of the town and the horizon on Coope’s Hill is unmatched. A true, Oklahoman attraction. The usual tourists flow through, there’s a group that come on the summer and winter solstice and celebrate up there. I can’t blame them, the first time I saw the view it took my breath away. From the highest point, you can look right down the hill towards Main Street. It’s the social hub, it houses more cafes than it probably needs but they’re always busy. It’s where everything that matters ends up happening. The green park space down the end of Main Street is usually filled to the brim with people when the sun is out, everyone comes out looking for the best place to soak up some vitamin D.
Today’s weather isn’t like that though, the sky is dense and dark grey swirls dominate the view out of the kitchen window - the kind of clouds that make your hair stand up and air feel heavy. I hear a distant rumble of thunder and swallow hard, my audible gulp sounding louder in the silent room. Dad notices immediately and tracks my eyes out to the weather brewing outside. I’ve never liked extreme weather, the sheer size of it intimidates fourteen-year-old me. Living right in the way of Tornado Valley is always kind of scary, but Dad says it’s just part of life here. Dad turns and his wider frame blocks my view of the window, not before I see the flash of lightning.
“You’re okay, it’s just a little bit of rain.” Dad’s hand is on my shoulder reassuringly, he squeezes three times gently. Our non-verbal signal. Three squeezes means I love you.
I take a deep breath in and my eyes stay locked on his, I try not to think about how the wind licks at the corners of the house, or how the winds sound like they’re picking up some serious speed. Dad redirects me towards the lounge, and I go easy, knowing that with the TV on and under a few blankets - I’ll barely hear any wind or thunder.
We make a start when the unmistakable sound of the tornado siren pierces through. We both stop and go into a tense still, the sirens don’t go on in this town unless the tornado has hit the deck. I swivel round on my heel and my eyes, probably wide-eyed, search my Dad’s for any kind of reassurance. Only his eyes matched mine. His eyes were wide and his jaw had dropped as if the sentence he was going to say was taken at the last second. We have experienced a few confirmed tornados over the years, had to replace the roof a few times but we’ve overall been lucky. Exposure hasn’t made my body’s reaction to the siren any easier though, my heart rate quickens and my fingertips tingle with the level of adrenaline starting to flow through my system.
Dad’s adrenaline kicks in before mine and before I know it, he’s reached out and has a grip on my arm. He pulls us both towards the backyard and turns to unlock the patio doors. Somehow, the clouds have gotten darker and the swirls in them are bordering on black in colour. To the right, we see the reason for the siren. The tornado has only just formed, so it’s still thin, but it’s already tossing fences and trees like they’re dust. It’s quickly gaining width to its roar but it doesn’t look as though it’s moving at all. Dad springs back into action with a shout.
“It’s coming at us, Maddy! We need to move… NOW!” Dad wastes no time in yanking the door open and pulling me out, we have a bunker at the end of the garden for this exact moment. Being outside has made the roar of the tornado increase tenfold, my hair whips my face relentlessly. Dad continues pulling us towards the bunker but my eyes are locked on the vortex. It still looks unmoving, but it’s bigger now, its roar is louder. I feel Dad’s arm on my back as he pushes me into the bunker and I topple down the steps, somehow staying on my feet. Once I’ve stopped my tumble, I turn and see Dad attempting to close the bunker doors, but he struggles because the wind is fighting his pull. I’m really not good with storms, the roar and velocity make me cover my ears and step back. My eyes remain locked on Dad though, I wish I could help him but I feel rooted in fear. The roar of the tornado is deafening now, it must be on us if not about to be. Dad continues to wrestle with the bunker doors, trying to keep them closed. We start to hear creaks, and loud rips. The crack in the bunker door painted a horrifying picture. I wished that we had been five seconds sooner - that he was next to me telling me it’ll be okay. Instead, the crack in the bunker doors shows our house fly apart like it was paper, the vortex shredding it to pieces. My breath catches in my throat, I think of all the memories in that house. All the photos, my trophies from science fairs and sports. Dad’s prepped chicken on the kitchen side ready to be fried for dinner. None of it exists now, the tornado had taken it in seconds, achievements and memories have become collateral damage.
Dad is still wrestling the doors closed, but the tornado practically on top of us is making it even more difficult than it was. The wind rips one of the doors Dad is wrestling with off its hinges and I can’t help but watch as the other door flies open, taking Dad with it. A scream starts in my throat but it doesn’t quite exit, he’s holding on to the handle of the remaining door and his eyes, crazed and panicked, are locked on me. Words don’t need to be spoken, our eyes say it all. Even if there were words to say, we wouldn’t hear each other. He’s trying to hook his elbow around the handle to get a better grip but he can’t do it against the wind. The tornado rages around him now, bits of smaller debris cutting his arms and face as he tries desperately to cling on to the door. I’m rooted to the spot out of fear, Dad wouldn’t want me to put myself in harm’s way but it feels so wrong being stood in the corner when Dad is up there fighting for his life. It feels like hours but in reality only seconds have passed. The roar of the wind deafens me but I hear the tell-tale creak of the door that Dad is holding on to coming loose. My eyes flick to the hinges that now hang off precariously, unless the tornado weakens significantly in the next second… I’m not sure the door will hold.
Like I thought it into existence, a loud snap over the roar of the tornado takes the bunker door away from its hinge. Dad with it. He disappears quicker than a blink, and all that’s left is the wind and debris flying past the bunker.
My legs buckle and I scramble to the back wall. My back hits it with such force that the breath I’d been holding came out in a scream.
“DAD!”.
