Before I had kids, I sometimes fashioned my dreams into short stories. The girls and I watched the Wizard of Oz again last night, and the tornado scene of course reminded me of my lifelong recurring tornado dreams. This is one of them. It is the funniest tornado dream I've had and suggests that after so many years, I have mastered the dream, becoming a veritable expert on how to deal with the tornado dream.
“Okay people, listen up.” I figure we have five minutes at the most. “The first thing you need to do when a tornado is coming is look for some kind of underground shelter.” My class consists of about eight people, students who are fortunately attentive and cooperative. I could have been stuck with much worse. “The sky is really growing dark, and I sense that the tornado will come from that direction and head down our way. Where it will hit on the farm, I can’t say. So we must take precaution.” I pace back and forth before my class clad in a t-shirt and gym shorts. Impressively, I also have on athletic shoes and socks. Around my neck hangs a shiny metal whistle, which I roll in between my fingertips as I lecture. “Just remember to keep your wits about you.”
The man in the hawaiian shirt and green visor speaks up. “There isn’t a storm cellar around. So what do we do ma’am?” His sagging belly is supported by thin blueish-white legs that taper into black socks and brown loafers.
“That’s a good question.” Glad that he asked it, I stress the next important point. “What we do now is search for is a ditch. We haven’t much time, so let’s quickly scout out the area for a ravine or something. A dried creekbed works well. So does the bottom of a road shoulder.” The Japanese couple is slow to respond and searches me for clarity. “Ditch,” I mouth to them as I point to the ground and gesture a scoop with my hand. Smiling, they nod in understanding and join the rest of my dispersed class. I look up the dusty two-lane road toward the storm to witness my favorite part of a tornado dream—the birth of the funnel. Every time I see it, my heart races, breath quickens, and I marvel at the gray sky full of tumultuous beauty, impending danger, and predictability. The funnel stretches downward in the distance, and I know it’s time to take immediate action. I blow my coach’s whistle. “People, it’s coming,” I shout.
They run over to me, and the shirtless teenage boy in faded jeans reports, “We looked everywhere, and there aren’t any ditches.”
“Alright this sometimes happens.” I explain matter-of-factly, “This isn’t Kansas, people. It’s the Texas panhandle.” Scanning the farm for a solution, I realize we are standing next to the remnants of a collapsed building. “A-ha! Everybody grab some wood! We’ll build our own shelter,” I proudly instruct. “Now go, go, go!” Everyone, including myself, scrambles to erect some kind of shed. I know that it needs to be underground, but this is just the way the dream is going.
A young girl in a ponytail yells, “But aren’t we all going to blow away if we don’t get it built in time?”
“No, not necessarily.” I apply my best team-spirit appeal. “If you’ll remember in the movie ‘Twister,’ Helen Hunt and Bill Paxton did not receive one scratch at the end. My dreams are a lot like that. I have years of tornado dream experience, and they never harm me. But I don’t chance it by standing out in the open. We have to get this thing up, then we’ll be okay.”
The tornado winds toward us across the fallow agricultural field. As usual, I’m enveloped with a rush of amalgamated excitement, fear, and trust. Our time is up, and the shelter is only half-finished. It looks more like a vertical obstacle in a military training exercise. Not surprisingly, the tornado snakes along the other side of the road in our direction. “Okay, hurry! Everyone huddle together against the wall. Stay low!” I’m glad that no one is screaming. Crouched in our rickety shelter, we wrap our heads with our arms. The roar climaxes, but as expected, we all manage to stay intact. The tornado passes by, sticking to the other side of the road. A bit bewildered, my class rises to their feet, dusting off their clothes.
“Good job,” I say. “We didn’t have much to work with, but it all turned out fine.” Of course, I never doubted that it would. I turn toward the disappearing tornado with a parboiled sense of security. “Every now and then,” I caution my class, “the tornado will loop around and come back. This usually happens when you don’t stay alert or celebrate too much in the dream. You see, tornados don’t like it when you’re cocky.”
