When the Sirens Were Real

I first heard the sirens before we moved in. We'd just taken possession of the house. As I walked around slowly, trying to imagine the life we would soon have, the children were running from room to room, the their pounding feet echoing through all the empty space. It was a brilliant, summer day, and the cul de sac was eerily deserted, almost as if the neighbors had gotten out of town in a hurry.

The sirens began as a crackle, then a dial tone, and then a full blown siren, broadcasted over dozens of speakers that I noticed for the first time, attached to telephone poles throughout the subdivision. Each was delayed by fractions of a second, creating a manufactured echo, increasing the spooky emptiness of the suburban maze. By the time a robotic voice announced that the weekly tornado alert system test was now complete, the children were clutching my legs, looking up worriedly at me, and I had the chills. I shooed them into the sunshine and shook off my dread to continue my tour and move in plans. We've since become accustomed to the Wednesday noon siren tests, barely noticing the town's preparedness. 

But tonight the sirens were real. We were just about to sit down to dinner, one place setting short because of Steve's business trip, when I heard their warning howl in the distance. It was muffled under the almost continuous rolling thunder, and at first, I thought that my ears had played a trick on me. I stood for a few seconds, staring at the ominously gray skies that had blotted out the summer sun, and then I heard them again.

I don't think my voice shook when I told the kids, "That's the tornado siren. Let's head to the basement." And even though we had never practiced for such an emergency, they obeyed and calmly walked down the stairs. No one grabbed for extra toys or books, no one pretended they didn't hear me. The threat of nature was tangible all around us.

By the time we regrouped on the couch in the basement, Bella was shaking and beginning to cry. I gathered all three kids close to me under a blanket, and started reassuring them about how sturdy this house was. I had no idea, no experience with tornadoes or other Midwestern phenomenon, but being under a blanket with my children at my side just felt right.

The sirens kept on going off, but the TV had no news, so I turned to Twitter to get some updates. I learned that even though our town sirens were going off, the National Weather Service had not yet declared a Tornado Warning. So we stayed put, limbs intertwined under a soft blanket, watching Jillian Michaels berate an overweight family. Then the newscaster cut in, made it official, and told us to get under a sturdy table at the lowest possible point of our house. Suddenly, our blanket didn't seem so safe anymore. 

I clutched the children a little tighter, willing them back into my womb, and we sat there, glued to the screen, watching hot pink and red shapes fluctuate across a map of the Columbus area. Ten minutes later, the tropical hues had moved East beyond our town, and the tornado watch was lifted. 

I felt my arms relax around my children's bodies. Relieved that no tornado would be unleashing its destructive powers on our home tonight, we stayed under our blanket for a few minutes more, just savoring our unexpected closeness, and recovering from this little glimpse of how quickly lives can be shattered. 

When we walked back upstairs, the skies had an unearthly glow, and a dazzling rainbow stretched above our heads. We took a few steps out onto the deserted street to take it in, until a brilliant flash of lightning tore through the sky and drove us back inside to safety.