Scars from the Tornado (5 page)

We had a lot
of people at the birthday party, not only family, but also close friends, so we
decided to take precautions. All the kids were shoveled into the center of the house,
which was the living room, away from the windows. I’m pretty sure the panic
mode kicked in when the first tornado siren went off and a power outage
engulfed the entire neighborhood. That was when the crying started.
The crying, whimpering, and outbursts of sudden prayers.
Right then, my uncle, who works at the Granby Fire Department as fire chief,
left the party to alert his town about the forming twister. When I heard he was
leaving, I almost started crying. Everything was going wrong. It was a horrible
nightmare.

By the time
the second siren went off, total chaos was already loose among our party and
its attendants, especially the children. We had kids that ranged from the age
of sixteen months to twelve years old. We totaled to a headcount of about ten
remaining kids and eleven adults. When I used the term, “remaining,” I meant
that stayed at the party. The hosts of the party, my aunt and uncle, tried to
calm everyone down enough to escort them to their underground crawlspace.
Actually, they didn’t really escort; they rushed. By the time most of the
population of the party was safe underground, the sirens were blaring in our
eardrums. All I could do was sit there and stare. Stare into sudden space.
Stare into the midst of the dusty underground lantern. Stare, while clasping my
hands together in a firm grip and muttering silent prayers.

We stayed down
there in the musty underground shelter for what seemed like hours. My dad,
along with the other “brave,” but ignorant men of the family, stayed outside to
watch the skies. But soon enough, a low rumble grew louder and louder until it
produced the sound that could very well
be
compared to
the coming of a train. The sky held a vision of death itself. By then, my dad,
as well as the others, gained their senses and bolted toward the shelter.
They quickly jumped/sprang into the safety of the haven with sighs
of clear relief.

Terror filled
the eyes of many as the raging storm continued on. Silent prayers and pleas for
help were whispered through a heavy flow of tears. Mother clutched son; son
clutched father; father clutched wife. Parents soothed their young children in
the panic of the night. All sat there, awaiting possible death. Then, a sudden
silence filled the walls of the heavily guarded shelter, and all was still.
Those moments were filled with astonishment, with joy. We had survived. We
survived the storm that surely caused damage in our beloved town.

We came out of
the shelter to a neighborhood trashed entirely with debris. Everywhere, and I
mean
everywhere,
there were pieces of paper, parts of
furniture, and even precious family heirlooms. We knew that the area we were in
was pretty lucky; we didn’t get hit that badly. The worst of the disastrous
tornado was yet to be discovered. The way it seemed, at the time, over the
radio, was that our town had encountered some serious damage, deadly damage.
The only transportation of information was over the treasured MP3 Player my
little sister had brought along with her to the party. We listened intently to
the faithful radio speakers as they delivered updates, news, and messages from
distraught loved ones. Our eyes swelled with tears as we discovered that many
of our friends were hit. Did they survive? We didn’t know. At the time, the
cell phone signals were weak, and everybody was having the same idea, to call
their friends, families, and neighbors. Actually, everybody they knew! Enemies
called enemies, friends called foes,
kids
called kids
they hardly knew. There was a concern for everybody and everyone around. Some
calls were sent through, but most were, sadly, unsuccessful.

As the search
for lost ones continued on, the traffic in town became heavier and heavier. Due
to the fallen power lines, trees, and buildings, many streets were closed. You
just couldn’t get through them! Destruction was everywhere! And to make matters
worse, the direct routes everyone took to get through town were blocked by
police officers because of certain disastrous matters.

So when people
finally got through to see the aftermath in our suburban town, they were
shocked, astonished even. I was shocked. Restaurants, grocery stores, banks,
clothing stores, they were all gone! Well, some of them were not completely
gone, but they were pretty close. Buildings were shredded to pieces, with foundation
and cushioning flung everywhere. You couldn’t even recognize where you were or
what street you were on. Tidbits of debris gave away hints and clues about what
buildings might have been where, but other than that, citizens walking up and
down the destructed path were completely clueless. What hit me the most,
though, was that St. John’s Regional Medical Hospital was a direct hit during
the lasting minutes of the deadly tornado. This was the same hospital my
sister, my cousin, and I were all born at. To drive by the once tall standing
building was absolutely heartbreaking. I felt my insides shatter as I saw the
charred edges of the once smooth, glistening skyscraper. I felt a pang of pain
go through my chest as I realized that while an image of remembrance for the
hospital, before the damage, was still around, that one day, it would
eventually disappear. And all that would remain would be a memory of what
unfortunate fate was put upon the hospital and how that fate came to be.

We drove
countless roads discovering the same horrid things over and over again.
Neighborhoods held corrupted streets. Some even contained lifeless bodies.
Searches for signs of life in heavily damaged areas were organized everyday.
With the help of volunteers from Joplin and many other cities, tons of lives
were spared. Still, families were on the streets with nothing left but a few
salvageable items. Tear -stained faces were seen every minute of every day. Our
city wasn’t crying because we felt pity for ourselves; we were crying, because
we felt pity for others.

Yes, we cried,
mourned, and felt sorrow, but that’s not all we did. We did these things while
we worked, while we worked to rebuild. Yes, when the tornado came by, we were,
in a sense, crushed and devastated by what had been put upon our town. But did
we give up? Did we sit around on our butts thinking about our losses and
everything that went wrong? No. We looked at the future, at what the rebirth of
Joplin would bring. We had hope, faith, and love in our eyes and hearts, and we
accepted the challenge that awaited us with an air of determination. Everyone
and I mean EVERYONE felt an urgent need to get up, to do something. Hundreds of
policemen and
special forces
came to our rescue. We
might have been struck down, but in the process of getting back up, we had not
only the help of our local citizens, but also the help of our nation.

Volunteers
from all around the states came to distribute food, water, clothing, and
supplies. Shelters were set up in the town’s Memorial Hall, and many local
townspeople opened up their homes for the homeless and for the many volunteers
who came. One volunteer even traveled the sea for Joplin. He came all the way
from Japan just days after the tragic incident. When asked why he chose to come
help our town, he simply replied that our nation had done the same for his when
the cruel tsunami raged through Japan last March. With so much help and support
from our nation, from our world even, Joplin was starting to brighten.

With all the
work efforts, Joplin was starting to look like itself again. Streets were
cleared up a bit, and trash was starting to be picked up and disposed of. The
tornado might have crushed our town, but it didn’t crush our spirits. And it
certainly didn’t touch a sign of hope. Through the rubble of East 26th Street,
the cross of St. Mary’s Catholic Church stood proudly above the destruction. It
was like a sign of hope, a sign telling our community that Joplin will heal; we
will rebuild.

Over the days,
weeks, and months, Joplin did recover. Most of the trash, if not all of it, was
either taken to the dump or recycled. Homes were on the verge of rebuilding,
and businesses were signing construction contracts. The roads were reopened,
and flowers even started growing on the sides of the highway again. The Extreme
Home Makeover team even came to our town to rebuild a few houses and replenish
Cunningham Park. Things almost seemed to be on a normal flow, like before.
Sadly, that wasn’t the case. When the storm came by, it changed Joplin. I can’t
say with a definite expression that Joplin will ever be the same. We lost so
many precious lives in that tornado. We lost our homes, our jobs, our families,
our
friends. We lost so much, but in our time of need,
we were not forgotten. We had the support of not only our nation, but also many
other nations.

We had the
care and love of other communities as our community tried to pick itself up.
Weirdly enough, disaster really does bring a community together. It makes you
appreciate what you have rather than what you want. It makes you realize the
difference between what is important and what is not. Some people refer to our
Joplin, Missouri, community as the heart of America, and when we were hit, they
said that the heart was cracked, that there was no hope. That was on the day of
the tornado. Now, those same people look at us and say otherwise. The heart is
healing. It might have a few rough patches and bumps along the way, but it is
healing. Why do they say this? We have the strength and love to prove them wrong.
We have the integrity, effort, and persistence to show them that we can
rebuild, even if we are starting from the scratch. We have and truly are the
wings to the eagle.

Jennifer
Nguyen was an eighth grader during the 2011-2012 school year and served as Journalism
Club editor.

NIGHTMARE
IN THE DAYTIME

BY
N
ICK
S
HELLENBARGER

On the day of
the tornado, I was riding my bike. I would have stayed outside, but I crashed
my bike and went back in. I was on Facebook and my dad was asleep. Luckily, he
watches boring shows after lunch on Sundays to fall asleep to and had on a
local channel.

When the
sirens went off, we went to the apartment below us, which was only halfway
underground. My dad went back upstairs to grab his phone and the laptop.

The lady who
owned the apartment below us was asking me if I wanted a soda, but then I saw
it. On the tower cam was the giant tornado. We went to the bathroom and all got
into the bathtub. I heard cracking walls and busting pots, but from where I
was, I only saw a little crack in the wall. But then I was convinced more was
happening when I felt the weight of three roofs falling on me. I say three
roofs because it was a three-floor apartment building.

We waited it
out, praying through it all, and finally, it stopped. I stayed down for a
little bit, just trying to soak in what had just happened to the apartment we
had only been living in for about eight months. I was so happy there and felt
it was where I needed to be, but apparently, it wasn’t.

I felt the
pellets of hail hitting my back, but couldn’t find the strength to yell for
help. If I could yell, I wouldn’t have been able to yell over the other screams
for help and honking horns. The yelling was coming from about 10 feet away in
the same pile of rubble I was in.

The guys from
the third floor did not come down, but one of the three men appeared to be
severely injured. My dad helped him out and he was bleeding and completely
unbalanced. They probably did not come because of all the other fifty billion
times the sirens went off and nothing happened.

We flagged
down a car and there were two older women and a guy who had just graduated. (I
could tell because he was still in his gown.) He and my dad went to get the
lady who lived downstairs out of her bathtub.

After we all
got into the car, we went to their home. We were there for a long time and then
my grandma and grandpa picked us up and took us to
Walmart
to get some new clothes. I was in sopping wet gym shorts and a t-shirt, covered
in mud, and had no shoes, and was still walking through
Walmart
.
I bought some new socks, shirts, and shoes. I changed in the car.

After that, I
lived in a little room with my dad in my grandma’s house for about three
months. Then I lived in a FEMA trailer for five months. It was miserable. The walls
were bad quality and all I had was an Xbox that I got from someone who was
generous enough to give it to me.

Now I live in
a brick duplex right next to the mall and my church. It has a basement.

Nick
Shellenbarger
was a seventh grader during the 2011-2012
school year.

AFTER THE
SIREN SOUNDED

BY
A
BIGAEL
K
ILLINGER

It was a
humid, hot Sunday evening, there were a few clouds and the sun was shining
bright. It had been one of the best days ever.

More clouds
started to roll in, pausing the sun for about a minute, then that minute turned
into five, then 10, and then the sky was covered. I went inside to turn on the
news to see what weather was coming our way.