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]ust a Few Places I've Been

song kept playing right along with his voice, neither of them hearing the other. A slow violin and a piano and this man's voice, all out of sync. "It's too late for tornadoes," said Dill, "just go get the buns." We were having a cook-out at his house. Barbeque on the deck and no buns for the hot dogs. This was my cheer-up cook-out, a surprise from Dill. He'd even bought my favorite relish-red pepper. I ran into them in the beer aisle, hands in my pockets because of the chill. Mitzy was bent in front of the glass row of windows, leaning forward. Lewis was looking up and away, at the lights, the ceiling. Later, he would say he didn't know it was coming, but I think he sensed it, the way he was looking up, sort of waiting. He said no. He was thinking about me, he said. In that moment. He was missing me. That I appeared like an angel. And then, before any of us could say a word to each other, just as we stood watching, mouths open, about to speak, that moment was frozen that way forever- because then there was a roar that stepped in and took over, shutting us all up. Ripping through the building in some terrifying sound. Some sound we had never heard, not in all our hurricanes on the Cape, right on the tip of the world, taking the brunt of the blow. No, nothing like this. Tornado. Taking up the building and traveling with it in its windy yellow arms. Ripping off walls and floor and ceiling. Metal beams bent upwards. People screaming all around us, and running, running for the front door, as if that would save them, to run into it. We ran to the back of the store and stood in the doorway to the storage section, rubber doors pushed behind us, wind howling-yes, howling! -and all of us clinging to each other, hoping for the best. Hoping we would make it out. I prayed out loud, screaming to the sky. Lewis put his arm around me in the doorway, his other arm around Mitzy, trying to protect us both. "Get your hand off me," I screamed. The wind was tearing at my hair, pushing it in my face so I couldn't even tell Lewis off right. "I don't need your help. Protect Mitzy,"' I said. "She looks like she needs it." Mitzy was hiding in Lewis' shoulder, and shaking. Poor sad girl, I thought, you should've worn pants. "What's your problem?" Lewis screamed back. Boxes from the storage room lifted into the sky, spinning. "You went out with Tucker, Susie. Jesus." "No I didn't. I didn't even like him. We just went to dinner and climbed Chambers and I went home. You're the one who broke us up. You're the one needed an adventure." Summer - Fall 2006

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Fugue 31 - Summer/Fall 2006 (No. 31)  

The Literary Digest of the University of Idaho

Fugue 31 - Summer/Fall 2006 (No. 31)  

The Literary Digest of the University of Idaho