It was back in my junior high years. Those years where you are trying to figure out who you really are. Your day was made if a high schooler said hi to you.
Storm season had set in. We lived on the farm and the closest town (population 20, 30 if you include pets) was at most 2 miles away. We had a large basement and since not everybody had a hidey-hole for bad weather, our door was always open. On this particular night, there were several lines of storms. Our preacher and his family had already been out to our house waiting out the storm. The storm had passed and night had set in.
I was in my room getting ready for bed. I had my jammies on, which was just a t-shirt I had the radio on and was sprawled across my bed listening to it. I am certain I was flipping through the latest teen magazine. They were interrupting almost every song to give an update on where the storm was and where it was heading. Turns out, it was heading straight for us. I was certain that it was my job to save my family from the impending storm. I hopped off my bed and yelled for dad. I rounded the hall and darted into the living room, yelling the entire time that the storm was coming. Then I looked up and saw my dad. He had just let the preacher, his wife, and two high school aged boys in the front door. I turned every color imaginable and ran the other direction. I ran back to my room and decided that I wasn't going to come out ever. The storm could take me away with my flushed cheeks. I contemplated changing religions and decided from there on out it was flannel jammies for me.
Luckily for me, the storm ended up turning at the last moment and we didn't have to go to the basement with the preacher and his family.
Over and out,
Carrie
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