You Do the Math

Ken and I had been awake since three o’clock in the morning. .  The kids were napping quietly in the car.  We were on our way to Disney World.  We only had eight more hours of driving before we reached our first night’s stop.

“We stayed here once.”  Ken said as we passed through Nashville.  “Remember that first year that we drove to North Carolina from Illinois.”

How could I forget “The Tornado Trip.”

It was June and Ken and I had lived in Illinois for lest than a year.   The spring had been mild and we hadn’t yet experienced the severe weather that is characteristic of a Midwest spring.  

When we first moved out west, I was scared of a lot of things.  I was afraid to leave my family.  I was afraid I wouldn’t make any new friends.  I was afraid I wouldn’t like my new job.  But after settling into our new house in Illinois, Ken and I found some great friends.  I discovered the joys of my new job.  And we received visits from our families.

Now only one of my Midwest nightmares remained.  And it was a big one.  It was my fear of tornadoes. 

In Pennsylvania, where I grew up, tornadoes were a very rare occurrence.  So it’s a bit odd for me to confess that I’ve had a recurring nightmare about tornadoes.  After all, I had never actually experienced one.  But the spinning black clouds and howling winds of my dreams were so vivid I almost backed out of my relocation plans because of it.

It was a Friday afternoon and I was waiting for Ken outside the front doors to my office.  The car had been packed the night before.  We planned to leave Illinois right after work and drive six hours to Tennessee where we would spend the night.

While I waited for Ken, I noticed a hot wind blustering around the building.  Piles of smoky, black clouds were rolling across the sky.  I could hear low rumbles of thunder in the distance.  The air smelled like rain.

When Ken finally pulled around the corner, I hopped in the car and turned on the radio to the local news station.  I was immediately struck by the sound of a long, high-pitched “Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep.” It was the sound of the emergency management warning that most radio stations use.  And this was not a test.

Then the announcer on the radio said the words that made my stomach sink.  “There are deadly storms approaching.  They are moving at forty miles an hour and should hit the area within twenty minutes.  Take cover immediately.  I repeat.  These are deadly storms.  Take cover immediately.”

The color drained out of my face.  My heart beat fast.  My hands trembled.  My biggest nightmare was bearing down on us.  Even worse, it was going to ruin my vacation. 

“We can’t leave on vacation tonight.” I said to Ken.  “We have to go home and hide in the basement until these storms passed.”

Ken scoffed.  “Did you hear what the announcer said?” He asked.

I bobbed my head.  “Uh Huh.  He said DEADLY storms.”

“No.” Ken said.  “He said the storms are approaching at forty miles an hour.  When we hit the highway, I’ll be doing eighty.  You do the math.”

Gulp.  Ken planned to do the one thing they warn you never to do in a tornado.  He planned to outrun it.  And for some unexplained reason, I planned to be right there with him when he did. I buckled my seat belt tight, took a deep breath and gripped my armrests.  “Let’s do it.”

For the next six hours, Ken and I raced through four states.  The storms chased us the whole way.  Whenever we entered a new county, we were greeted by the sounds of tornado sirens just going off – indicating that rotation had been spotted.  For each county that we exited, I could hear the radio weatherman warning everyone in the listening area to take immediate cover.  I looked over at Ken with pleading eyes but he just kept driving.

As we raced from state to state, I stole frequent glances out the back window.  I could see the black clouds behind us in the distance.  How far away were they?  I wondered.  Twenty miles?  Thirty?

“Ken, how fast are you driving?” I asked.

“I’m doing seventy five.”  He muttered. 

I suppose Ken thought I was going to give him heck for going fifteen over the speed limit.  After all, back seat driving was my specialty.  Instead, I clinched my jaw and commanded, “Go faster dammit!”

Ken smiled.  Permission to speed.  This was the best trip ever.

At one point, we passed a fast food restaurant.  “Let’s pull over.” I begged.  “We can go in there and be safe.”

“No way.”  Ken refused.  “That place is all windows.  If a twister hits us there we’ll be killed by all the flying glass.  Best to keep moving.”

That sounded logical.  I guess.  I was too terrified to think straight.

“Fine.” I said.  “But can’t this thing go any faster!”

“Awesome” Ken shouted as he hit the gas again.  Great, I just released his inner Speed Race.  If only we were driving the Mach 5 instead of a 96 Saturn SL four door sedan.

The storm, it turns out, never came close to us.  It was always a few football fields in our rear view window.  In fact, Ken did such a good job of keeping ahead of the clouds that our car barely got wet from the rain.  When we got to our pit stop in Tennessee, the storm veered further south leaving us safe and dry.

After we carried our bags into our hotel room, I was ready to lie down and release all of my pent up tension.  Ken, on the other hand, was ready to gloat.

“I told you we’d be fine.” He said with a smug smile. “I wasn’t a math major for nothin.”

"Really." I said.  "Well there's one bed and two of us. You do the math." I replied as I tossed my body across the middle of the bed and started to snore.