I’ve been having epic dreams, but I haven’t remembered them when I’ve woken up. I’m feeling triumphant that I have a thin grasp on last night’s, and I’m agonna share.
I was at the family farm. In fact, the twins and I were all living there, like it was back in high school. There was a storm, which there are; and we noticed some funnel clouds, which do occur; and we went into tornado mode. That is, we crowded near windows to look at the storm line. A tornado began to form. I cried out, bringing attention to it, since Anton and Alena had lost interest. We watches with that neat feeling of being near a terror of nature smugly separated from it by a well built house.
We watches the tornado drop down an begin to spin, starting southwest of Eldy’s, following the highway north. Just north of Eldy’s, the tornado stopped and spun in place. I thought that was weird, and then I noticed that the continued pressure from the tornado was drawing the earth up – not breaking up topsoil, but actually drawing the crust of the earth up. Suddenly we felt the house shake. The tornado was drawing that point upwards, like pinching a bedspread in the middle and lifting it up. Suddenly, our house was perched precariously on the side of a mountain. Our flat eastern Iowa farm was now the steep side of a mountain.
We began to evacuate – I went up to my room and tried to figure out what I needed to pack. I was methodically collecting everything when my dad came in and reminded me that we were in a house that was liable to start sliding at any moment. Haste was to be had. I puzzled over whether or not the collective worth of my Pez collection merited the time it would take to find all the boxes.
By this point, things had reached a fever pitch, and we had to abandon ship. There were folks from down below (or several miles away, previously) who came to rescue us. They were mostly from Wheatland, as Calamus was now part of the mountain.
We were evacuated to a sort of lodge, where other survivors/neighbors/relatives (in my area, you’d be all three) were gathered. The team that saved us had arranged a dozen sofas in lines in front of a TV, so we could watch movies and forget the danger we had just escaped from. All of the survivors and rescue team were familiar to me, but the only one I distinctly remember was Jeremy Cook. He invited me to sit next to him on one of the many sofas and, being exhausted from the events, I fell asleep. I awoke to find myself the ‘big’ spoon, curled around his back. My dad was silently motioning to me. He telepathically told me that the rescue team was actually a group of people who were going to take over, and to be on guard. Everyone else woke up, and the rescue team attacked.
There was a brief scuffle, and the refugees won. It happened so fast, all I had time to do was smile coyly at Jeremy Cook and think about how best I could hurt him.
My family collected our stuff and walked outside. Dana Soedt had just gotten a new truck, and my dad said amazedly, “That’s the new Silverado, isn’t it?” She offered us a ride, and we piled into the truck with our duffel bags and suitcases.
Then I woke up.
