Last Wednesday

I’m going to try to use my words.  Words are my job, and they’ve been there for me through a lot of things. I’ve always been fairly efficient at expressing how I feel, or relating an experience I had.

The problem is, since last Wednesday, I seem to have forgotten every word except: devastation.

I’m all right.  I’m sitting at my desk, as usual.  I have a Pepsi Max.  (As so many of you know…as usual.) It’s been bright and sunny for four days.  Some of the nicest weather I’ve seen in months, in fact.  The sun is shining through the window, my iTunes has been  shuffling over good songs.  I have a book release tomorrow!  It is a great day.

Except, no. Devastation.

That is what an EF4 tornado looks like when it’s barreling through a highly populated area.  Another storm had already swept through the state that morning, knocking down trees and taking power lines with them.  Donna and her family had come to our house after several trees fell over their driveway and their power went off.

We were gathered in the living room.  Donna’s husband was playing Angry Birds on my new iPad. Her kids had talked me into putting on Tangled for the 18th time. It all seemed a little silly to me, because for all the talk of terrible weather being right on top of us, it hadn’t started raining yet.

That is the thing I keep getting fixated on.  In Alabama, so  many tornadoes come wrapped in rain.  You can’t see the danger coming, because it’s dark and raining and your best chance is to wait for a flash of lightning to show you that ominous, terrifying funnel cloud.

It didn’t rain at my house on Wednesday afternoon.

That still doesn’t look real. We watched it on my laptop while Disney characters sang on our TV.  It was on the skycam, and it was huge, and I kept thinking that can’t be a tornado except James Spann kept saying, “We’re looking at a tornado on the ground in Tuscaloosa. You need to get to your safe place.”

(There are not a lot of places that are safe from an EF4 or EF5 tornado.)

James Spann kept talking. Twitter kept tweeting. I don’t remember if I saw it on twitter or heard it on the news, but someone started saying that Hackleburg, Alabama was gone.  Not hit. Not damaged. Gone. Words like “destroyed” and “erased” started to filter through, but it wasn’t real yet, because no one had time to stop telling us to get to a safe place and show us pictures.

Except that tornado on the skycam.  But that didn’t look real.

The girls were playing Angry Birds. Rapunzel was singing about having a dream.

I apologized to my twitter stream for the constant tornado-related retweets, but at that point, twitter was the only thing that was real, because people with smart phones were tweeting pictures of damage. The #alwx hashtag was the place to be for news, because the news couldn’t cover what had happened until they got to stop worrying about what was still happening, or going to happen.

James Spann told me the tornado was leaving Tuscaloosa and headed to Birmingham.  I live between Tuscaloosa and Birmingham. I looked out the window.  It was windy, but it wasn’t raining yet, so I didn’t panic.

I’m kind of stupid.

Someone posted a before & after picture. (I’ve lost who it was since I saved it–if anyone knows, please tell me so I can credit this properly.)

I said, “That’s not the same place.”

Donna said, “Yes it is. The trees are gone. The buildings in the background were behind the trees.”

The wind got crazy at our house. We went outside. (It wasn’t smart. But it wasn’t raining, right?) The trees were damn near bent in half.  The wind was roaring.

No, that roaring was the tornado.  Passing north of us on its way to Birmingham.  Except we weren’t sure, because the power went out, and that meant no more live feed, just the weather radio.

The storm went past us. We were so, so lucky, and I didn’t really know it yet.  Not until we plugged my modem into my backup battery and got the laptop going just in time to watch that tornado slam into Northern Birmingham.

It was so big, and carrying so much debris, it didn’t look like a tornado anymore. But it was, and it was headed into a hugely populated area.  I watched with my hand over my mouth, because I didn’t want to freak out Donna’s kids.

They kept playing Angry Birds.  I’m not sure I ever want to hear that game again.

Twitter told me that Cullman was devastated. Hackleburg was devastated. Tuscaloosa was devastated. Pleasant Grove, Northport… I am numb to the word devastated. And I can’t remember the list of towns, and it seems like something I should be able to remember…except there were so many.

Donna’s power came back on.  We went to her house and turned on the news.  The storms were headed for Georgia now, and I worried about everyone I knew there.  I still didn’t get it.

But when the storms were over, James Spann finally had time to show us what was left.

Devastation.

I’m sitting in my office, and it’s sunny out.  I’m on my second Pepsi Max of this post. I’ve spent a lot of time in recent days finding ways to help those who don’t have an office or a house or a bed or a god damned Pepsi Max.

Cleolinda has a round-up of reactions and ways to help.  The Magic City Post has a round up of places that need donations.

And finally, Kate Hart has gotten started on organizing an auction to benefit the Red Cross, who is here and helping and trying to pick up the pieces.  Authors, editors, publishers… this is me begging you to consider donating a book or a critique or your time to Help Write Now.

Thanks, guys. And hug someone today. The world needs hugs.

EDIT: Sarah at Smart Bitches Trashy Books is working hard to organize relief & donations. If you want to send supplies south, she can get them here.