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Show Twisters . . . 66 "I'm sure lucky," she chortled at my ear, "to have such nice boys to escort me." With a twelve-year-old escort on either side, she was practically swept off her feet. For sure we hurried her along faster than Stacey did, who had been taking the same mincey little steps as Smiley. She might be eighty-one, but she had survived with all her funnybones intact. I had a lot more to worry about now than she did. Mom's big bus was gone, but people had started lining up for a minibus parked in the intersection. Some of the neighbors around us were hugging each other, a few were crying. Little kids clung to their mothers' hands or hung onto their legs, I recognized a girl from school, but we were both struck with shyness. Just as well. One older guy we didn't know just stood there in the middle of the street, looking bewildered. When Arthur flipped the light on him for a second, he didn't even blink, I think he was in a state of shock. A utility company truck pulled into the circle of vehicles as we arrived. A cop who'd been setting up flares walked over and talked to the driver. The whole scene was psychedelic and somehow unreal, as the flashing yellow and red.lights turned raindrops into streaming colored beads. Even with so much distraction, I couldn't stop thinking about my dad and that tornado whirling toward Phillips. Who could I ask? Who would know? If only someone had a radio going! Just then, several ladies came back to speak to Smiley where we stood at the end of the line. I couldn't believe it, but Ruth Pavelka from our church was actually making jokes about the bazaar the Presbyterians would have to cancel. Good old Ruth! Soaking wet, her hair plastered to her head, she was trying to make everyone laugh. "I hated that quilt I was stitching from the very beginning," she |