Page 95 of Friendshipped
I hand Mister White Lexi’s phone and after he fiddles with it a little, he figures out the camera.
“Okay, you two,” he says. “Let’s see you say corn ears.”
Mister White actually holds down the burst button, so when he hands it back, we have over two hundred shots of Lexi and me standing flanking a pile of corn cobs on the table in front of White’s Farm.
We say goodbye and as we start to leave Mister White says, “Looks pretty good out right now, but you two be careful. I’m picking up a feeling in my knee. Pretty sure we’re due for a doozy later today. Be safe now, you hear?”
“We will,” I assure him.
As soon as we’re back in the car, Lexi sends one of the pictures to Laura and our next instructions come through to find a building with an address including the number twenty-three in it and take a photo.
The stops continue with instructions to convince a stranger to give her twenty-three cents, to talk two people into take a selfie with her while one holds up two fingers and the other holds up three, to stand in the middle of the park shouting “I’m twenty-three” while I film, and more.
We stop for lunch at Mad River Burgers. Lexi has to ask twenty-three people to wish her happy birthday. They were all glad to oblige, and I filmed each and every one. As we walk out, the room resounds with “Happy Birthday, Lexi!”
“I wish I had filmed that,” I tell her.
“I’m sure they’d do it again if you needed them to,” she says.
“Nah. Some things are better kept in our memories. Where to next?”
“Laura wants us to buy gum and see if between the two of us we can fit twenty-three pieces in our mouth at the same time.”
“That one was Rob’s idea,” I tell Lexi.
We walk down to the old Five and Dime and buy five packs of gum. I fit eleven pieces in my mouth and Lexi stops at eight. I’m making the picture of the two of us with our cheeks puffed out like chipmunks and tears streaming down our faces my screensaver on my phone.
The rest of the afternoon we do crazy stunts and collect various hidden items having the number twenty-three on them. It’s close to dinner time and I’m driving back from Kroger where we just made up a birthday rap and chanted it in front of the store entrance.
Something shifted in the air around us right before we got back in the car. It felt ominous.
I want to ignore it, but when both our phones ping with the alert from the weather station, I know what’s coming. Then I hear the siren blare through town.
This isn’t a watch. It’s a warning.
Lexi and I give one another a knowing look. She reads the details to me from her phone as I turn the car around and head toward our house.
“This is a severe tornado warning from the National Weather Service …” Lexi reads on explaining we need take shelter immediately. A tornado has been spotted moving westward through Madison County fifteen miles outside Columbus and is expected to touch down in Lindsberg and possibly Bordeaux. The message warns of potential damage to life and property.
“This is serious, Trevor,” Lexi says, reaching out and putting her hand on my leg.
“It is,” I say. “I’ve got this. We’re driving west and it’s still behind us. I’m taking us home. We’ll shelter in the basement. Don’t worry.”
Kroger is only ten minutes from our home, and I’m not usually one to speed, but I drive at least twenty miles above the speed limit as we race to safety. The average warning gives a person about a fifteen-minute lead time, so I’m literally outrunning a force of nature as I drive us home.
Tornadoes often come in a series within the same day and the storm conditions surrounding a twister pose their own threat. The sky has an eerie greenish-grey tint to it and an accompanying stillness that’s anything but comforting.
We pull into our driveway and run onto the porch. I put my key in the lock and Lexi rushes past me toward the basement door off the hallway between my front living room and the kitchen in the back.
I rush past the basement staircase and grab my box of emergency food and supplies from the pantry in my kitchen. I take one last look around. At the top of the flight of stairs, I turn to shut and bolt the door behind me. Then I descend the wooden staircase to spend at least the next few hours hunkered down with Lexi.
Lexi’s sitting with her back against the wall on the queen mattress I have set up in a corner of our basement for nights like this. The already-made bed sits low to the floor with a box spring under it.
A battery powered lamp gives off a soft yellowish glow from the crate I put next to the bed. Lexi pulls her legs up to her chest and wraps her free arm around her knees. She’s texting someone.
I set the box down at the end of the bed and sit on the edge of the mattress.
Lexi sets aside her phone and says, “Memaw’s okay. She ended up going home with Mom and Dad to visit with Felicia and Greg after breakfast. When the early watches came through again, they decided she should stay the night. They’re all safe in our basement down the street.”
