Little Girl in a Big Storm

I live in Biloxi, MS and was here during Katrina. This is potentially a true story.

A Little Girl In A Big Storm

 

Las’ I saw of my mama wuz when she push’t me out tha upstairs winder.  Tha water had come down our street so fas’ and deep; it wuz right under tha winder and I wuz really scar’t  cuz I knew how deep it had ta be to reach that winder and I always get scar’t in deep water.  Tha wind wuz howlin’ so loud and tha water sounded like it wuz roarin’, like a lion or a bear, you know, sump’n  real big and mean.  Mama, she yelled at me ta jus’ let the water carry me where it will, that if I didn’ fight it, and watch’t where I wuz goin’, I’d  be aw’right and that she’d catch up with me in a little while.  Somethin’ ‘bout the way she said she loved me scare’t me even more; then she put this ole lifejacket on me and tied it real tight.  It stunk real bad; Daddy usta keep it in the bottom of his fishin’ boat and it smell’t  like ole dead fish and beer. 

 

Right ‘afore she let me go, she kiss’t my hands and shoved me away from tha house.  I started cryin’; I never been so scare’t in all my life.  The wind and rain wuz so loud, I couldn’t even hear myself cryin’ and screamin’ for Mama over and over.  That water wuz movin’ so fas’ and turnin’ me ‘round and ‘round till I could hardly tell which direction I wuz goin’.  I could feel my legs and arms scrapin’ stuff I couldn’t see under tha water and I tried to pull my knees up but I couldn’t do nothin’ but wrap my arms ‘roun’ Daddy’s ole lifesaver and hug it as tight as I could to my ches’.   I felt like a tiny ant in the Mississippi and I wuz jus’ hopin’ that I would get close to somethin’ I could grab or hold on to.  I couldn’ cry and keep a lookout for some kinda anchor so I jus’ tried to concentrate on where I wuz goin’ and hopin’ I didn’ end up too far from home since the phone had quit workin’ sometime ‘afore the water hit and Mama had tol’ me more than once that she would blister my butt good if she ever caught me hitchhikin’.  At the thought of Mama, I could feel my chest tighten up like it does when I’m workin’ up a good cry,  but I knew I needed ta pay ‘tention like Mama tol’ me, so I tried ta swallow it  down but it jus’ seem ta get stuck in my throat and I felt like I wuz gonna choke on it.   

 

It seemed like a long time ‘afore everythin’ slowed down enough for me to really see where I wuz goin’.   I thought I saw the top of  Beau Jon and Martin’s house, they lived a coupla blocks over and it look’t like somebody wuz on the roof but the water wuz still movin’ fas’ enough ta keep me spinnin’ ‘round,  so I didn’ see who it wuz.  Now I wuz’nt cryin’ for Mama no more; I wuz jus’ cryin’.  I wuz ‘memberin’ when I watch’t The Wizard of Oz las’ Sunday, and Dorothy sees that ole witch ride by outside the winder.  I jus’ knew that if I saw that ole witch or anythin’ like her, I wuz gonna die, and I didn’t want to die.  No sireee!   Las’ Sund’y, Brother Jake wuz goin’ on about hellfire and damnation and stuff like that and how bad people went to this lake that wuz on fire.  I started ‘memberin’ my sins and I knew that I’d pro’ bly be goin’ for a swim in that ole lake jus’ for the ones I could ‘member.

 

I wuz startin’ to get tired and tried to close my eyes, but not seein’ what wuz comin’ wuz worse than seein’ it, so  I jus’ started prayin’ like I never did in Sund’y School.  Pleeze, God, don’ let me die, I swear I’ll be good to Jody even when he tears the head offa my Barbie doll ‘cuz he’s  my brother and I’m ‘posed to love and forgive him no matter what he does and I won’ sass my Mama no more, and I’ll try as hard as I can to love my Daddy, even tho everyone says he ain’t worth a plug nickel and he kill’t my lit’l orange kitten, Dreamsicle,  when he step’t on it one night when he wuz drunk.   I wuz jus’ promisin’ God everythin’ I could think of that him and the Baby Jesus would want me to do when all of a sudd’n, I felt a tug behin’ me and I could feel that I wuz bein’ pull’t agin’st the way the water wuz movin’.  I couldn’ see behind me and I jus’ knew it wuz a big ole alligator or a shark or sump’n and I thought I might fain’ right then for sure, but it wuz only a few minutes an’ I felt these big ole warm hands wrap ‘roun’ me and pull me up outta the water.  My heart wuz beatin’ to burst and I jus’ closed my eyes real tight so’s I couldn’ see who wuz gonna kill me or rape me or any of those horrible things that my cousin Jada tol’ me happens to girls who are out all alone and can’t get away when really bad men catch ‘em and tie ‘em up.

 

I musta fainted or at least pass’d out cuz when I opened my eyes, I wuz wrap’t up in a ole blanket and I wuz in a wheelchair layin’ in this ole lady’s lap.  I could tell it wuz inside and dark and I thought I could hear her singin’ real sof’-like under her breath.  Then I thought she might be crazy like this movie I watch’t  one time with my cousin Jada ‘bout these people who lock’t up this ole lady in tha attic and fed her scraps and bones and stuff and she wuz bad-crazy.  I tried to wiggle outta her lap, but she ssshhh’ed me and held me right tight agin’st her and said that I wuz aw’right, now,  and ta jus’ be still and rest since it look’t like I’d had a pretty rough ride in that ole water and I’d need my strength later.  Sump’n ‘bout her voice kinda ‘minded me of my ole Grannie Lou; she’s dead now, but she usta sing to me at night when I’d sleep over sometimes and she would rock me ta sleep in her big ole rockin’ chair that wuz older than her.

 

I could tell by her hands with her ole crook’id fingers that it wuzn’t her that pulled me outta the water and I look’t ‘round to see where I wuz and who wuz there with us.  I could see this guy leanin’ out this little bitty winder and I couldn’ tell if he wuz  pullin’ up somebody else or jus’ hangin’ out the window like my Mama and my cousin Jada would do when it comes a good loud thunderstorm.  After a few minutes, he pull’t his head in and turned ‘round to look at us.  His face wuz red and his hair was scraggly and he didn’ have no shirt on, jus’ a ole pair of  jeans and some work boots, but he smiled at me and tol’ me that it wuz sure a lucky thing that he wuz lookin’ out when I came sailin’ by.  That’s what he said, that I wuz “sailin” by - like some ship in them ole pirate movies that Jody likes.

 

He came over and squatted down in front of me and the ole lady an’ tol’ me that his name was Willy Terrell and that the ole lady holdin’ me wuz his mama, Delilah Terrell, though ever’body called her Miz D. and that I should too.  I felt like it wuz my turn to say sump’n, but I couldn’ seem ta get my mouth workin’, which sure woulda surprised a lot of people.  He musta understood, though, cuz he jus’ smiled at me, and tol’ me to res’, there wuz plenty o’ time for inter’ductions later.  He said that when the storm had pass’d, he’d take me home, wher’ever that wuz, and for me not ta worry no more.  I woulda thought that I cried all my tears out, but I felt my eyes stingin’ and I didn’ want them to see me cry like Kenny, Jada’s little boy, who wuz two and cried all the time, so I jus’ clos’d my eyes real tight and I didn’ even know it when I went ta sleep. 

 

I think my dreams wuz really jus’ ‘memberin’, like my brain wuz tryin’ to sort it all out so’s I could maybe make some sense of it later.  Daddy had left early yesterday mornin’ ta hep my uncles tie up they shrimp boats in tha back bay, and me ‘n Mama both knew that he’d be beer-drunk by tha afternoon and would stay wid them on one of the boats.  Jody help’d me put all the lawn chairs and Kenny’s outside toys in his room, and all the plants in the front room ‘afore he took off after Daddy.  Mama was quiet, which wuz weird ‘cause storms usually made her eyes sparkly and her and Jada would be kinda giggly-jumpy.  My Granny Lou had tol’ me that all tha women in our fam’ly had this ‘finity for storms and thunder and lightnin’.  ‘Cept for me, I always hated ‘em and wanted ta be under tha covers or hidden somewhere’s durin’ tha really loud ones.  Anyways,  I heard Mama and Miz Joan from nex’ door talkin’ ‘bout maybe we should evacu-wate, or somethin’, but Mama said no, that tha ole house had stood this long, one more storm wuz jus’ one more storm.  ‘Round noon-time, the neighborhood wuz real quiet, folks that didn’t usually take off had loaded up they cars with they kids and dogs and cats and took off for tha Interstate headed north.  I think that wuz when I started ta have this niggly-wiggly feelin’ in my stomach, but Mama kept me pretty busy so that I hardly had time to notice it at first. 

 

It didn’ start ta rain ‘til later that night and you could really hear tha wind a’blowin’ through tha trees and tha roof gutters.  Mama let me sleep on tha couch while she sat up and play’d solitaire until the power wen’ out.  When I woke up it wuz dark like it wuz really early in the mornin’ but Mama said it was ‘bout ten and tha storm wuz jus’ startin’ to blow in.  She fix’d me some peanut butter and crackers when we saw that water wuz comin’ in tha front door.  We had jus’ push’d towels up agin’st tha bottom of tha door when we heard this really loud roarin’ sound.  Mama look’d out tha winder and I never seen my Mama look scared, but she did then and started yellin’ at me ta grab stuff and run upstairs ta her room.  I could see water risin’ up pas’ the winder sill and had jus’ grabbed a pillow and some blankets when tha front door burst in and water came gushin’ in like a waterfall that I seen in a movie once.  It knocked me off my feet, but Mama grabbed my arm real tight and pulled me up the stairs. 

 

She tol’ me ta get up on the bed and stay there, that she had to go back downstairs to get some stuff and she’d be right back.  I wouldn’ even look out the winder while she wuz gone, jus’ stared at tha picture of the mountains and some deer facin’ her bed.  Soon I heard her runnin’ back up tha stairs and she wuz carryin’ that ole life jacket and a plastic bag filled to burstin’.  I never did see what wuz in the bag, she jus’ grabbed me up and started tellin’ me that she loved me and ta jus’ let the water carry me…

 

When I woke up this time, it wuz some quieter, but still raining.  Willy musta picked me up and carried me to tha little cot that I wuz layin’ on.  Miz D had rolled her chair over ta the winder and there wuz no sign of Willy.  I got up and walked over ta the winder.  Miz D looked up at me and her pale blue eyes were filled with tears, only they didn’t roll down her cheeks - jus’ stayed right on her eyes makin’ ‘em look like they wuz underwater.  She said that Willy had gone to get somebody to help us out tha house or a ta get a boat but he’d been gone for a long time and she wuz getting’ worried.  She said he’d jus’ jumped in the water and started swimmin’.  This wuz twice in one day that I seen a grown up bein’ scared like me and it made me feel strange, like the rules of tha world got changed and I weren’t ready.     

Author's Note

This is written in the southern dialect that I spoke as a child. Tried to catch 'em all, but if you see one I missed, let me know...

Reviews

[Annette Pisano-Higley]

OMG what happened to the Mama and Willy? Frightening, tragic, authentic, story about possible Katrina victims and what they went through. The dialect took getting used to for me, but added so much to the realism of the story. The little girl was so brave and I could visualize her struggle step by step.Maybe I missed her name & age? Daddy, The Terrels, Jody, Jada, Kenny,Granny Lou- all so memorable. Great action and scene description- all rushing like the water. I felt this story! Excellent.

[Carol Cashes]

Annette, I will finish this story soon. I don't know her name yet, or exactly how old, somewhere around 9 to 12. It is how I spoke as a child, not just the dialect but the long running sentences and the very real fear of fire and brimstone and witches and bad men who kidnap girls and alligators and sharks and .....
Thank you for reading this and I promise to finish this soon.

[Coyote Poetry]

A amazing tale written. I saw the damage of the tornados in Texas and Georgia. Nature can be a bear. Thank you Carol for sharing the story.
Coyote

[Carol Cashes]

I grew up witnessing tornado damage as some of our summer thunderstorms can be quite fierce. But the tidal surge that swept through our downtown areas was unbelievable, and there were more drowning deaths from this surge than any other factor in this area. While we did not have as high a fatality count as New Orleans, we did have over a thousand, which is as was, and still is, mind numbing.

[Coyote Poetry]

They are very scary. I was in New Orleans for the repair and my Fort Steward was hit directly.

[Samuel Dickens]

Fantastic. The story is frightening, whimsical, and just precious. Your use of the dialect is excellent, and from my own experience, know that you really worked at it to come up with all those alternate spellings. Me being old and with a long memory, I always remember Biloxi's 1969 hurricane Camille and the fools who refused to evacuate.

[Carol Cashes]

I was here for Camille, too, I think I was 12. Katrina was sump'n else, tho. We were very fortunate and only had some roof damage, but think about the footage you saw on CNN - times ten. Thanks for the "ups" on the dialect. It is hard when you're a good speller. Looking forward to spending the afternoon reading, 'specially yore stuff. You're an excellent writer and I enjoyed the pieces I've read so far. P.S. ya ain't that old, I'm 61. *Al Pacino voice* "We're jus' gettin' stahted!"

[Samuel Dickens]

While stationed in Corpus Christi, I experienced a couple of minor hurricanes. On the island of Okinawa, we rode out a typhoon. Nature's power is awesome.

[Carol Cashes]

Nature is a fearsome force. I lived in the Pacific Northwest for some years and I'll take a hurricane over an earthquake anytime. Guess it's all according to what you're used to.