Tornado Dog to Go
by Karen Ray
He staggered off the Tilt-A-Hurl at the amusement park, pressed in by 50 other sweating, laughing people. Why had he agreed to go on that stupid ride anyway? He didn’t even like the things. It was 95 degrees and brewing up a late afternoon thunderstorm in this mid-section of Missouri. “Misery,” not very original he snorted, but it fit. He was ticked, trying to avoid looking at the dripping hot dogs rotating on the rotisserie stand near the bathrooms. What a horrible place for a hot dog stand. He needed to find somewhere to throw up in peace and calm his quivering stomach. It wouldn’t have been so bad if half the youth group had not just been on the ride with him. Jeremy, the stringy cross-country runner with the insane need for speed was galloping down the sidewalk to catch his buddies. The cute girl with the curly blond hair that had frizzed out into a lion’s mane in the humidity was laughing with two other girls. He had been deliciously tormented by the sweat drop trickling down beside her ear. Now he wasn’t sure he was ever going to be able to cram his stomach back down where it belonged before he humiliated himself. He tried to stay behind the rest of the kids so if he had to puke they wouldn’t see him. Especially the cute girl.
The others were yards ahead, laughing and pointing at the next ride they wanted to go on. He slumped down on the curb under a tree; big feet stretched out on the sticky asphalt, and prayed a bird wouldn’t dump on him.
He jerked out of a daze as the loudspeaker squawked right over his head. The park was closing, severe weather moving in, “Everyone leave the park in an orderly fashion.” Tired mothers pushing strollers crammed with sticky, cranky babies, couples still locked arm in arm, harried dads dragging screaming toddlers, all rushed like locusts for the front gate. They had already consumed most of the available fun anyway. He couldn’t see any of his friends in their matching t-shirts, the orange ones with “E-Free Holies” printed on the front. Only somebody else from the southwest would get the bean joke, but they always laughed.
People spilled out the front gates like grain out of a silo. As they headed toward the parking lot the tornado sirens shrieked to life and the wind started picking up the trashcans, sending them skittering like squirrels across the parking lot. A loose lid flew up and smacked into a white minivan, setting off the alarm.
Suddenly, his ears were popping and he was holding onto the ground, grabbing frantic handfuls of sod as the wind tried to hurl him back into the park. People always said it got really quiet after a storm. He realized that wasn’t true as he tried to sort out the sounds, the low moaning of people and buildings, the cracks and screeches of metal settling. Opening his eyes, he could see the Tilt-A-Whirl lying on its side, one car dangling off the edge. Sitting on the overturned hot dog cart was the cute girl, eating a hot dog and smiling lopsided at him with blood on her forehead and mustard on her chin. He tried to wave and promptly threw up.
The others were yards ahead, laughing and pointing at the next ride they wanted to go on. He slumped down on the curb under a tree; big feet stretched out on the sticky asphalt, and prayed a bird wouldn’t dump on him.
He jerked out of a daze as the loudspeaker squawked right over his head. The park was closing, severe weather moving in, “Everyone leave the park in an orderly fashion.” Tired mothers pushing strollers crammed with sticky, cranky babies, couples still locked arm in arm, harried dads dragging screaming toddlers, all rushed like locusts for the front gate. They had already consumed most of the available fun anyway. He couldn’t see any of his friends in their matching t-shirts, the orange ones with “E-Free Holies” printed on the front. Only somebody else from the southwest would get the bean joke, but they always laughed.
People spilled out the front gates like grain out of a silo. As they headed toward the parking lot the tornado sirens shrieked to life and the wind started picking up the trashcans, sending them skittering like squirrels across the parking lot. A loose lid flew up and smacked into a white minivan, setting off the alarm.
Suddenly, his ears were popping and he was holding onto the ground, grabbing frantic handfuls of sod as the wind tried to hurl him back into the park. People always said it got really quiet after a storm. He realized that wasn’t true as he tried to sort out the sounds, the low moaning of people and buildings, the cracks and screeches of metal settling. Opening his eyes, he could see the Tilt-A-Whirl lying on its side, one car dangling off the edge. Sitting on the overturned hot dog cart was the cute girl, eating a hot dog and smiling lopsided at him with blood on her forehead and mustard on her chin. He tried to wave and promptly threw up.