It was my own personal horror movie, waiting for something to happen.
Peering around the garage. A lot of people slept on the ground, outside the vehicles. We could have slept in the RV, but I thought that was unfair. Sort of rubbing everyone’s nose in the fact that we had beds and they didn’t.
I was about to wake Lane, using the ‘are you sick from the margarine binge’ as my excuse, when I noticed I wasn’t the only one awake.
Dooley, the toddler was.
He sat up between his sleeping parents, staring at something that caught his attention.
Then I saw what it was.
His ball, or one of the children’s ball. Slightly bigger than a softball, the red object curiously moved on its own, spinning slowly and moving back and forth in and out of the light that entered through the ramp from the storm.
I wasn’t an expert on babies or kids for that matter, I just remember thinking that I thought Reese was a big toddler. But looking at Dooley, Reese, by my recollection, was small.
Dooley was by no means heavy. He was just big. His frame was large, and he was thick with a build that screamed he was genetically destined to be this hulking star of something … wrestling, football, something like that.
He didn’t say much. He really didn’t talk. I think his mother said he was just a bit older than two. He was still in diapers. I knew that much.
Going from a sitting position to hands and knees, Dooley slowly stood. He brought his finger to his mouth in a curious manner, then carefully stepped over his father, as if it were something he had done before.
I knew what he was doing. I didn’t need to be a child-master to know he was going after that ball. He woke up, was bored and the ball called to him.
Instead of waking his parents, I also stood and walked over to him.
I watched the toddler make his way to the ball.
“Hey,” I called to him softly.
He looked over his shoulder at me then pointed.
Was he telling me to go?
That determined look on his face returned as his focus on the ball told me he didn’t want me to bother him.
I walked over to him as he chased the ball. Admittedly I was nervous. The ball had made its way to the bottom of the ramp and I didn’t want him to run up.
Surely, even a toddler could see the rain pouring down the ramp.
“Hey, little man,” I called to him. “Dooley. No-no.”
He stopped, still eyeing that ball.
The last thing I wanted to do was make a quick movement and have him scream or worse, run out.
Quietly, I stepped a few feet from him. “Dooley,” I whispered. “Did you want to play?”
He looked at me again, then took a couple steps.
“Want me to get that for you?” I asked.
He glanced at me, then after two steps, he reached for the ball.
The second his fingers extended, like some freakish poltergeist experience, the ball shot backwards up the ramp as if it were yanked.
Dooley turned to chase it and I panicked, racing his way.
He made it only a few steps to the bottom of the ramp and he did this strange fall. It looked like he leapt sideways and landed hard on his shoulder.
At first, I thought it was just a fall until I saw him, like the ball, begin to glide up the ramp.
He wasn’t doing it on purpose.
I lunged forward, grabbing on to him. The moment my hands grabbed his waist, I felt this tremendous pull, both of him and me. I was fighting something, something beyond me, something stronger. It wasn’t enough that I couldn’t overcome it, at least that was what I thought. I clutched the boy, pulling him to me. It took strength, fighting against the pull of an invisible magnet. When I had him in my grip, confident it was done, I stepped back, only to be yanked forward by this suction. My arms instinctively wrapped around the boy, bringing him to my chest as I slammed hard to the ground.
He screamed.
I cried out as well, a long shrieking, “Help!”
My feet weren’t brakes, I knew that, yet I tried to use them to stop us. I couldn’t, I couldn’t get out of the pull.
The wind instantly picked up as well as the noise. As my body moved with the force of the wind’s suction, I feared my cry wouldn’t be heard.
I struggled, my God, I struggled. Feet kicking, trying to fight against the grain, but it was useless. As much as I tried to resist, it dragged me.
Then I stopped.
I felt a grab to my legs, looked down to see Skip, holding my ankles.
He stood, slightly bent over, grabbing on to me, pulling me back. The look of struggle on his face was real. It took all I had to hold on to Dooley, and yet I could feel, by the pressure in my hips, how hard Skip was pulling me.
“Someone!” he hollered. “Someone help!”
Another gust and not only did I move backwards, Skip dropped to the ground.
On my back, with Skip at my feet holding on to me for dear life, I tilted my head backwards, to try to see up the ramp.
There wasn’t much time to study or figure out what I saw at the top of the ramp. It was a literal whirlwind, with its own lightning storm. The lights sparked amidst the debris that circled fiercely within.
The air rushed beneath my body, my arms clasped tight to Dooley. It was like I was on a raft and the current struggled to get me as much as Skip tried to pull us back.
I looked back down. Dooley’s father had grabbed on to Skip, trying to form a weighted human chain, holding me back until the funnel passed.
Then I saw Dooley’s mother. She did what any mother would do in that situation. She charged in a panic; hands extended
