1
When the dust settled and the sky opened up into a blue and white tapestry, one who had their eyes glued to the sky would not have known what had happened yesterday. It would only be when they took their eyes off the sky and onto the wet streets that they would realize what had rolled through. Unlike the survivors who were busy with the clean-up, taking damaged memories and valuables with sorrowful looks, the birds went about their day, rebuilding their nests in the rubble of attics and sheet metal.
Standing over his home, Jacob Lee had no tears to shed. It was gone; there was almost nothing left. All that was left of his appliances was the fridge – which reminded him of a movie he had briefly seen at the department store a few weeks prior. He couldn’t believe what he saw, the remnants of his home, his life, his identity, his belongings, all destroyed. At least his fridge stood strong, along with the cans of beer left inside.
He used to live in a trailer. Now he lives in his pick-up-turned-home. He gave up trying to salvage what was left, even when the helpful neighbors, such as the Malcomsons or Harrisons, came over to help. He told them to leave him alone.
He blamed the loss of his home on the government. He felt that he wasn’t warned, that the government did not want Joplin to be warned; so they could destroy and redevelop it as one of “those new neighborhoods.” Thinking this, and with nothing left to lose – no home, family, or memory – he took what little he had and plotted. Jacob wanted to take revenge, to warn the nation of “those new neighborhoods” and the destructive nature of their benevolent government. He took the money he had, bought an AR-15, and made his way toward Washington. He was caught halfway and promptly got into a high-speed chase that ended in what was described as: “a violent altercation”.
2
Then, Lauren Smith. Lauren Smith who never went to church nor wore a cross, stood outside her home, also alone, like Jacob Lee. However, unlike Jacob, she saw the destruction as a sign of God. She never felt religious until this morning, when her house stood unharmed with rubble all around it. The only thing that did falter was her roof, and a cross had formed where the shingles had come loose.
She walked into her home, and all around her, she could see the signs of some higher power that she failed to notice beforehand. The pillows formed a cross, the tiles a cross, and the big streaks of water damage formed a cross. Over the years she spread what she called “the good word”. She ran up and down E 15th Street, screaming and yelling the good word of God. She barely helped. Eventually, she moved deep into Oklahoma and preached in tents; whenever another tornado rolled through a neighborhood, she would travel there and preach and nothing else. She was described as someone who would: “rub salts in the wounds”.
3
Then came the Eastern European. He moved to Joplin from Massachusetts. Originally he was from Serbia when Serbia was called Yugoslavia. During the war, his family had fled. He was able to send his children off to college. But after his wife died from an aggressive type of lung cancer, he stood outside his ruined home with no one to talk to and no one to confide with. Never in his life had he experienced something so terrifying, and, with that, he went into his home, collapsed into the rubble, wept, and then slept.
When he awoke, he hoped to see someone there, anyone to comfort him. But no one came to check on him. He expected to get a call from his kids, but no one did; they’d gotten so distant from him.
As another night came and went, he drank a bit, just like Jacob Lee. However, like Lauren Smith, he too saw a sign. While he rested in a tent in what was left of his bedroom, he heard a noise. As he pulled the covers and back and peeked through a portal, he saw his deceased wife, her figure fair, in the doorway.
“Romanov, Naći ćeš mir (Romanov, You will find peace),” she said, and the room went dark.
4
Then, there was Mariam. She was far removed from Romanov, Jacob, and Lauren. While, yes, she lived in the same area as all three of them, they could not relate to her. In 2008 she was diagnosed with dementia, and, over the years her family, feeling sorrow and misery, could not deal with her anymore. Over the course of one month, her family vanished like a muddy memory, leaving her with an aid to help her day in and day out. She could not remember her name, where she lived, basic functions. Even the notes they left her across the house: “Turn off lights”, “you are Mariam Baptiste”, “you are loved”, “you are special”, “you can do it” did not fully help; but they left some semblance of peace for her… whatever that was.
All those reminders are gone now, taken and scattered across Joplin, soaked and distorted like a distant, foggy memory. Impossible to read. The aid was gone, too; wrong place at the wrong time. Now, Mariam was nothing to this world, a world she could not understand. Like the dilapidated mess she stood in front of, she was a husk of a distant memory too far removed to be remembered, too ruined to be recalled.
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Matthew Miehe
Matthew Miehe (he, him) is a student at California State University of Northridge. Creating stick figure comics at a young age, during high school he switched his creative mode to writing, and from there, fell in love with the creative element that writing had to offer. He enjoys writing about the emotional and cultural elements that humanity has to offer; no matter how cynical it can get.