Black Friday

When I was four years old, I was trapped in a basement.

It was Friday afternoon on a muggy day in 1987. My mom was stuck in traffic on her way home from an appointment, and my dad was at work. My cousins and I were playing outside while my Uncle and Grandma read in the living room.

It was very warm outside, but the sky was a depressed periwinkle blue. Me, my older sister, and my two cousins decided to walk to the Red Rooster for penny candies and slushies. On our way there we passed a homeless man sleeping on a park bench. On our way back, the wind picked up, the sky darkened so quickly as though God put his hand over a light bulb, and the homeless man still slept on the bench on the bridge over the lake behind our house.

I don't remember what happened next or who called us inside, but I remember being in the basement. My cousins and my sister were crying, but I wasn't sure why. Nobody was hurt. It's not like it never rained before. My Grandma told stories to cheer up the kids and my uncle told us not to go upstairs or sit next to the windows.

I had never been in the basement before. I was curious. I found a box full of Christmas ornaments and began putting garland around my head. I found my mom's guitar that she would play for me belting out Joan Baez' version of "The Night They Drove Ole' Dixie Down". I plucked a few strings making up lyrics of my own about cats and werewolves, when I noticed a small fridge in the corner. I opened it and finally realized why I was never allowed in the the creepy undeveloped basement. The fridge in front of me was filled with fudge-sickles.

Eventually, the kids found me and we all ate the chocolaty treats. After about two hours in the basement, the sun came out, the wind died down and we ventured upstairs. Windows were broken, and trees were lying in the streets. My mom came home telling us how she was trapped in her car with water up to her ankles waiting for the storm to stop. My dad came home swearing about the damages to the house but happy we were okay, and the bridge with the bench over the lake was no longer there. That friday became known as "Black Friday", the worst tornado in Canadian history.

This was one of my first full memories of life. There were others such as my first memory of television being a breaking news story of the derailment of an indoor rollercoaster killing nearly everyone on board. I remember this because it was the same night I was rushed to the hospital for poking my eye so hard I had to wear a patch for several weeks. I remember my first memory of music being Cindy Lauper's True Colours album, I remember being confused as to why it was so bad for my babysitter to have invited her boyfriend over, and I remember my first encounter with vomit after witnessing my sister puke at the foot of my bed, but none of those memories stuck out as much as "Black Friday." A month later we moved to the suburbs of the city.