There had been a spate of bad weather in Tuscaloosa that spring — warning after warning, dulling the danger, softening the senses. I was desensitized. So much so that I was watching a TV show on DVR that day until someone called and told me to turn on the news.
An EF-4 tornado was headed for Tuscaloosa. My location was forecasted to take a direct hit. I climbed into a small closet in the center-most part of my house; my two dogs crowded in with me.
But I was alone.
They say a tornado sounds like a freight train.