The Birthday Storm

by Sharon M. Draper

  “Did we save the turtles, Michael?” I ask.

  “Yes, Sassy. Because of you and your family, those sea turtles will hatch in a few weeks and return to the ocean. They will live!”

  I feel so proud. Then a sudden gust of wind almost blows me over.

  Mom says, “We’d better get back to the house.”

  “Leave no plastic on the beach,” Michael reminds us. “Gather up your water bottles and any other trash you might see.”

  We gather our stuff and hurry back to Grammy and Poppy’s house.

  “Would you like to stay for dinner, Michael?” she asks him.

  “No, thank you, ma’am,” he replies. “I have two small children at home who need their daddy during a hurricane.”

  “We understand. Drive carefully, and thanks so much for your help!” Grammy says.

  Poppy and Michael shake hands and talk for a few minutes, then Michael hurries to his truck and drives away. Even though it is still early afternoon, the sky is almost as dark as nighttime.

  We stand in the driveway, waving good-bye. The palm trees sway and bend with each strong gust of wind.

  I look at my family and crack up. “We look like a dirty mess!” I say, pointing at them. “But we did a great thing today.”

  “I’ve got dibs on the big bathroom!” Sabin cries out.

  I run to the front door, but he beats me, as usual. Sadora runs to the little bathroom. I don’t mind waiting.

  The wind is blowing really hard. The storm is very close. And eighty-seven sea turtles are sleeping safely tonight.

  Thursday morning is dark and dreary. It’s raining hard and the wind whistles as it blows outside. The rain sounds angry, like it’s pounding and punching at everything in its way. The house shakes a little.

  All of us are huddled in the middle of Grammy’s living room floor. We have slept all night in sleeping bags with pillows from the bedrooms. They feel soft and comforting.

  “Is it morning yet?” I ask Mom as I wake up. “It’s so dark outside I can’t tell.”

  “Yes, Sassy, it is,” Mom answers quietly.

  Poppy wakes up and turns over on his big blue pillow. He sits up and stretches. “Great night for a campout, folks! Great day for a birthday!” He leans over and kisses Grammy on the cheek. She smiles like a teenager.

  I get up and cross over everybody’s pillow and sleeping bag to get to Grammy. I plop down on her lap. “Happy birthday, Grammy,” I say quietly.

  She hugs me and holds me for a long time. “Thanks, Sassy.”

  Sabin and Sadora wish her a great birthday also. So do Mom and Daddy.

  “What about the party?” I ask.

  Lightning flashes. Thunder rolls in the distance.

  “I called everyone last night and canceled,” Grammy explains. She does not sound sad.

  “The whole town is shut down anyway,” Daddy tells me. “The bakery is closed. The caterer is at home with her own family. The band is packed away and safe.”

  “Nothing is open?” Sabin asks.

  “No stores. No banks. No restaurants,” Daddy answers.

  “What about the police and fire station?” Sadora wants to know.

  “I’m sure they are working extra hard to make sure everyone is safe,” Daddy replies.

  “The wind sounds like howling wolves,” I whisper to Grammy.

  “I’ve never actually heard a wolf howl,” Grammy says, “but I’m sure this is the sound they make.”

  “In the story of ‘The Three Little Pigs,’ the Big Bad Wolf huffs and puffs until he blows their houses down,” I remind her.

  “Don’t forget,” Grammy tells me, “the house of the third little pig stands strong and does not get blown away.”

  “Because it is made of brick and stone?” Sabin asks.

  “Just like our house,” Poppy says.

  “I think I feel a little better,” I tell Sadora.

  “But we’re not pigs, and this is not a storybook,” Sabin teases. I throw a pillow at him.

  We still have electricity for now. The lights in the living room look dim, and sometimes they flicker.

  For some reason we all speak in whispers and walk real slow when we get up, like we are tiptoeing in deep grass. Even Sabin is unusually quiet.

  “Can I have a candy bar?” he asks.

  Instead of a lecture on good health, Mom just gives him the candy.

  “This is amazing!” I tell Sadora.

  Daddy turns the TV on. All the television stations are showing only weather reports and commercials.

  “Look at the weatherman,” Daddy says with a chuckle. “He has taken off his jacket and tie.”

  The reporter looks like he has not slept. He talks about swirls and wind gusts. “The hurricane has grown to a Category Two!” he announces with excitement.

  Grammy’s front door has a thick safety-glass window. It is the only one not boarded up, so I stand there and watch in amazement.

  Dirt swirls and mixes with the downpour. “It’s raining mud!” I cry out.

  Sabin and Sadora join me. We watch the hurricane happen.

  “The palm trees look like ballet dancers, bending in the wind,” Sadora says.

  “The tops of the trees look like flags flapping,” I add.

  “Look at those birds!” Sabin cries. He points at the dark sky. “They’re flying backward!”

  The birds are flapping their wings as hard as they can, but the wind is pushing them back. I feel sorry for them.

  “Where do you think birds hide in a storm like this?” I wonder out loud.

  “Trees sure are not a good idea,” Sadora says.

  The rain pours and roars. It pounds the house. It blows sideways and in circles. We can only see a few feet in front of us because the heavy rain covers everything like a giant wet blanket that is blowing in the storm.

  And the wind. It howls and growls. It screeches and shrieks. It snarls like a huge beast. It is easy to think the Big Bad Wolf is out there, trying to blow our house down.

  We watch a huge tree in Grammy’s yard bend, then twist, then fall with a thud. I jump.

  “Get away from that door,” Mom warns. The three of us do what she says right away.

  “Can we peek out of the back window?” Sabin asks. “I wonder what the water looks like.”

  “Look!” Sadora says. “If you peek through right here where the boards are not nailed close together, you can see the ocean.”

  We run to the back and take turns looking down at the sea through the small opening. It looks angry. Huge waves batter the beach.

  “The waves look taller than Daddy,” I whisper.

  “And angrier than when I don’t put his tools back,” Sabin replies.

  “Would you like to be down there on the beach right now?” Sadora asks me.

  “No way!” I tell her. “I’d be like a leaf on a tree — tossed far, far away.”

  “Do you think the sea turtles are okay?” Sabin asks.

  “I sure hope so,” I tell him with feeling.

  Lightning crackles and the sky burns bright for a second. The loudest thunderclap in the universe booms right after that. The noise makes me shudder.

  The wind blows stronger. It whirls around the house like an angry monster. It seems like it will never stop roaring and swirling and stomping. The rain beating on the sturdy little house sounds like a drum.

  Suddenly, without warning, the lights flicker and go out. It is very dark.

  When the lights go out, I scream and squeeze myself tightly between Grammy and Poppy. Sadora runs to Mom. Sabin is not ashamed to run to Daddy. It’s scary.

  Daddy clicks on a flashlight. Mom lights a couple of candles.

  “What do we do?” I whisper.

  “Listen!” Grammy says.

  The wind howls and blows. The rain thuds and thumps.

  “All I can hear is hurricane!” Sabin cries.

  “No, really, really listen,” Grammy insists. “Do you hear the music of the storm?”
r />   “Huh?” Sabin answers.

  “Sh-sh-sh,” Grammy whispers.

  I close my eyes. “I can hear a deep moaning sound,” I say softly. “Like the world is singing a sad song.”

  “It sounds like the deep bass drums in the orchestra,” Sabin says.

  “Maybe what we hear are ghosts,” Sadora says. “A thousand dancing ghosts.”

  Grammy says, “Nothing is really scary if you make up stories about it. This storm is a powerful story. Nothing more.”

  I’m not so scared now. Grammy hugs me tightly as we listen to the whirling, swirling storm around us.

  We sit in the darkness. The candles flicker. The storm pounds Poppy and Grammy’s house, but it is safe and strong just like the third little pig’s house.

  “We need to do something silly and fun,” Daddy says. “Let’s sing a song.” Then Daddy starts to sing in the dark silence. He has a strong bass voice. Mom joins in with her pretty soprano. Poppy can’t sing at all. He tries, but it doesn’t sound like music when he sings. His voice sounds a little like the noise that comes from a sick bird. Grammy rolls her eyes and lets him sing anyway. Soon we all join in.

  The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah

  The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah

  The ants go marching one by one

  The little one stops to suck his thumb

  And they all go marching down to the ground

  To get out of the rain, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  We take the ants through three, four, five, and six. By the time we get to the ants marching by nine and ten, we are all giggling and feeling better.

  The ants go marching ten by ten, hurrah, hurrah

  The ants go marching ten by ten, hurrah, hurrah

  The ants go marching ten by ten

  The little one stops to say “THE END”

  And they all go marching down to the ground

  To get out of the rain, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  When we finish the song, everybody is laughing. The rain is still falling, but it’s no longer pounding the house quite so hard. The wind seems to be blowing slower. The moaning sounds more like a whisper.

  “Is the storm over, Daddy?” I ask.

  “I think this is what they call the eye of the storm, Sassy,” Daddy explains. “The winds blow in a circle around a clear, calm center. That center will pass over us, then we’ll get the other half of the storm.”

  “More wind and rain?” Sadora asks with a sigh.

  Poppy tells us, “Surrounding the eye is the eyewall. That’s a huge ring of thunderstorms with the strongest winds in the hurricane. So we’ve got a little calm, then a big surge, then the rest of the storm will hit us.”

  “It will probably rain even harder soon, with heavy winds all day and all night,” Mom says.

  “It might be worse than the first part,” Grammy warns.

  “I’m glad we’re all together,” Sadora admits.

  Just as Daddy and Poppy had said, the winds begin to increase. The rain pounds harder than before. The winds whistle louder.

  “It sounds like hundreds of furious whirling wind monsters out there,” I whisper.

  “Angry, wet ghosts,” Sadora adds.

  “Angry, wet ghosts with an attitude!” Sabin says, almost laughing.

  The house seems to shudder in the storm. I can hear thumping noises outside, like things falling or knocking around.

  “What are those noises?” Sadora asks.

  “Trees falling, perhaps,” Poppy replies.

  “Or flying lawn furniture,” Grammy tells us. “Sometimes, the day after a storm, we find things that have flown a long distance.”

  “Remember we found that mailbox from Georgia a couple of years back?” Poppy asks Grammy.

  “Yes, it had flown off its pole and somehow landed in our yard. It still had mail inside.”

  “Amazing,” Sabin says. “Did you find the owners of the mailbox?”

  Grammy chuckles. “They told us we could keep the mailbox, and we mailed their letters back to Georgia. We still get Christmas cards from them!”

  Suddenly, a huge gust of wind blasts the house. I tremble. We can hear something breaking and cracking outside. I try not to cry out, but it’s really scary. I huddle closer to Grammy and Poppy.

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t have left town?” Sadora asks as another huge gust attacks the house.

  “Well, it’s too late to leave now, but we’re pretty sure of the strength of the house,” Poppy answers. “There’s no way I’d let my children and grandchildren be in danger!”

  The storm continues to rage outside, but inside we are warm and dry. I feel very safe, even though it’s very dark. The candles flicker like little signals of hope.

  “Will the lights come back on soon, Grammy?” I ask her. I’m trying not to fall asleep.

  “Maybe not for a couple of days, Sassy. But we’ll be just fine,” Grammy tells me.

  Daddy lights a few more candles. They smell like strawberries as they burn.

  “Can we eat in the dark, Grammy?” Sabin asks.

  Everybody laughs.

  Sadora takes a candle to the kitchen and makes a huge pile of peanut butter sandwiches. Mom slices fruit. I get juice boxes for everyone and Daddy serves potato chips in a bowl.

  “I’m glad we have some junk food,” I tell Sadora. “Otherwise we would be eating cold green beans from a can!”

  “Well, it looks like we’re going to have a birthday party after all,” Grammy announces when everyone is settled.

  “We can’t have a party,” I wail.

  “Why not?” Mom asks.

  “We don’t have a cake!”

  “And we don’t have a band!” Sabin says.

  “And we don’t have any decorations,” I add.

  “Is that what makes a birthday?” Grammy asks us.

  I wrinkle up my face. “I wanted your party to be special, Grammy.”

  “It could not be any better,” she replies.

  “But you don’t even have any power!” Sabin complains. “I bought you two CDs. But you can’t play them.”

  Sadora nods in agreement. “I bought you an electronic picture frame, but we have no electricity!”

  Grammy looks at both of them. “Those things will work in time. The electricity will come back. And I will love those gifts.”

  Mom looks at Daddy in the candlelight. They act like they understand what Grammy means.

  “How can we have a party without all the party stuff?” I ask again.

  Grammy smiles at me. “I have my family here. We are all safe in this storm. What a great party!”

  I think I see what she means.

  I ask Daddy, “Can I use one of the flashlights?” The circle of light looks odd on the dark wall as I go up the steps.

  I go to our bedroom, and I find my Sassy Sack. I unzip one of the inside pockets and pull out a small item wrapped in silver paper. It’s a little lumpy. I’m glad the lady at the security line did not find this one.

  Slowly, I walk back down the stairs. Wind still swirls around the house.

  “Happy birthday, Grammy,” I say as I hand her the package. “I made this myself.”

  Grammy hugs me. “Thank you, Sassy. Hold the flashlight so I can see it.”

  She carefully unwraps the package. I hope she likes it.

  “It’s lovely!” Grammy says. She holds it up for everyone to see. “A bracelet made of seashells.”

  “Every time we visit, I look for the perfect shell,” I tell her. “Mom helped me put them on the chain.”

  Grammy puts the bracelet on and smiles at me. The pink shells tinkle as they bump together.

  And the wind seems to be quieter outside. Maybe the worst of the storm is over.

  “Well, let’s sing ‘Happy Birthday’!” Poppy says. “It’s not a party unless we sing that song!”

  “Everybody join hands!” Mom suggests.

  Sabin takes Sadora’s hand, and she joins hands with Mom, who
holds Daddy’s hand. I hold Grammy’s hand on one side and Poppy’s hand on the other.

  We stand in a small circle in the living room. Candles flicker. Flashlights shine. Nobody pays much attention to the storm.

  Mom’s soprano starts the song and I sing with her. We begin the song. Daddy’s bass joins in, then Sadora’s alto and Sabin’s tenor. Even Poppy’s sick-bird voice sounds good.

  Happy birthday to you!

  Happy birthday to you!

  Happy birthday, dear Grammy!

  Happy birthday to you!

  What a wonderful birthday party!

  “Is it over?” I ask as soon as I wake up. I sit up, rub my eyes, and take a deep breath. I don’t even remember falling asleep.

  “Is it still raining?” asks Sadora, who had slept next to me on the pillows.

  “The storm is over. The sun is out,” Mom tells us. “And we are safe.” She sounds relieved.

  “Can we go outside, Dad?” Sabin asks.

  “Yes, we can do that after breakfast,” Daddy tells him.

  “I feel like we are on a campout,” Sabin says. “It’s fun sleeping on pillows in the living room.”

  “Is the electricity back on?” Sadora asks. “I really need to fix my hair.”

  “Sorry, no power yet,” Grammy replies. “And your hair looks fine.” She hands Sadora a brush and a comb.

  I can see sunshine peeking through the boarded-up windows. I go to the back window, where I can see a little bit of the ocean. Today the water no longer looks like a raging lion about to attack. It now looks like a kitten, lapping milk from a saucer. It is blue and calm once again.

  The beach, however, looks pretty bad. It seems to be covered with branches and sticks and lots of yucky foamy stuff.

  After a breakfast of fresh fruit and granola bars, we head outside to see what the storm did overnight.

  When we open the front door, the sun is bright and cheerful in a clear, blue sky. Fluffy white clouds look like they have been painted up there. The air is moist and wet.

  But Grammy’s yard is a mess. Leaves and branches and all kinds of plants are broken and thrown around. I can see a lawn chair, a garbage can, and a large piece of jagged wood.

  Three trees are completely down. Two are lying on the ground with their roots showing. The other one is broken in half.