"Crawfish Prayers" (A young boy struggles to cope with the death of his father)

Tommy lay in the middle of the train tracks looking down between the railroad ties. It was fifty-feet to the shallow river that ran underneath the trestle. A low growl made the wood and metal shudder.

"Tommy!" His dad's voice came from the tracks in front of him; the train's whistle rang out behind him. He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. His face pressed against the splintered railroad tie, he could smell the oil that it had been soaked in. The rumble grew into a roar, and his father's hands dug under his waist, yanking his body up from the tracks. His father held him against his chest with one arm, his other swinging as they raced the train.

Tommy's head bounced and a string of drool landed on his dad's white t-shirt. They were moving fast but the train was gaining ground as it thundered towards them. Tommy turned his head and focused on his dad's red baseball cap. The razorback, posed in full sprint.

His dad would do it. His dad would beat the train. They would make it.

The train rumbled, bearing down on them with its whistle blowing and brakes screeching. Tommy squeezed his arms tight around his dad's neck.

"Tommy let go!" his dad yelled. Tommy loosened his grip around his neck, and his dad jumped, throwing Tommy forward, away from the train, but he couldn't avoid it himself.

As Tommy fell, his dad flew over the top of him. Tommy stretched out his arms. His fingers brushed against his father's blue jeans and down his brown work-boots. Tommy landed on the sloped dirt at the end of the trestle, but his dad's limp body continued on, flopping like a scarecrow, into the trees.

The last of the train cars came to a stop in front of where he sat. He stared off into the trees where he had his last glimpse of his father. His dad's red baseball cap lay beside him. He picked it up with his fingertips and set it gently in his lap. The train operators ran down the side of the track. One came to him and the other went to the trees. The man spoke, at Tommy, and into a phone. His words were fast. Lots of words. The man had so many words. But Tommy had none.

---

Tommy's feet were numb from the cold creek water but his bucket wasn't full yet. He turned over another rock and waited for the vortex of silt to settle. A crawfish swam out of the cloudy water, tail first, its claws dragging behind it. Tommy splashed his hand into the water, felt the crawfish squirm, then tossed it into a one-gallon plastic bucket. He used to be afraid of getting pinched by their small claws, but now he didn't even think of their pincers. His focus was on his prayers. A ritual he had repeated since his father's funeral. Let it be that day. Let me have gone to the creek, not the bridge. In his mind, the words ran in a loop as he pictured his return home.

His dad would be in the back field, on the tractor. He could see clearly, the moment that his dad would spot him walking up the dirt path with his bucket of crawfish. He'd jump down from the tractor, pull a few ears of corn for the boil, and jog over to see the catch. They'd boil them up, on the propane stove. His dad would season the water with a heavy hand while he called for his mom to find him a lemon. They'd dump the crawfish onto the picnic table. Even if there wasn't all that many, his dad would say "Nice hall son. Now that there's a feast." Tommy focused hard on that image, willing it to be true.

Clouds darkened the sky and thunder rolled over head. Summer storms came on quick, and he was having to travel farther from home to catch anything. Three miles of creek between him and home picked clean of crawfish. He lifted the bucket by its wire handle and climbed up the bank. He'd make his way home between the creek and the corn fields, then maybe cut through some farmland to save time.

Tommy walked through the tall grass, past the dirt farm road that split the cornfields. A gust of wind hit Tommy threatening to take off his dad's cap. He pulled it down tight and heard voices ahead of him. His sister Samantha and her boyfriend Nate. The wind made the grass sway and he caught a glimpse of his sister's red shirt where she and her boyfriend lay. Tommy crouched down and moved closer.

"Sam, get that crap off your face, you're still my little girl," Samantha said.

"Oh man," Nate said.

They were talking about his dad. He inched his way closer.

"It's bad enough that he'd picked me up from school in that trashy-old pickup, he had to yell at me in front of everybody ... Jill laughed the loudest ... high pitched fake laugh. I cried the whole way home."

"Why do you think of that?" Nate asked.

"Because," Samantha said. "The next weekend he took me to the mall. He just said we were going shopping. I was still mad at him so I wasn't very nice. When we got there he took me to a salon and told them, her hair needs to be prettified. They gave me layers and curled it up. Then we went to a makeup counter."

Tommy stopped a few feet away from them. The sounds of pincers and tails clicking were covered up by the wind swishing the grass.

"They showed me how to do my foundation and around my eyes, what bronzer was. Dad bought it all, this big bag full of makeup, and then we drove home. He had the game on and I was looking through my makeup, then he turned the game off and said, 'You'll always be my little girl, no matter how old you look.'"

They stopped talking. Samantha sniffed. Then a phone buzzed. "We'd better find your brother. My mom's been texting me weather reports," Nate said. "A storm's headed this way."

"He's just down the creek a bit," she said. "It's where he always is. But I don't want to go back yet."

"Is it still pretty bad there?" Nate asked.

"No. I don't know. I don't like being there, in the house. It doesn't feel right. I think that's why Tommy takes off all the time. Mom keeps sending me out to find him, acting like she cares at least."

A gust of wind made the grass lay down. Tommy went to his belly.

"You know she cares. Of course she cares. She's your mom."

"I know. She's got a lot do deal with, running the farm and all, it's just, at night, when we're all at home, that's when it sucks the worst. Mom just talks to herself about what she has to do the next day and Tommy, well you know, he doesn't talk at all."

"Not a word? Still?"

"I can't even stand to be around him anymore. He was with Dad when he died and he won't tell me anything–"

Tommy stood up and dumped the bucket of crawfish onto his sister and her boyfriend. Samantha let out a high pitched scream. Nate jumped up brushing at his pants, and Samantha squirmed on her back, kicking her legs. The crawfish flapped their tails and flopped on her stomach. Nate bent down and brushed the remaining crawfish off of her.

"Tommy! I'm going to kill you!" Samantha said. Tommy ran back the way he had come, and turned up the dirt road next to the cornfield. "Get him Nate." Tommy ran faster. A gust of wind blew his dad's hat off his head as footsteps pounded behind him. Nate's hand touched his shoulder and Tommy leaped towards the cornfield, but Nate grabbed him around his waist.

Tommy kicked his legs and thrust his elbows at him.

"Tommy, stop." Nate pinned his arms to his side and held him down. "Just stop."

Samantha walked up shaking her head. She had their dad's hat in her hand. "Damn it Tommy."

"It's okay Sam." Nate shrugged. "It was kind of funny." Samantha's arms were crossed, her jaw clenched. "Okay," Nate said. "It wasn't that funny." And to Tommy, he said. "If I let you go, do you promise not to run?" A strong gust made the corn lay down in a giant wave.

Tommy stopped struggling and nodded his head. Nate's grip slackened and Tommy tried to break free, but Nate pinned him down again. "I'm serious, we need to get home. My phone has been going off like crazy. My mom's been freaking out about–"

Sirens

The sound carried from the elementary school over 7 miles away. They all knew what it meant. Tornado warning, get to shelter.
Samantha thrust their father's hat into Tommy's chest and grabbed him by the arm. "Come on!" She started back towards the creek but Nate stopped her.

"Wait," Nate said. He grabbed Samantha's hand and pulled her in the other direction. My house is closer, and there's a shelter closer then that if it gets too bad." They ran against the wind, following Nate up the dirt road. Dust and weeds pelted them. Tommy turned his head to the side, his father's hat clenched in his hand, he shielded his face with his arm. The siren's wail barely heard behind the sound of the wind.

"This way." Nate pulled Tommy and Samantha forward.

Just past the first field they came up on an old farm house. It had a giant maple tree in the back yard that had freshly split down the center; half of the tree lay across the yard blown down, the other half thrashed around.

Nate ran ahead of them, straight to the mass of branches and leaves. He pulled at the limbs and Samantha helped him bend the branches.

"Get in!" Nate yelled. Tommy moved closer and saw the dark opening of a storm shelter, the branches of the tree pinning the door open. Samantha and Nate held the branches while Tommy climbed in.

He squeezed through the opening and found a round metal handrail. He descended the steep metal steps into the dark shelter.
His eyes were adjusting to the small amount of light that was let in from the outside. It was deep, more than ten feet, but it was only about six feet wide. The concrete walls were starting to crumble in spots and the steps were less like a staircase, and more like a ladder with a handrail. Tommy turned, his belly towards the steps, and backed down. Samantha was following him in now, her body blocking the light from the opening.

Something was at the bottom, laying across the last few steps. Maybe a bag of supplies, Tommy pushed at it with his foot. Then the light from above flashed across a white shirt and dirty blue-jeans.

Tommy scrambled to climb back up the steps, but his shoes were wet from the rain. He slipped on the steps and fell down onto the body. He rolled sideways trying to get away but there was nowhere to go. He turned with his back against the wall and pulled his knees to his chest. If he stretched his foot out, he could touch one of the body's brown work boots. Tommy clenched his dad's hat in his fists, hid his face behind his knees, and covered the top of his head with his arms.

"Tornado! I saw it coming down," Nate said. "The door is pinned open, I can't shut–"

Samantha screamed. Tommy felt her plop down next to him. "Oh my god," she said. "Tommy?" Her arms wrapped around his shoulder.

Tommy peeked out between his knees. Nate was checking the body putting his ear onto its chest. Tommy squeezed his knees shut.

"It's one of the farm hands," Nate said. "The tree must have hit him when he was trying to get in."

"Is he dead?" Samantha asked.

"I think so," Nate said.

A low growl shook the concrete walls and floor. The tree that had pinned the door shut disappeared. The door slammed then ripped away from its hinges, and vanishing as well. Sticks and chunks of dirt showered down on them as the winds dug into the shelter, pushing down and pulling at them from every direction. The rumble grew to a roar as they were lifted off the ground and slammed against the walls, the dead body tumbling about with them.

Nate pulled Tommy and Samantha to the metal hand rail. "Hold on to it!"

The tornado's vortex tore at them as they clung to the rail. The dead body rose up, bumping against the metal steps, it's blue jeans passed in front of Tommy, followed by it's brown leather work boots. Tommy let go of the rail. He stretched his arms out, and caught it by the ankle, his dad's hat still clenched in his fist.

"Tommy!" Samantha grabbed him around his waist. "Tommy let go!"

His dad's hat pinned between the leather boot and his hand, he focused on the razorback logo, posed in full sprint. "Please, let it be that day!" Tommy yelled. His grip on the ankle was slipping. "I didn't go there!"

"Tommy let go!" His sister's hold on him slipped to his knees.

"Dad! I went to the creek!" The body was pulling him out of the shelter.

"Tommy, that's not Dad!"

"I went to the creek!" The body tore away from Tommy's grasp taking his dad's hat with it. "No!" Tommy reached his hands towards the dark vortex of debris, a slurry of all the tornado had torn apart. "Dad!– I'm sorry!"

The vortex cleared the opening as Tommy and Samantha dropped to the bottom of the stairs piling on top of Nate.

Tommy let Samantha hold him as he cried into her shoulder.

"That wasn't Dad Tommy. That wasn't Dad," she said.

"... my fault," Tommy said sobbing. "Dad's dead because of me."

"No Tommy, it's not your fault." Samantha pressed her cheek to the top of his head and hugged him.

Tommy sniffed and wiped his face with his arm. "He told me not to go up there," Tommy said. "He made me promise I wouldn't, and I went anyway. I said I was going to the creek to catch crawfish. He knew I was lying. He came to check on me but the train was already coming. He was screaming for me to run to him." Tommy's voice cracked. "But I fell, and I couldn't ... He had to get me."

Samantha's breath hitched with her sobs, her tears wet Tommy's hair and his tears soaked her red shirt. Small chunks of dirt and chips of wood continued to come down on them, but they stayed in the pile. Tommy and Samantha holding each other, while Nate, their anchor, held them both.