Proof The Bible Is True

I woke to the sound of wind whip­ping outside my window, rain pelting the roof. I switched on the TV.

 

“A severe storm warning has been issued for the Tulsa Metropolitan Area,” the newscaster said. “We’re predicting hail, heavy rains and high winds. Please be advised, folks, it could turn into a tornado. So hunker down—we’re in for a rough one.”

 

I sat on the edge of the couch, my mind focused on one thing. One per­son. Hilda. “I can’t believe the torna­does you get out here!” she’d told me a few months ago, shortly after we met as students at Claremore Junior College’s school of music. “Frightens the living daylights out of me!” Hilda was a California girl, through and through. She was terrified of Oklaho­ma weather. And right now, she was all alone. She’d just moved some 35 miles away to Tulsa last week, after our graduation. I’d stayed in a house with a few buddies in Claremore.

 

I pulled on my cowboy boots and grabbed the keys to my car.

 

“Hey!” my roommate said. “Where are you going in this weather?”

 

“I gotta find Hilda,” I said.

 

“Hilda?” he said. “Terry, do you even know where she lives?”

 

I didn’t. I remembered her saying north Tulsa. Where exactly, though, I had no idea. All I knew was she was scared and I had to get to her. The way I was raised, if someone you love is in need, you help ’em. Well, I was in love with Hilda Machado. So you better believe I would fight to get to her—that’s what a cowboy does.

 

I walked out of the house, the screen door banging behind me.

 

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