The sky is falling

We were cold, hungry, and miserable. When the night closed in, fat rain drops pounded us mercilessly, as if to punish us for the worry we were undoubtedly causing our parents. The wind howled like a stricken soul as we clung to our perch. We hung on so the wind and rain would not sweep us away as we chased any thoughts of sleep from our minds, knowing if we slept, we’d surely fall and die.

The darkness was heavy and our arms were getting tired. Mom would be frantic by now. Dad would be riding up and down Flamingo Street in the green station wagon with the faux wood panels calling our names. He had no way to know — we couldn’t hear him — much less answer.

That March night, our parents did not find us. They called the police for assistance, and the largest search the residents on Flamingo Street had even seen started at half past 8. Unfortunately, not even the police would think to search for four kids stuck 50-feet up in a giant sweetgum tree. We were four brothers who were too scared to climb back down in the dark, and too embarrassed to admit it to each other.

For 10 hours the only sounds in the woods behind our house were crickets, Jumbo the giant bullfrog, and our brother’s dire predictions.

James first thought we would die of thirst, but the downpour proved otherwise. After we drank our fill of rain caught by sweetgum leaves, Mark then thought we were going to starve to death. Luckily, I had packed my pockets full of tasty treats before our hike deep into the haunted forest, and death was averted once again.

James and Mark were not alone with the grim outlook of our situation; Older Brother Richard thought we all were going to be eaten by giant snakes. He reminded us that last month when the carnival came to town, they had lost a cage full of giant snakes. Lost really wasn’t the right word for him to use, escape would be more accurate.

He didn’t know, but Twin Brother Mark and I let them out. Last month our deed seemed like a good idea; however, stuck up in the tree in the middle of the night, it appeared we had been mistaken.

After an hour of jumping at every sound that floated up from the forest floor, the giant snakes that were going to devour us all never came, but another dire prediction from James did. This time the threat was army ants.

He said that the week before, National Geographic had shown a special on TV where African army ants ate an entire water buffalo. Richard and Mark also saw the special and believed within an hour there would be nothing left of us but our clothes.

After 10 hours, there were no snakes, African army ants, vultures, wild monkeys or the radioactive tree frogs from the trash dump. None of the predictions came true; we just kept hanging on through the storm.

At the darkest hour, when we thought we couldn’t hold on a moment longer, dawn reached over the hill and we were found.

The fire department set up their 50-foot wooden ladder and rescued all of us. Even though I begged them to leave Mark, they brought him down, too.

There’s no shortage of dire predictions about our economy, the housing market, or even the upcoming election. But just like being stuck up in a tree, we’re not going to starve, or die of thirst, and there are no army ants or giant snakes just waiting to eat us.

If we just wait long enough, and keep our faith, we’ll all get through these tough times. Besides, it’s not the economy or the election we should be worried about anyway. It’s those radioactive tree frogs — they’re still out there.