Nonfiction | March 01, 2008

The full text of this essay is not currently available online.

After Eric and I survived an F2 tornado in Tulia, Texas, I thought we’d live forever. We rode out the tornado in a high-profile SUV-precisely the wrong kind of shelter-and after we’d crashed into a brick wall and ducked under a one-hundredtwenty-knot jet that screamed through the blown-out windows, it seemed as if the Angel of Death had roared, in a breath choked with debris, and then fled, leaving us alone and lucky.

If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.