April 12: An Earthquake

The first shudder could be a construction crew across the street, the condo building finally going up. It could be a car crashing into the house or your imagination. It could be just about anything.

I look up from my computer at the small window above my head, as if that will tell me if I need to be concerned.

But then the house continues to shake. And that can’t be anything else.

The one or two moments of unconcern pass and the house continues to shake in spurts. It is not an even shudder, but comes in fits — one small and silly, almost like a hand reaching out to shake you, the next deep and foreboding. I freeze, waiting to see if walls will start to fall, and then I stand abruptly, assuming if this is about to get serious I should do something, go somewhere.

I have taken a half-step towards the door and another step back, standing in the middle of the bedroom, when everything stops moving. It has been three seconds? Four? Less? There is another moment of silence in the house, as we all wait. Wait for certainty. Wait to be sure it won’t come back. Wait out of respect, to not tempt the ground into movement. And then someone downstairs yells and laughs.