Yesterday at 1:51 Bill and I were sitting on the back deck. We’d just had lunch, and we were hanging out, enjoying the gorgeous weather and the peace and quiet (the kids were inside and getting along for the moment).
It was very breezy, and at first that’s what my brain tried to use for an explanation. The deck was shaking. So it must be…the wind? I know. Square peg in a round hole. I really wanted it to fit, because there wasn’t any other logical explanation for the feeling of movement. I wasn’t in a car or a boat or a plane. My chair wasn’t supposed to be shaking.
Bill, meanwhile, thought I was kicking his chair. That was the triangular peg his brain had come up with. But, of course, I wasn’t. I was just sitting there, kind of frozen, feeling the vibration all around me and wondering what was doing it.
We live near an airport, too, so we’re used to the loudness of the planes taking off, and part of me was thinking maybe this was…oh…somehow caused by a really big airplane…?
Bill and I looked at each other and just stared while the shaking continued. Not huge shaking. But enough to give us both a kind of queasy, dizzy, motion-sickness feeling.
After the shaking ended – and it probably didn’t last long, but it was hard to tell because it was one of those moments when time stretches in a different direction – we talked cautiously about it, as though hesitant to admit it had happened at all. Bill was the one who said “earthquake” first. Later that afternoon when I went on the computer, “earthquake” was confirmed.
The kids, who were playing inside at the time, either didn’t feel it or were just too busy to notice or care.
And that’s it. My earthquake story.
Do you have one?