A Ripple Through A Ripple Through Life A Ripple Through Life

The Quake [03/11/2011]

words by sakura armstrong illustration by callie silverton

The windows were going to pop out of the car’s frame. The shaking caused them to swell in and out with each quake as if the vehicle were breathing, hyperventilating, to the point where the strain on the glass was almost visible. Leaves hailed down and one particularly large branch crashed into the middle of the street, pulling my eyes away from the car. My mother clenched my hand.

It's going to stop soon.

Then we were silent. The earth continued to purge, groaning after each hard shiver of the ground until it too was silent. As if they were the toys that come to life in stories, the trees, cars, and earth stopped as immediately as they started, in fear of getting caught moving. The hand holding mine started pulling and I looked up.

C’mon, before the aftershocks start.

Yanked around the corner, up the street, and into the house. We started searching for details, for anything out of place. I heard laughter and turned to see my mother pointing at a lamp. It had fallen perfectly inside a trash can filled with tissues and paper, carefully preserving the stained glass lampshade without a single crack. She then grabbed the remote off the coffee table and turned on the news while taking me to the stairwell and seating me on the first step, far away from any windows or furniture.

Don’t move, I have to check upstairs.

I started to cry, begging her to not go but she told me she had to and headed up the steps. Footage of the earthquake played on the television: buildings swaying, trees crashing, office cubicles collapsing. Then the screen changed. Bright red characters I couldn’t read and a newscaster frantically speaking in a tone I’d never heard come from one. The frame switched to live footage from a camera facing a street. An alarm blared from every street lamp as water swept away houses, cars, people.

Thudding from behind me, my mother emerged with her phone glued to her ear. Dialling, re-dialling, calling over and over to try and reach my father, brother, grandmother, anyone.

She paused for a second seeing the screen.

Don’t worry, we’re okay. That’s in Tohoku.