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chzmongrrrweeps

Cheese-y poetry!

Earthquake weather

When I walked out of the matinee today, the weather stopped me dead. Unseasonably hot and still: classic earthquake weather. Then I realized it’s almost exactly a week away from being 15 years since the ’89 earthquake and I swear I got a chill down my back despite the fact that it was nearly 90 degrees at 38th Avenue.

I’m not superstitious enough to actually believe that this means an earthquake is coming. And the Florida folks can talk any shit they want about fearing an earthquake as if it were a predictable thing. But this kind of weird weather shift is still awe inspiring. And the PTSD from living through a big earthquake does still hit me sometimes.

About 15 years ago I was working at a mall photo lab in Marin, though I lived in the city. The mall was completely built on fill. Everyone I worked with were native Californians so when the quake hit, we all just kinda stopped what we were doing, looked at each other, and laughed a bit. Then it kept going. I was looking at someone I went to high school with and didn’t like. I’m sure we both saw each other’s faces change a few seconds into the quake. I know I thought, "This is the Big One" and I could see he thought it too.

Everyone ran for the doors but it was pretty much over by the time we made it to the parking lot but we all new it was the biggest quake we’d ever been through. I know this because everyone was walking around muttering, "That was the biggest quake I’ve ever felt" to whoever would listen. The power was out, the radio was dead, and soon so much smoke started rising from the Marina that we could see it over the hills.

Being Californians and still somewhat jaded by earthquakes, we threw dollar bills into the black box, a Richter scale betting pool. Then we closed up shop. I headed back into the City, luckily I drove that day. My parents were stuck on the Ferry for hours because the electric dock wasn’t functional.

I drove into the City not knowing what to expect. Big plumes of smoke were rising. The view was apocalyptic when I reached the Golden Gate Bridge. The radio started coming back on and they were announcing that the freeway had collapsed and hundreds were dead. At least. I’m pretty sure they weren’t collecting tolls, but there’s always a weird mix of shock after a disaster that leaves some people hyper, some catatonic, and some continuing on with whatever they would be doing if nothing had happened. Indeed, my boss got pissed the next day when I refused to come to work.

I worried that jactitation was dead. I wondered if my apartment would be there. I was afraid of how much devastation would be there when I arrived. She wasn’t. It was. And my end of the Mission was still above water and relatively unscathed. In fact, it turned into a massive street party with people bringing out their barbeques to cook the food that was gonna rot in their fridges and sharing it with whoever walked by. On second thought, party isn’t the right word. It had a friendly, community feeling like no other event I’ve ever been to. And there was a celebratory aspect to the fact we were all still alive. But no one knew how many people were dead or if what we went through was just a pre-shock for the Real Big One. When the aftershocks hit, no one was taking them lightly.

Thanks to jactitation for talking me down today.