The daily fear
Most days, it’s easy to forget that I live in a place where at any moment the ground could literally shift beneath my feet. Today, not so much. It’s the 20th anniversary of the Loma Prieta quake, and the local paper is filled with reflections and predictions.
I wasn’t anywhere near San Francisco when the 1989 quake hit. I was working at a newspaper in a small town in central New Hampshire. But I was dating someone who had recently moved across country to take a job at the newspaper in Gilroy, Calif., the garlic capital of the world — and pretty much right on top of the quake’s epicenter. It was about 5pm his time, about 8pm my time, and we were on the phone, when suddenly we were interrupted by three short, sharp squeals like a car suddenly braking. And mid-sentence, he blurted, “Shit, I think we’re having an earthquake.”
The next 15 seconds were the most surreal conversation I’ve ever had: there I sat, in my living room, while 3,000 miles away someone delivered a terrified real-time narration of what was happening around him. The room was shaking, he could see cars in the parking lot of his apartment building actually bouncing off the ground, it’s still going, he was trying to get to a doorframe to stand under it but couldn’t walk straight, oh my god, oh my god, it’s not stopping, holy shit. I was yelling at him to put down the goddamn phone and go outside. And then it stopped and we were still connected, and I was saying “Are you all right? Are you all right?” while he was saying “I’m okay, I’m fine, I think I’m safe.” And we sat there for a minute just listening to each other breathe, and then he said, “Don’t hang up yet. If you hang up I know I won’t be able to make another call.” He gave me the phone numbers of a couple of his friends and asked me to call them and have them call other people and let everyone know he was all right. And then we sort of braced ourselves and said goodbye, not knowing how long it would be before we could talk again.
I thought about that call a lot when I moved west myself, ten years ago. I knew I needed to assume another earthquake would hit, that I should have emergency supplies and a first aid kit and a “go bag” (packed with the bare minimum I would need if I had to grab self and cat and run for my life). But here it is, a decade after my arrival and two decades after what everyone agrees was not the Big One, not nearly — and I’m not prepared. Not at all. I don’t have a go bag. I don’t have emergency supplies. I don’t have an extra week’s worth of my prescriptions. I don’t even have a pair of sturdy shoes and a flashlight next to my bed in case something happens in the middle of the night and I have to get the hell out of Dodge in the dark.
And that’s foolish. And I need to do something about it. Today is a good day to start.
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I remember that quake…and your friend in Gilroy.
My brief contract in SF was framed by minor tremors: 1 the day of my phone interview, which is why they were all late, as the train tracks had to be checked. Then a week after I left, just 4 months later, another occurred.
I didn’t get to experience a ‘real sized’ quake until April of last year, right here in Indiana, a 5.2 out of Illinois that woke me up just a few minutes before my alarm went off, making all the cabinet doors in the house waver and slam. Made me remember what didn’t sound so exciting about taking a permanent offer out there… I have no desire to experience that, or worse, again. Call me a wimp.
I was in the library in White Plains New York when I suddenly *knew* that the building was going to collapse around me. It wasn’t a panic attack — I didn’t have an increased heartrate, or even any feelings of anxiety. I just knew that the building was coming down and I had to get outside. Odd feeling.
I closed my eyes and had a daydream of a huge bridge twisting and swaying like that old footage of the Tacoma Narrows bridge. Now what the hell was this? Now a bridge was collapsing too? Get out! Get out! Get OUT!
I dropped my library books and walked outside. Ok, now what? I looked at one of the huge plate glass windows store windows, and in my mind’s eye I saw it shatter, sending a million pieces of glass flying toward me. Somewhere, far off, people were shouting. Now I was getting nervous. Is this what it’s like to suddenly lose your mind? Was I always going to feel this way?
And then it stopped. I was fine. No more shouting, no more images, no more worries. I took a deep breath and got into my car. I don’t remember what song was on the radio, but I do remember that after a minute or so the DJ interrupted to announce that there had apparently been an earthquake in San Francisco, just as the World Series was about to start. I burst out in tears of relief — at least the warning and images and voices I experienced had some *point* to them.
Five years later, I’m lying in bed in San Fransisco with Tiffany Ann Kinney (remember her?) when the ground gives a little hiccup. I instantly don’t like it. She says that was nothing, just a little tremor. Now the ‘89 quake, that was something — she had been working in a FedEx shop, and at the height of the quake the store’s plate glass window shattered inward, sending a million pieces of glass flying toward her.