Tsunami
I am in a large apartment building overlooking the beach. The water is blue and clear and the day is lovely. There are people all over the beaches and lots of surfers. I am watching the waves crash, and suddenly I look up and one of the waves is impossibly big. It is a wall of water and more blue than any of the other waves. I scream out the window to the surfers even though I know they cannot hear me. When the wave crashes, it thunders down on the beach engulfing all of the people - they just disappear, along with the buildings beneath me. Where there were once specks of color dotting the beach there is nothing now but blue and white, foam and water.
I am sitting in a conference room. We are not allowed to leave until they decide what to do with us. The room is hot and stuffy and we are hungry. All of us are missing loved ones. I am fed up, and get up and storm out of the room, down the hallway to another large conference room which is air conditioned and full of sandwiches and children playing. The people around the table are supposed to be making a decision about us but they are taking a break. They are surprised when I push past security and walk in and start screaming at them.
The house is old and gorgeous and from the window I can see that the water has receded. Now people are just waiting and praying for loved ones to come home. It feels like 9/11, the endless waiting and crying. My aunt is missing. People look at me in "that way" and I tell them that I am sure she is fine since she just ran a marathon last weekend. I run to the door whenever the doorbell rings, but it is never her. A single drop of water falls from the ceiling and lands on my shoulder and I know that our doctor is dead - it's like a story I read. Tomorrow is his birthday and last year he said it was his final birthday - how did he know about the wave? I can see myself reflected in the glass.
The waiting is endless. I go onto the stoop and peer down the street. A group of people march up the sidewalk singing a beautiful song. I realize that I know the song somehow and sing with them as they pass by.
I am sitting in a conference room. We are not allowed to leave until they decide what to do with us. The room is hot and stuffy and we are hungry. All of us are missing loved ones. I am fed up, and get up and storm out of the room, down the hallway to another large conference room which is air conditioned and full of sandwiches and children playing. The people around the table are supposed to be making a decision about us but they are taking a break. They are surprised when I push past security and walk in and start screaming at them.
The house is old and gorgeous and from the window I can see that the water has receded. Now people are just waiting and praying for loved ones to come home. It feels like 9/11, the endless waiting and crying. My aunt is missing. People look at me in "that way" and I tell them that I am sure she is fine since she just ran a marathon last weekend. I run to the door whenever the doorbell rings, but it is never her. A single drop of water falls from the ceiling and lands on my shoulder and I know that our doctor is dead - it's like a story I read. Tomorrow is his birthday and last year he said it was his final birthday - how did he know about the wave? I can see myself reflected in the glass.
The waiting is endless. I go onto the stoop and peer down the street. A group of people march up the sidewalk singing a beautiful song. I realize that I know the song somehow and sing with them as they pass by.
posted by The Dancing Kids @ 9:50 AM
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