Solid Ground

The apocalypse was not what we expected. It came with a whisper, not a bang. No tidal wave or nuclear bomb, just simply a whoosh, sudden, the ground slipping under our feet, cartoon style – one minute we were standing in our kitchen waiting for the macaroni and cheese to cook and the next we were falling, a look of stupid surprise on our faces.

We were in the second group. The first group had no warning at all. Just boom, destruction, flattening, death most likely before they knew what hit them as our building broke like a clump of powdered sugar I once naively crushed in my hand, the tiny particles exploding downward, outward, dust in my nose and eyes. Boom.

We were the group that saw them go. They were there – walls, television sets, photos in frames, and then they weren’t. Poof. Goodbye. The outer part of our kitchen cracked and fell and suddenly we had a wide-eyed view of thin air. Drywall trickled into the macaroni noodles. Shit, I said. My mother wiped her hands on the red and white striped towel and opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Our next-door neighbors, the Velascos, were just not there anymore.

I’m not sure if we felt the rumbling under our feet or I just added that in my imagination because my brain thought certainly, I should have felt something before it happened. Did we? Did my mother really start to chastise me for saying the word shit, or did my brain fill that in too? Maybe she really just stood there with her mouth open and that was all. Maybe I did the same thing.

We had a dog, you know. An illegal dog. Her name was Missy and she was a Yorkie. I say “was” because I haven’t seen her since that moment. Our apartment didn’t allow dogs. But what do you do when you come across a little wet ball of tangled fur, bleeding under one ear, on the sidewalk next to where you live? My uncle Dan, who is phlebotomist, came and stitched her up. We didn't have the kind of money to pay for a vet.

So, we had a dog. The Velascos had two goldfish.

Had.

You know the Red Cross really has their act together. I guess some EMTs found me, covered in dust and bleeding … well, pretty much all over, on the pile of rubble that used to be where the sidewalk was, and after I was checked out and found to be not dying anytime soon the Red Cross took me in. My wounds were all superficial. Road rash, essentially. Rubble rash. Lucky to be alive they all said. I have my own cot now, and my own blanket. A pillow. Some sweatpants, a toothbrush. They feed us three square meals a day, and on top of that someone is always coming around trying to give me a popsicle.

I pretty much always say yes. My throat hurts.

The thing that broke me was the macaroni and cheese. It was for dinner the second night at the shelter, with a slice of ham and some canned green beans. I took one look at those cheesy little noodles and – apparently – let out a cry that brought three volunteers over within seconds. I don’t remember this at all, but I didn’t stop screaming until a doctor or EMT or someone gave me a sedative.

I’m not screaming anymore, but I wish someone would give me whatever it was that made me numb. Numb was good.

Everyone keeps telling my how strong I am.

Sure.

There is no one here at the shelter that I know. You would think I would recognize people from the same apartment building, but there were so many of us. So many apartments. During the day, almost everyone goes out to watch them dig. Like they’re going to find anyone in that pile of dust. At first, there was a little boy in the cot next to me. A volunteer put a cot next to his so there would be someone with him 24/7 to hold his hand while he cried. Then a family member came and swept him up in her arms and took him away. That person cried even harder than the little boy did. When he left the volunteer took her cot away too and so there is only the one cot next to mine and it is empty now.

The shelter is getting less and less crowded by the day. Most people have someone to take them in. I used to have a mother and a little sister and an Uncle Dan and even a dog but there is not even a whisper of proof they exist anymore. The Red Cross people are looking for Dan’s boyfriend, but other than him there is really no one else. Everyone went up in smoke.

When the EMTs found me, I was holding things. A shoe. A faucet handle. And a locket. I don’t remember picking them up; I guess they just happened to fall where I did. I don’t have the other things anymore, but I still have the locket. I think the EMTs thought it belonged to me. It’s a heart. A gold one. Inside is a photo of a lady. I don’t know her.

I no longer trust the ground beneath me. The thing is, it can disappear in an instant. The apocalypse was not what we expected, but it still came.

Maybe soon they will find the things that really were mine. I don’t know. Maybe they will find a photo of my real mother that I can put in this little heart-shaped locket. I would like that. Or maybe the family it really belongs to will come and ask for it back. Maybe they are only rubble too.

My brain keeps going back to that moment right before the apocalypse. When my mother had grabbed the towel to wipe her hands, opening her mouth to say something. Goodbye, my brain thinks she is saying. Goodbye, my love. But that is probably not real.

I sleep a lot. Even during the day. And when I do, I keep my things around me. I have a blanket, a pillow, a toothbrush, a locket. I hold these things next to my chest while I sleep so no one can take them away.