Love Comes to Everyone

After the earthquake, I returned to find my building in shambles. 

I’d been up north for a bit to escape. Not that I wanted to. Think of it like a forced vacation. I had no other choice, really, when he decided to end things. What else was I supposed to do? Sit alone in my apartment and drink? No thanks.

And of course, as my luck would have it, the day before I decided to return to my shoebox of an apartment was the day of Northridge 2.0. No, it wasn’t a 2.0 on the Richter Scale, nor was it as bad as it could’ve been for a 5.5. 

At least for most people. As my luck would have it, again, my apartment building had been right in the middle of retrofitting when the earthquake hit, meaning the building wasn’t fully equipped to handle anything over a 4. Meaning my apartment and everything in it sunk down into the parking lot under my unit, by bed now crushing a little red Fiat owned by my next door neighbor. And of course, it was the only building in a 5-mile radius that had this problem...lucky me. 

Cool. No boyfriend, no future, no apartment, nowhere to go or sleep except my Kia Soul. Literally rock bottom. 

The morning after my return, I emerged from my car, parked in front of what used to be my building, at the crack of dawn, the cool morning air comforting me in some strange way. I leaned against my car, rubbing the crick in my neck I’d obtained from trying to rest in a vehicle. But that’s what happens when you don’t have a bed. 

I observed the rubble, which had been somewhat cleared in the days since the initial quake. City officials had ensured no one had been hurt, and cleared the biggest dangers and allowed residents to sort through their things. The city was even kind enough to set up a tent with trash bags, “food” (i.e. the cheapest bulk items from Costco), and bottles of water. Good to see my taxes going to good use.

 I began sifting through the rubble alongside some of my other neighbors who had also risen early. Funny. My stuff is now rubble. My laptop, my kitchen table, my favorite candle. Rubble. 

I snagged a few white trash bags, and began sorting my things. Broken. Fixable. Broken. Somewhat broken? I’m not sure. 

Although I didn’t have service, I fished out my headphones from my jacket pocket and shuffled through my playlist. George Harrison. Perfect.

For the hours I sifted and sorted, Los Angeles sun beating down on me and my ill-chosen outfit of a jean jacket, high-waisted jeans, and a red crop top, I felt utterly alone. Sure, families climbed over shattered televisions, shook out blankets they’d found among the heaping mess, collectively salvaging the pieces of their lives. But somehow, they all looked happier than me, working together as if this were some fun pseudo-archaeology activity at DisneyWorld. They had each other. They had a chance to rebuild. But I had no one and nothing to help me along the way. 

About an hour in, I found the red envelopes resting upon the Joe Cocker record he gave me. Not what I needed right now. Somehow, they were perfectly clean, no plaster dirtying their exterior. The record was miraculously intact, as well. I crouched between my dusty futon, a pile of pillows, and my broken desk and opened the envelope. 

The Minnie Mouse card for my 22nd birthday. I smiled. I remembered how he spent an hour and a half searching the store for a card that was for me. I opened the still-pristine card. Inside, scrawled in his messy chicken scratch was his letter to me. I read over the words, feeling tears prickle the back of my eyes with each sentence. 

You are the dream woman. 

I will always be here. 

I look forward to everyday with you. I love you, and I appreciate you. 

Just a year ago he had written this. And guess what? He wasn’t here. 

We’d shared so much time here together, surrounded by love and security. Now, here I sit, surrounded by the main component of my life at the moment: rubble. 

I picked up the Joe Cocker record, the red lettering standing out against the beige dustiness, much like the envelope did. He’d so kindly picked it out, so effortlessly quoting “You Are So Beautiful.”

He was everything I needed too. Still is. 

I returned the card to the red envelope, still adorned with the gold hummingbird sticker. I shoved it into the interior pocket of my jean jacket, keeping it close to me. I have to keep it close to me. It’ll keep me going. I climbed over the futon, carefully making my way to my car with the record. This needed safe-keeping, too. 

I continued sifting through my things for the remainder of the morning and afternoon, listening to George Harrison’s All Things Must Pass on repeat, before heading to the tent for some Costco muffins and bottled water around 5:30. It was cooling down, the sunset trickling in with pinks and purples. I caught the eye of one of my friendly neighbors, an older Mexican woman who I’d always smiled at when I saw her out and about, but never actually spoke to. I removed my headphones for the first time that day, sensing she wanted to talk. 

“How are things?” she asked kindly. “You need help?”

I shrugged with a smile. “It’s okay!” I said as cheerfully as I could. “Challenging, but I’ll get through it. I think I’m good,” I said, not even believing the words I’d just said. Of course I needed help. My life was literally crumbling before my eyes.

She nodded, smiling in a way that reminded me of my Nana. “Just let help come to you.”

I thanked her and snagged enough food to satisfy me before I packed my car with whatever remained of the place I used to consider my home. What did she mean, let help come to you? Am I not accepting help? Can no one see that I’m screaming out for help, just silently? No one can understand me, though, understand what I need. Except him. 

I plugged my headphones back in and started “Love Comes to Everyone.” I hope he’s right, I thought as I plopped myself on the curb with my feast. 

His home was always more home to me. I told him that, and he still decided to end things; it wasn’t totally his fault, though. I understood. Medical school should obviously take precedence over the little old me with my silly problems, like my insecurities and my wearisomeness; it even takes precedence over the big problems that suddenly emerged. Especially since his school was out of state. Sure, we could have tried long-distance, but I understood. I can’t distract him. Nothing we could do but still love each other from afar. Which made it hurt more.

Nothing we could do about the earthquake either. I mean, sure, the city could’ve enforced the retrofitting ordinances a bit more stringently, but again, what was I to do? Little old me? 

Nothing to do, but everything to feel. 

Just let help come to you. 

I peeled the paper lining from my muffin. Just gotta go with the flow I guess. That’s what he’d say. One step at a time. Just like my therapist said when the breakup first happened.  Maybe that’s why I’d been listening to George Harrison over and over. All things must pass, just as he sang. 

Overwhelming thoughts bubbled to my mind as I attempted to stay present, studying the paper lining and the remaining bits of muffin left on it. I can’t go to him, can’t distract him. Just as much as I can’t inhabit my apartment anymore. And I can’t go home home either. It’s not good for my sanity. I’m already vulnerable enough, but going back to Sacramento only to feel like my high-school self again and to not get any sympathy whatsoever about my life being ruined? No thank you. I’ll take sorting through my shit and sleeping in my car over that.  

I sniffled, trying to hold back my tears as I bit into the Costco muffin, sitting on the curb of the boulevard. It was strange. I always resented how noisy it could be, with obnoxious wannabe Fast and Furious characters revving their engines just as I’d drift off to sleep, the constant honking that disturbed my peace. But at this moment, when my life was anything but peaceful, it was completely silent, not a soul driving down the boulevard. 

I’ve lived here almost two years and I’ve never once seen the street this empty. 

I continued munching on my muffin, staring at the chocolate chips on top. I picked each one off individually. One. Two. Three. As easily as things were plucked from my life, I plucked chips from a muffin. Maybe that’s the secret. Maybe instead of it being a simulation, we’re just chocolate Costco muffins being eaten by sad, hungry girls. Muffins all the way down. I could live with that. 

I finished up my muffin and returned to sifting. This was my life now. But I guess it didn’t really matter in the Costco Muffin Universe. 

An hour passed and the light was starting to fade. Some neighbors had family members come pick them up, while others returned to their vehicles (if they weren’t smashed in the parking lot). I saw the Mexican lady surrounded by her own trash bags of belongings. She waved me over, asking me where I planned to stay the night. 

“I was thinking of just sleeping in my car again.” 

She nodded. “What about that boy I see you with?” 

I chuckled. “Uh, we don’t really talk much at the moment.” In fact, we’d only spoken once, when he said he wasn’t ready to talk, but he’d let me know when he was. As such, I respected his boundaries. I couldn’t continue to make things harder for him. I had to show him I could handle anything on my own, and that he could count on me to respect his wishes. 

She looked confused. “I saw him before. Yesterday.” 

“Yesterday?” I repeated, bewildered. 

“Yes, yes. He come by, look around. But I did not see you, so I said you’re not here and he left.” 

“Excuse me,” I told my neighbor, as I wandered up the street to find service. I strolled down to the Asian supermarket, past the vet and the bank. Finally. Service. I just needed to check...

I restarted my phone. Maybe he called me. Maybe this was wishful thinking. 

Just checking in--are you okay?

Shit. He’ll probably hate me after this. He probably thinks I’m ignoring him or I’m dead. 

I tapped my index finger on the side of my phone. I had to respond. Why was I overthinking this? 

I began walking back to my car, shaking. 

Just keep focusing on the work you have to do. There’s probably more to sort. Or maybe you can go back up to Sacramento. Sure it’ll drive you nuts, but you’ve handled it before. 

As I rounded the corner, my phone buzzed. 

I let it ring all the way through and began walking back to my building. It was probably my mom. I was in no shape to talk to anyone.

But it rang again. It was him.

“Hello?” I asked, my voice cracking. Oh God, I hope it really is Muffins All the Way Down. Pick me up, sad girl. This is too much. 

“Hi…” he said slowly. “I...I was just seeing if you were okay.” His voice sounded just as buttery as when we’d first met five years ago when I’d spotted him at our friend’s birthday party. We both knew at the moment, but it took us three more years to act on it. “I know how earthquakes can kind of scare you.” He referred to a moment this time last year as we drifted off to sleep in my bed, tangled up with one another. His long fingers drawing circles in my hair, putting me peacefully to sleep. A small earthquake rattled the apartment, leaving me jittery and childlike for the rest of the week. 

“Um, yeah,  I’m all good, no need to worry,” I said, swallowing hard to try to sound normal. “I--I actually wasn’t here when it happened, I just came back yesterday afternoon, actually.”

“Oh, that’s good. Everything okay then? I heard there were some buildings throughout Van Nuys that didn’t fare so well.” Like he didn’t know. 

I arrived back at the mountain of rubble, and sat back on the curb. My neighbor sat a few yards from me, smiling.

“Uh ya, everything is fine…” I said unconvincingly. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for calling though. It’s very...nice of you.” 

It was silent for a while. I turned to my neighbor. She nodded, as if she repeated, Just let help come to you. 

He took notice of my silence, adding, “Look. Why don’t I come down there and help you out? You can spend the night here if you’d like. I don’t know what your plans are in terms of where you’re staying, but I’d rather you stay here with us than have to sleep in your car or something.” 

“It’s fine, I slept in my car last night,” I said reassuringly, although I knew this would worry him further. “But thank you. I appreciate it.” 

I heard him sigh and could perfectly picture his face. Thick brows furrowed, dreamy dark eyes glistening with tears, his large and soft fingers stroking his full beard. “I still…” he started. “I want you to be okay. Please come stay with me.” 

Just let help come to you. 

I turned away from my neighbor, to see him pulling up in his bright blue Honda, phone to his ear. As he arrived in front of me, those big brown eyes bored directly into mine, desperation in his voice. “Please,” he said over the phone, despite being within earshot. 

I hung up the phone, glancing at my neighbor again, her grin as wide as it could possible stretch. 

I nodded. “Okay,” I sauntered to the car, drying my tears, sinking into the passenger seat. 

He hugged me, and I felt the envelope fold. “I missed you, I’m so glad you’re okay,” he said, burying his face in my hair on my shoulder. He felt the envelope in my pocket and pulled away. “What’s this?” he asked, grabbing the outlie of the envelope through my jacket.

I pulled it out, and he recognized it immediately. “Just...something special I wanted to keep.”

He shook his head, smiling through the tears and grabbing my hand, chuckling. “I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”