The Quake

Part One: The Date

I woke up sweating in my soaked bedsheets. I stepped out of bed and poured a glass of cold milk from the fridge. I saw the time on the stove saying 2:00 AM. After I gulped it down, I fell asleep in less than an hour. I snuggled up to my dog, Waffles and her nose was on my cheek. Her four legs were sticking straight up like she was living the dream of a lazy dog. She’s a mini Australian labradoodle and she’s a little shit sometimes. I am sick of lying still in the dark, waiting for sleep to steal over me in the early hours of the morning.

 My girlfriend recommended that I keep a journal, and I guess that, for lack of things to do at night, I am going to at least try.

   By the time it was 7:00 in the morning, the alarm went off and I looked at it. I am staring at the digital clock on my end table and it’s kind of hard to read the numbers with my glasses off. I suppose I better look for my glasses that fell on the floor but that would require being able to see to find them. 

In the next minute and I groan because I’m finally starting to get tired like I want to sleep. I have a splitting headache and my eyes focused on the clock. When I woke up, I got dressed, road my bike all day and visited my girlfriend. When I arrived home by 5:30 PM dinner was getting prepared. My mother was slicing the potatoes thin, being careful to leave some traces of skin, exactly how she likes them. She slices them with pride; they are the first that she’s ever grown herself. She used to dream of growing things herself; having a big, green garden that smelled of tomatoes and rain and rich, dark soil. When we lived in an old apartment a long time ago, she tried to grow herbs in small terracotta pots on the terrace, but she was never able to get anything but little weeds and rot. Also, not to mention the landlord strictly told us not to. She cried about it once, and she was all alone at the time. She laughed softly and stroked her hair, explaining that they just didn’t have enough sun anyway. 

She sets the table later and knows that the roast is almost done, so she can finally cook the peas.

Just after a few minutes, I get a phone call from my girlfriend and she wanted to see a scary movie with me up at the town theater. The autumn leaves painted the ground an auburn orange with a dash of red. My entrance into the yard was welcoming as the howling wind greeted me at the premises of my childhood home every time I return home. The only house on the block that screamed Halloween with decorations because of my mother. Rotten pumpkins were scattered throughout the yard with a trail of lollipops leading toward the front porch. Halloween was just over and I have to help put all the decorations away to set up thanksgiving. Good god! A sudden wave of nostalgia struck me with floods of memories and deep emotions surfacing within as I stiffened in awe. I froze in my tracks, gaping at the sight before me. My girlfriend, Carrie arrived at the end of the driveway with a brand-new red Toyota Camry. I gawked and said, “You always surprise me with gifts!” 

“Screw you! This is mine” Carrie laughed. 

The swaying leaves danced in formation, casting off in a swirl like a tornado. As a clairvoyant, it was vital for me to recognize my gifts at an early age. I yearned for temporary relief from reality, but it would be selfish of me to ignore the calling. I knew something or someone wanted to send me a message. Gradually, I disengaged from reality as the wind kissed my skin with cold, dry air cooling me; giving me goosebumps. I got in the passenger seat and we took off to get something to eat before the film. 

 It was pouring out by the time we left the movies. We found ourselves, between a marquise-turned-shelter and the next one, trying to protect our shopping bags from the rain after leaving the mall down the street five minutes away. We had gone to the town mall after the movie. My girlfriend was going on about the movie we had just seen, an indie film from A24 called: It Comes At Night. The street lights cast curiously shaped shadows on her face, making it look like the eyelashes reflected on her cheeks were skinny branches of a leafless tree. 

Carrie and I stood tall on the wet sidewalk, just staring into our eyes. We kissed, then a shake of the earth started rumbling. 

"What the fuck?" I said.

The stop sign was shaking wildly and vehicles were sounding the alarms. 

"Brandon! Earthquake!" Carrie cried. 

"Lets go! Now!" 

On our way home, the power lines fell in front of us with sparks. 

Live wires were laying on the wet pavement. 

"Come on! Where's the car?" I yelled. 

"Over here!" She pointed. 

We arrived at my house and we took shelter. 

"Get under the table! Now!" My mother said. 

I smelled something minutes later. It smelled like fumes and i could not point it out. What is that horrible smell? The first tremble from beneath the earth was minor, and I thought it was a truck passing or the metro slithering underneath — normal things that make the streets rumble in this megalopolis. But the second shock hit with a force that launched me to my feet. The house swayed and twisted as if it were made of paper, and the city erupted into a cacophony of sirens and sounds of destruction as I stumbled out the front door. Suddenly, I was shirtless and shoeless in the street with my neighbors, being thrown back and forth by the ground that seemed to turn to liquid.

As we all reeled in the street, the smell of gas seeped out of the front gate of our vecindad, a condo-style building with small houses sharing a courtyard and a gated entrance. 

I hurried back in and tried to open the door to the back patio to reach our tank, but it was blocked. I could smell the gas leaking into the air. I ran back outside to the courtyard, into the neighbors’ house and up the spiral staircase to the shared roof so that I could get to our patio from above. The gas tank and some miscellaneous construction material had fallen across the door. I twisted the knob to close the tank and lifted it to an upright position as two neighbors emerged from the roof coughing and gagging from the toxic fumes. The power was out everywhere and i hear screming on the street. Our neighbor who met us at the same spot said his wife died when the bookshelf fell on her head. I grabbed a shirt, some flip-flops and my roommate’s dog, and left on foot fearing an explosion. I did a slow lap around the block and started to realize the extent of the damage. Around the corner, near the Centro Medico metro station, an apartment building teetered, close to collapsing, as glass and pieces of concrete rained down on the sidewalk. Residents of the building scattered on the street below, their gazes fixed on their precarious homes. Smoke could be seen rising above rooftops, and the streets filled with more and more panicked chilangos — the common name for Mexico City residents. I tried to call my family and friends but the networks were overwhelmed, and I couldn’t get through to anyone.

                             Part Two: The Outage 

Four Hours Before The Quake

Sheriff Thompson, also known as Daniel Thompson was lying in bed snoring until he hears his wife scream to him. He wakes up with a pounding migraine. He rushed to the toilet to vomit and his wife just slams the door outside and runs to her car. She’s an angry woman. Oh boy. 

Daniel fills up a cup of coffee and stares at the divorce papers he filled out. 

Sheriff Thompson trained his shotgun at his target, it had been a while since he shot at anything but years of experience as a former army sniper was not something you forget completely. It was noisier than he expected this late at night in the forest, but the cool forest breeze made the last hour or so more tolerable. He peered into the scope and lined the middle of the crosshairs on the target, a black, Bombay house cat. 

The Sheriff lives on the other side of the city near the forest and away from the beaches.

His rifle was a double barrel gun, which meant he only took one shot to blow up the house cat.

”Yeah! You see that? That’s what you get for running from your owner!” He walked over twenty feet to find the blown up body but found out it was only a log. The cat disappeared from his crosshairs almost as soon as he pulled the trigger, he would have been impressed if he was not so frustrated.

“Whatever. You are no fun.” 

He knew that being a Sheriff he’d be in prison for animal cruelty and trying to shoot someone else’s pet but he doesn’t think anybody is watching him. It was an extremely close call because he’s supposed to use tranquilizer darts. He could’ve blown it up by his stupid joke. So that said, he’s a horrible pet owner and a horrible sheriff. Sheriff Thompson was in his dark bedroom with the window closed, trying to sleep again when he heard a loud knock on his door. He got out of bed and walked over to answer it, but before he could even open the door, he puked his guts out from being hungover. The angry woman is yelling at her husband, blaming him for everything that's wrong in their life and then she knocked on the door again. This time it was louder. He comes out of the bathroom wiping his mouth and he answers the door. He turns around with his hand on his forehead. 

“Oh come on. Don’t do this now. I feel like shit.” he said. 

“Well! You are shit! Look at you! You never change! How would the station react if they found out about this?” 

“They don’t care. Trust me. They know I put up with your shit every fucking day! Your the fucking reason I’m not happy anymore!” He yelled louder. 

“where’s the papers? Are they signed?” She asked. 

“Go ahead! Take them! All set for you! Go find yourself a new man! Let’s hope he doesn’t work his ass off for a bitch like you!” He yelled. 

The argument got uglier. She puts her hands on her waste and was nagging on and on. 

“Oh spare me Daniel! You’re a mess! Have you noticed your daughter is coming home from college and now she’s coming back to your sorry ass!”

“Well I need to get going! I have a cat to catch! Your in my way!

He leaves the house and she slams a glass on the floor. He mumbled under his breath a nasty word. Something that anybody should not call a woman. He headed past his wired fence and found the cat a half hour later. The Sheriff turned around to retrieve the cat and set it in the cage in his police cruiser. He arrived at the station in minutes and it was fortuitous timing too since a sudden downpour hit the city hard. He chuckled at the thought that the cat was probably drenched somewhere and utterly regretting that it left its comfortable confines when he walked her to the station in the kennel. 

“I didn’t ask for any guests.” Ashley, one of the deputies joked. 

“I spent hours in the damn forest hunting this thing! And here it is playing coy!” The incredulous Sheriff said.

“Hunting?” The Deputy caught sight of the tranquilizer gun in the Sheriff’s hand. “Were you really about to use that on her?” She asked, equally incredulous. 

“Relax, it’s a tranquilizer dart, she’ll just take a nap. Then we can return her, and we’ll all get on with our lives.” The Sheriff retorted. 

Placing the cat carrier on the floor, the Sheriff shifted two chairs into the room before taking his seat on one and propping his leg up on the other. He leaned back and relaxed for the first time in days. He drank whisky and woke up at night time. It was passed 9:00 and he wiped his drool from his mouth with his shirt and pulled his pants down knowing he is alone. He flipped his phone to a private browser and watched Mexican porn. Next minute or so, the city starts shaking and picture frames fell from the walls interrupting his happy hour. He looked up and panicked. He was on the street for the rest of the day after the quake ended and left a devastating mess. He was checking one street after another with rescue teams. It is going to be a busy day. He met his boss at the park and just witnessed an explosion in somebody's home. 

"Jesus! Come on!" The Sheriff yelled. They checked out the situation and two men were burned. Oil. It was oil that caught fire from a leak of the oil tank on the basement floor. I met the Sheriff a moment later and asked when the power will come back on because I have to call my grandfather and other family members that I am ok. 

The first tremble from beneath the earth was minor, and I thought it was a truck passing or the metro slithering underneath — normal things that make the streets rumble in this megalopolis. But the second shock hit with a force that launched me to my feet. The house swayed and twisted as if it were made of paper, and the city erupted into a cacophony of sirens and sounds of destruction as I stumbled out the front door. Suddenly, I was shirtless and shoeless in the street with my neighbors, being thrown back and forth by the ground that seemed to turn to liquid.

As we all reeled in the street, the smell of gas seeped out of the front gate of our vecindad, a condo-style building with small houses sharing a courtyard and a gated entrance. “Shut the gas and turn off the electricity, there’s a leak!” shouted one neighbor.

I hurried back in and tried to open the door to the back patio to reach our tank, but it was blocked. I could smell the gas leaking into the air. I ran back outside to the courtyard, into the neighbors’ house and up the spiral staircase to the shared roof so that I could get to our patio from above. The gas tank and some miscellaneous construction material had fallen across the door. I twisted the knob to close the tank and lifted it to an upright position as two neighbors emerged from the roof coughing and gagging from the toxic fumes.

The chaos and noise only kept growing as the city descended into the ground godinez, white-collar office workers, fled their workplaces by car and on foot, the streets became impassable. Improvised barriers were erected around buildings that were still shedding deadly shards of glass or on the brink of collapse. Public transportation shut down, and a stream of people emerged from underground metro entrances. Millions took to the streets. While the storefronts remained closed, street vendors sold Popsicles and tacos without skipping a beat — it was surreal.

The desperation and panic in the immediate aftermath reached a climax when I came upon a five-story office building that had collapsed, one of about 50 in the city, with at least 10 people still inside. Hundreds, maybe a thousand, had already gathered and worked with their bare hands — in their suits and ties — to remove the rubble that buried their co-workers. Citizens swarmed and formed a human chain, moving the tremendous pile of ruin as fast as humanly possible. Police struggled to establish some order. Ambulances stood by. One man sat on the sidewalk, full of soot, staring blankly into the crowd, struggling to cope with what he’d just seen.

After five or six hours, when power came back on in Roma, I was finally able to reach my family and begin to check in with friends in the city. In the following days, the chaos continued as we all worked to rescue survivors, move donated supplies around the city and locate our loved ones. The response from the Mexican people has been overwhelming. The city was out of power for ten days and that was a huge struggle for everyone. We lived in a hotel away from the city for two weeks while the hard workers are repairing things. We have been safe. My girlfriend, my mother, her boyfriend all were with us. The best part of it all, was we have each other to care for.