One of my worst nightmares

To those who’ve never felt an earthquake, I’ll say this: it’s not cool.

Having grown up in the Midwest, I’m not accustomed to the ground moving — suddenly, on its own, seemingly for no reason. The two minor temblors (a word I hate but will use anyway for variety) I’ve felt while living in California literally shook me to the core. In each instance, once the initial jolt passed and I knew a truck had not slammed into the building, my heart began racing and I felt an instinctive urge to run outside, to GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!

Realizing the ground is sporadically unstable here has given me a minor anxiety. I can live with it, as all Californians do, but I sometimes feel it when I wake in the middle of the night. In the peaceful, still darkness I think, “There could be an earthquake while I sleep. The roof could collapse, splitting beams, boards, and drywall. The floor could collapse, shattering windows, severing water and gas lines, and everything above could pancake to the foundation. I could be sandwiched in the debris, dead or alive, when the dust settles.”

Tornadoes and severe storms are scary, too, but they can be tracked and anticipated; you hear the sirens, know when the rain and wind will pick up, and have an idea when the worst will pass. With earthquakes, though, comes the specter of uncertainty and surprise. You don’t know how bad the shaking will be or how long it will last. All you can do is ride it out and hope for the best.

Port-au-Prince got the worst. The quake there was, as everyone in the news has mentioned, an unfortunate event in an unfortunate place. The devastation seen in the Haitian capital is a sober reminder of the nightmarish possibilities in earthquake zones. My complete lack of disaster preparedness has made me sweat during my nighttime quake anxieties, and I’ve resolved to buy and store the necessary things just in case something happens. The Earth can move at any moment — when I’m sleeping, at work, or riding the bus — and knowing I have provisions for a few days would be vital. Of course, if these emergency rations are buried under the debris of my apartment, or I die, then I’m screwed.

My thoughts go out to the survivors in Haiti.