#42: Love Letter to My First Cali Quake
HUMOR
Dearest Earthquake,
I’ve dreamt of you since I was a little girl. When I discovered geology in third grade, I became enamored with rocks and faults, plates and tectonics. I daydreamed of what it would be like to meet you, study you, understand you. Nothing prepared me for what it would feel like to experience you, in the middle of the night, tucked into bed.
Be honest. Did I summon you by calling out your Californian wonder? When the bed began to rock, my eyes shot open, my breath bated. I couldn’t be sure you weren’t a dream. But Adam’s voice broke through the darkness, the brief silence before your aftershock, “Earthquake.”
For what it’s worth, I’ve loved you longer than I’ve even known him. Your geological marvels have captivated me years more than his baby blues. And there we were, in bed together at last. Like turbulence on what should have been solid ground. Where is the solace if the plane can’t land? What happens when there’s no armrest to white knuckle? How can butterflies compare to shifting the very Earth on which I stand?
When you arrived, I did not drop, cover, or hold on. You were too beautiful to think around, and also I forgot I was supposed to or maybe I never knew in the first place. I didn’t stand in the doorway or move from my bed. I just clutched my sheets close as you rumbled like a freight train through my living room, never stopping to see if I might like to get on. Does it hurt the way people cower from you? Or does it make you feel powerful, this force that can literally shake the Earth? That is the Earth herself?
I know you visited many souls that night, but I could feel our connection was special. I’d never fault or strike-slip shame you. You lingered, turning back as you left, your aftershock mingled with our first encounter. I didn’t know there were two of you. I just thought you were just greater than I’d imagined. I must admit, there was a moment I was afraid you’d never leave. Now I wish I could have you back, if only to tell you how much you mean to me.
New Delhi news says the Earth’s core may have stopped spinning. That solid iron center, beneath the molten outer core and this fragile mantel I inhabit, may have ceased. Let the outside spin on while the core takes stock, then begins to turn again — backward. Can I ask, and I hope I’m not prying, is this your attempt to make us rewind? To undo the hurt we’ve caused you? Or are you just bored, ready to shake things up?
Whatever your purpose, I’m not sure the message came through. The LA news just said: The quakes woke people up, but no one got hurt.
They don’t know the hurt my heart feels in your absence. You’ll always be special to me. They say there’s nothing like your first quake. And I don’t want to be too forward, but if you want to reflect or refract or practice your body wave, you can totally text me. I’ll always get on your wavelength. 😘
And now, a poem:
dearest Earthquake 4.2
eleven miles from Malibu
you stirred my sleep
and soiled my sheets,
my bed you rocked
with such a shock
at 2am I shook awake
glad you were my first big quake
thanks for not breaking my stuff
I would say you’re my sun and my moon and my stars, but you’re better. You’re my Earthquake, and you always will be. You have moved me to my core, the same way you moved all the crap on my bookshelves two inches to the left. Wherever you are, I hope you keep rumbling mighty and strong.
All my love,
Ariana
P.S. Adam would like the record to show that we are monogamous and will not be entertaining any more geological threesomes.
P.P.S. No matter what he says, I’ll always love you. Even though you were way scarier than I imagined. xx