San Andreas Island

by Angela Costello

  “Lily? Are you ok?!” Nothing. I’m out of my mind. My heart’s racing, and this feels so unreal. Images flash through my head of her sweet smile as she held up her unicorn paintings, and then switch to a vision of her crying hard, her face scared and helpless, and images of her face motionless, mouth partly open, skin gray with dust. Tears roll down my cheeks, and I’m frantically pushing pushing my way through her room to get to her. Why isn’t she saying anything?! The smoky air is making me insane! I’m so disoriented it’s like I’m in another house and I have no idea where I’m going.

  I bend down to let my hands find her. I feel small pieces of glass, I don’t even care that they’re pricking my hands, I feel her cozy fleece blanket and my heart warms up. She’s ok. She has to be ok. But why can’t I hear her? All I can hear is the rumbling of our house, things crashing down off shelves, and the unsteadiness of my heart. I keep holding my breath.

  I let go of trying to focus my vision to find her, and let my hands feel the blanket and follow it as if it’s a trail towards Lily. Is this her version of breadcrumbs? If it is, it’s working. The floors are still rumbling underneath me. I can’t believe this quake is still going. It’s never lasted this long. I see a spotlight, and I imagine it’s coming from her holding a flashlight inside the blanket.

  “Lily!” I’m trying to pull the blanket aside, but she must have draped it over the chair and secured it with several books on the bottom, where it falls and meets the floor. She has created her own tent. How did she do all this? I move in closer and I can feel myself breathing again when I finally see her little feet. It looks like she’d done what we practiced, but she also pulled the chair in to create a tight and close space. I’m desperate to get to her. I pull the blanket aside, and see her sitting cross-legged, surrounded by every single pillow we’ve ever gotten her, and clutching Max the monkey with her ballerina music box in her lap.

  “Lily! Oh my God! Thank God!” I’m beside myself. My heart and stomach are doing somersaults and tears are rolling down my cheeks. The ground’s moving underneath us, unsteady, rolling at times, with quick jolts every so often. The sounds are unreal; as if we’re not even in our own home right now. This isn’t how our home feels, how it moves, how it smells. I crawl into her tent with her, and I hold her and pull her close to me. She finally moves, climbing up and facing me, wrapping her legs and arms around my waist like my little cub. She was a tiny baby the last time I held her like this.

  “This feels like a very bouncy car ride, doesn’t it?” I say to her. She bounces next to me.

  I gotta figure out what the hell to do now. Alright, I can either try to get us out of here or stay right here under this desk. The smoke still seems like it’s at a distance, so the house isn’t burning down; maybe it’s from down the street. If we move, something might fall on us and break our necks or flatten us like pancakes in two seconds. And they always say to stay underneath something sturdy. I’m taking the risk of keeping us right here.

  Lily’s looking up at me with wide eyes full of trust. This responsibility—being in charge of taking care of this little girl, this entire human—is something I’ve felt so differently about at various points in my life. This duty has made me feel overwhelmed, angry, freaked out, panicked, resentful, appreciative, motivated. But in this moment, as we sit in our Lily-made tent, holding onto each other as the world is crashing down outside and all around us, I am honored and know I’m exactly the person she needs to protect her and save her. She’s loved and safe and I know how to do both with her right here, right now. I can’t stop the ground from shaking, I can’t stop it from jolting, I can’t stop it from breaking and cracking underneath me, or keeping the walls from crashing down. But I can make sure that the invisible string between us is firm and strong and secure and something she knows will never be broken.

  Above the wailing sirens and people screaming outside, I hear the loudest bang from what seems like the kitchen. Did the whole thing fall down? The cabinets! No way! I can see it in my mind’s eye. All the dishes and glasses everywhere. I hear plates and glasses and Dylan’s liquor bottles jumping off the shelves and bouncing onto the tiles. I just know that all the liquor bottles, goblets, and wine glasses Dylan spent hours organizing are now on the ground in pieces.

  Lily’s clinging onto me. We breathe together as we hear the crashing continue. I tuck her head into my chest, making sure we’re both secure underneath her solid oak desk and that her neck is covered. “Let’s hug and snuggle for a little bit,” I tell her.

  Lily nuzzles into me and I can feel her little hands squeezing my waist as tightly as she can. I feel a sting of fear in my upper chest and in my throat. For a split second, I imagine the roof caving in and collapsing onto us, where we cannot move. “We’re going to be ok,” I say to her, trying to reassure myself as well. I have no clue if I’m lying to her or to myself. I think of my exit strategy if that were to happen. I would cover her body with mine, creating a secure bridge over her.

  She opens her ballerina music box. I breathe deeply and we start humming the melody as the pink ballerina twirls on her toes. Lily’s grip loosens, but she doesn’t unwrap her arms from around my waist. The shaking has stopped, but I know better than to think the quake is over. Now we just sit and wait for the aftershocks.

  We wait and wait and wait, and there’s still no aftershock. I check my phone. I have 40% battery power, but wi-fi isn’t working. I’m nervous to even peek out of Lily’s self-made tent. I like it in here. It’s our retreat away from the scary world out there.

  I have no idea what I’m going to see when I move the blanket. I have no idea if I’ll be able to walk out of this room. Are we even alive right now? Is this another nightmare? Did we survive this? I’ve been through earthquakes since I was Lily’s age, but those were all fives or less on the Richter Scale. This has to be a seven, or maybe an eight? No one could survive an eight! Wasn’t the quake in Mexico City an eight, the one that killed hundreds of people?

  Another tremendous jolt hits us and it’s chilling. I thought we went through the worst of it already! But this aftershock is swinging us back and forth, and I can hardly hold onto Lily. Fire trucks and ambulances are wailing in the distance. I’m trying with all my might to keep my arms wrapped around her. I hear screams and crashes and bangs from all around the city.

  I swear this is a movie. I want to shut it off and switch it to Love Actually or any rom-com. My body is numb and tense and hot and cold all at once. I don’t want to die. I have so much more I need to do in this life. Lily needs to live her life. She can’t die. Please, she can’t die! I don’t know who I’m talking to in my mind: myself, God, the universe?

  The aftershock finally stops. I’m not moving. I know there’s another one coming. There has to be. These are too strong.

  Are my mom and brother alive? And Helen and Sarah? Are my patients ok? Am I at the epicenter, or are they getting it worse where they are? Are they feeling this at all? They have to be. This thing is crazier than anything I’ve ever gone through. I’m certain that if we ever get out of this alive, it’s going to look like a war zone outside my front door.

  The shaking starts again.

  I want to get out of this bunker, but I know we’re supposed to stay put under a secure surface. I need to get out of here. I need this thing to stop already. I can see past the blanket; the wall across from us has started leaning in. My heart is pounding so hard, I can hear it. I let Lily and me sink deeper into her desk, so we’re one with it and she’s completely hidden from this scary world. I try to think of anything I can that will get her mind to focus on something else.

  “Can you look at your PJs and tell me what’s on them?”

  “Ice cream cones and teddy bears.” She plays along as we brace ourselves for the next tremor. My palms are sweating so much, I swear they’re dripping.

  “Yummy, what kind of ice cream?” I ask her.

  “Chocolate, strawberry…” she continues as I look a
round to see what I can do if that wall comes down. Where can we run to? Or even worse, what if this desk gives out and can’t be our shield? I can’t think about that. It’s going to hold. It’s going to protect us.

  I realize I haven’t heard Dylan in a long time. How have I completely forgotten about him?

  “Dylan?” I shout so loudly, I startle Lily’s and she falls silent.

  Nothing. The shaking stops. Hopefully for the last time. Is he still in our room? Did he even hear me over the crashing sounds and the earth rumbling and car alarms going off outside? I don’t hear fire trucks or ambulances anymore. Is the city dead? Is Dylan dead? We’re on the brink of death, and my whole existence for the last seven years has been living for him and thinking about him and doing things according to him, and running things by him. “Dylan?” I yell again, desperate for my voice to pierce through the chaos inside and outside our home.

  Nothing.

  “Dylan!” I try again, and again and again. Nothing.

  Oh my God. I’m numb, even with that thought going through my mind. This man I fell in love with, shared a life with, how can I feel numb? How is that possible? I try again, though this time my volume doesn’t reach the level it had before.

  “Dylan?!”

  The earth starts moving underneath us again. Here we go. I hold Lily tightly. This aftershock is softer; it’s a slow rocking and bouncing, as if I’m sitting in a bouncy house and kids are jumping around me. Lily’s little hands are on my back. “How many teddy bears are on your PJs?” I ask Lily, praying she keeps playing along with my distraction game. It’s helping her as much as it’s helping me.

  “One, two, three, four…” She focuses on each one as she keeps counting. Thank God I bought the ones with tons of tiny teddy bears.

  The shaking stops. We both freeze, not trusting that it’s over. She looks up at me. I kiss her on the head.

  I look up. It’s as if someone drew a crooked line on the wall starting in the corner and ripped the wall apart, and I swear I can see into the bathroom. Oh my God, what if the ceiling comes down on us? My mind is calculating exits and escape routes blindingly fast, in ways I’ve never even thought about this house.

  If I could get us to the kitchen, that table over there wouldn’t be any better than this desk we’re under right now. The bathroom’s not an option. Maybe the closet, where’s it’s completely enclosed? But there’s zero protection in there. If we manage to climb out this bedroom window and actually make it out to the side yard, that trellis might as well be as useful as a bedsheet as far as protection.

  The most mind-blowing crash fills the entire house, followed by a series of booms. I can only see about two feet ahead of me. Everything is dark. Something must have landed on the roof and demolished the house. The entire structure seems to have caved in, and Lily’s room is now the size of this desk. All my muscles tighten. I am her shelter. I cover her with my entire body and my little cub is defenseless but for some possibly delusional reason, I feel she’s safe with me.

  “Mommy, I’m scared,” Lily’s trying to catch her breath as the cry emerges.

  “It’s ok, honey. It’s almost over.”

  Courage, strength, hope. Courage, strength, hope. It’s a loop running in my mind. I’m just watching those words scroll across a silent screen. Alright, I tell myself, when I can count for four straight minutes, I’ll try to get us out of here.

  Though the sounds of crashing, banging, car alarms, and screams continue around us, we settle back into our familiar zone. I hold her tightly with my left arm, and she takes my index finger and brings it up to her face. I trace her features ever so slowly. My fingertip outlines her hairline, goes across each of her eyebrows, along her eyelashes, down the bridge of her nose, and along her puffy cheeks, where I feel her smile. I trace the outline of her top lip and she puckers her lips and kisses my fingertip. Amidst this chaos, she’s pure love.

  Another aftershock comes. This one is strong. The jolts are not stopping. I can’t see the ceiling or the walls now. I can’t even see her bed. I want to get out of here, but I’m not risking it just yet. We need to stay in place. If the rest of the roof falls in, it will kill us for sure. It has to be, what, at least a couple of tons? A few hundred pounds? I’m terrible at this stuff. Can a solid oak desk survive that kind of impact?

  I’m completely powerless. The only exit route that’s an option is the one we’re in now: to sit here under Lily’s desk, and ride it out. My arms are cramping from squeezing her tight for so long, but I can’t loosen my grip. Tears mixed in dust sting my eyes, and my arms have goosebumps as I’m immersed in this responsibility. She can’t die. I can’t die. I find myself drifting into a deep sleep.

  ****

  “Hey!” a man’s voice screams. “Over here!”

  I wake up to jumbled sounds above me. It takes every ounce of energy I have to pry open my eyes. They’re stuck together with residue from tears and dust and gunk. Did this really happen? Was that just another one of my nightmares? I feel Lily still nuzzled into me in her self-made tent. It all feels so eerie. Did we survive this thing? I must have been passed out for several hours.

  The rescuing stranger lifts broken sections of the ceiling, or maybe it’s the wall, that’s have crashed down on us, and the tiny dark space brightens. By the grace of God, the solid oak desk broke the fall of the bedroom wall, which has split into pieces. I guess it was a smart purchase after all.

  I look down and see Lily’s in the same position I remember her in when the world came crashing down on us. She’s nestled into me, her ballerina music box is still open, and her pink ballerina is twirling to the same melody. I feel a little dizzy. My back and arms are sore from staying in this fixed position.

  The man standing above us persists and eventually removes all obstruction blocking the open air, trying to free us from our bunker. A slight breeze tingles my skin. There are distant screams, muffled chatter and sounds of people near and far.

  I’m disoriented, as if I’m on another planet. I’m starving; my body feels weak and like it’s been eating itself. I can hear my stomach growling.

  I need to get a grip on reality. I look at my right hand, spread my fingers, stretch out my palm and hear little cracks as my index finger, pinky, and thumb extend outward. I gasp when it hits me that Lily is totally still. Her mouth is partly open and it looks like she’s not breathing. Panic visits me. I place my left hand on Lily’s little rib cage for any indication of breathing. Relief washes over me when I see my hand rise and fall with the subtle movements of her back. My eyes find hers, which are still closed, but I can see she’s in REM sleep as her eyes are darting back and forth underneath her eyelids. The sun’s spotlight is shining down onto her. She looks so peaceful, and there’s a glow on her cheeks. Her eyelashes look like miniature fans. Looking at this face, one would never know the nightmare we’ve been through. The man who’s here to rescue us is still standing overhead. He stretches his arm out.

  “Lady, grab my hand!”

  I’m frozen, in complete denial about what’s happening. We make eye contact, which soothes me, as I convince myself that this must be a sign that at least he must think my face looks like I’m not yet ready to be buried.

  I reach for his hand, but I can’t move. My legs and butt are completely stiff and cramping from being in the same position for hours on end. But that’s not why I’m stuck. My 40-pound angel is glued to my sweat-soaked body. I bring my hand back down.

  “Lily, honey! Wake up, please!” I shout and peel her away from me, touching her face and begging her to open her eyes. I know she’s alive, but—I just need to know she’s alive.

  I pat her back, and yell even louder this time, “Lily, c’mon! Wake up!”

  She hums and flutters her eyes. Her neck muscles pop as she stretches, wiggles and unglues herself from me. “Mommy?” She says softly.

  “Oh, thank God!” I exhale and squeeze her in a tight hug. My little angel. Her
music box closes and the sounds above us leak into our space.

  “Lady! C’mon! Fucking grab my hand!” It sounds like he’s not only losing his voice, but also his patience with me. Wow, how long have I been in La-La Land, and making this guy wait to save our lives? The reality that I can finally get the heck out of here hits me. He’s somehow managed to get his upper body far enough into our little bunker. It seems like someone is behind him holding his legs so he doesn’t fall in. I imagine this is what those guys Sarah hooks up with look like—broad shoulders, strong hands. I feel about twenty years younger in his arms, and he lifts Lily and me in one fell swoop.

  “You ladies are real lucky, ya know that? Fuck, we’ve been here for hours. Someone heard the sounds of that little music box coming from under there. We thought there were no survivors in this house.” He gets to his feet, still holding on to us. He looks less annoyed than he sounds. Maybe he just has a deep voice.

  He helps us both stand up. “You ready to see somethin’ you won’t believe?”

  I was right. There was another guy holding his legs so he could reach us, under the collapsed roof that had trapped us. My vulnerability returns when I see and hear a small crowd of people cheering.

  “It’s pretty fuckin’ magical,” he adds. If it were any other day, I would’ve given the guy a disapproving mom look and told him to watch his language around my kid. But today, I’ll keep the stick out of my ass for once. I hear distant screams, muffled chatter and sounds of people near and far.

  “Magical?” Lily asks. That’s all she needs to get her adrenaline boost. She stands up. Her lashes flutter and her brown eyes scan her surroundings.

  “Mommy! It is magic!”

  I feel the blood drain from my face as I get up. “I really need to get us food,” I say to the guy.

  “Alright, lady. I’m sorry but you’re on your own from here,” he says and climbs down the side of the rubble pile that was once our home. He’s off with some other people to continue their rescue mission.