Monday, September 03, 2007

The sound of waves

Lauren and I are sitting at the dining room table when there's an earthquake, I run to the archway between kitchen and dining room, a pillow over my head. Lauren stays in her chair, with her own pillow over her head. It lasts a long time and when it's done, the building is leaning in one direction but nothing seems terrible. The cats come running in, Lauren says pet the cats and I'm petting them -- a bright red calico one and one that’s so yellow it's almost fluorescent green, the art history textbook I was studying before is still on the table, but I'm thinking about whether it will be difficult to get down -- what floor are we on? That's right -- second floor, 224 East, and when I wake up I realize we were at the Sea Colony, the Delaware beach condo our parents bought when we were kids but we only went there for two weeks leading up to Labor Day and maybe Memorial Day weekend, the rest of the time it was rented out. I realize today’s Labor Day, but 224 East is Florence's apartment, the Sea Colony was 401. I don't think it would do too well in an earthquake, not a likely phenomenon in Delaware I don't imagine -- a hurricane would be the tragedy, but suddenly I'm missing that childhood balcony over the cement boardwalk in front of the ocean, the sound of the waves.

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