Episode 6

I held a knife in my hand.  Nice quality, hard cool handle, straight sharp blade.  On a wooden cutting block in front of me was a tomato, already diced into uniform pieces.  The juice slowly spreading out from the center of the mass of chopped matter.  I held a half of an onion in my left hand, pinning the cut side to the block, a semi-sphere facing me.  It was skinned and ready to be cut.  I made an efficient slice through the onion, straight down the middle, another slice a third of the way down the right hand side and a third slice splitting the remaining piece on the right.  I rotated the onion 180 degrees and did two identical cuts on the other side.  I now had six stacks of even width ribbons of onion.

The room I was in was brightly painted, a soft yellow with white trim.  The cabinets were made of light pine coated with a clear finish topped with faux stone counter tops, dark grey with flecks of gold.  The floor was was a slightly darker material than the pine, a different pattern, not wood grain but something else.  Probably bamboo.  The windows were lined with white lace.  Brushed metal appliances completed the modern, and expensive look.

I removed a twelve inch cast iron skillet from a hanging rack and put it on the stove surface and turned the gas on medium.  A dab of oil from the conveniently placed bottle and with a few minutes to let the skilled heat I would be ready to cook.

I grabbed a pepper next.  An orange bell pepper.  My hands moved quickly, confidently.  First, with a circular cut I removed the stem, and the seeds.  Next, cut the pepper in half and then removed the membranes and finally I cut into into strips like then onion and then the strips in to pieces. I checked the skillet, the oil was bubbling.  I picked up the chopping block and slid the onion and pepper into the skillet. The hissing sizzle of the moist vegetables, the immediate release of the smell of cooking food, the steam of water driven out. I grabbed a wooden spoon and began stirring the food.

Back to the counter I pulled three eggs from a carton and a bowl and a cup from the shelf above. I cracked the first egg, split the shell in half and then separated the yolk from the white over the cup by pouring the egg from one side of the shell to the other letting the white slip into the cup below. I dropped the yolk into the bowl and then threw the shell into a bin beneath the sink. I repeated the process with the second egg and then put the entire third egg into the bowl with the two yolks. I grabbed a fork from the drawer below the counter and whisked the contents of the bowl into a frothy mixture. I picked up the bowl and turned to the stove. I turned the peppers and onions with the wooden spoon, they need another minute before I added the eggs.

I set the bowl down and looked out the window. It was sunny outside. The window overlooked a steep hill a small yard and a rough cut wooden fence and many houses down below. There were lots of trees, mostly pine, and small ornamental bushes and other signs of intensive landscaping. There was a haze in the air, thin smoke coming out of the chimneys of some of the houses. At the base of the hill another hill rose up rolling to a peak, covered with houses from top to bottom, with the top of another hill showing behind.

The houses all seemed too large for their lots, big houses all crammed together, no room to move or breath. They mostly had shallow pitched roofs, some even flat topped, tar paper topped with white crushed rock or clay tiles on top. The colors were uniform. No bright bold primary colors. No Pastel. Mostly just plain grey houses with plain tar paper roofs. There was the occasional tan or beige house, but they seemed to be the exception. With so many colors to chose from why did the people of this city limit themselves to such a tiny pallet. There could be bright blues and reds, yellows and greens, instead of this drab uniformity.

I heard a boom and then a rumble. It sounds like a large train moving down a track at high speeds. A deep full body rumbling that I could feel in my chest. The hillsides in front of me seemed to warp, to change shape in a way that didn’t seem possible. Suddenly the ground lurched downward, it felt as if the floor was being pulled from under my feet. I grabbed the counter with my left hand to retain balance. The floor was now bouncing up and down in a choppy wave motion I heard the bowl of eggs clattering on the stove behind me and something falling over in the next room, but was to rapt by the events unfolding in front of me to play much mind. The trees were vibrating and the houses seemed to jump. A dust was starting to rise from the hill. As suddenly as it start, it stopped. How long had it lasted? A few seconds?

I turned around. Damage appeared to be minimal. A few drawers had slid themselves open, some small items had fallen over. My adrenaline was pumping, I was at full alert, but I also had a vague unsettled feeling. A vague recollection about the nature of earthquakes. Was it really over? I strained to recall the undoubtedly relevant information.

The sharp sideways push broke the spell. Of course. The energy of an earthquake comes in two fazes, the second being much stronger than the first. I should have moved as soon as I felt the first shock. The motion was increasing and remaining on my feet became increasingly difficult. The hot pan slid off the burner crashing into my shin. I yelled out in pain. The cupboards were throwing their doors open and ejection their contents. Crashing all around me. Dishes and cups and canned food and spices and pots. I dropped to my knees and covered my head and neck while trying to slide into the space under the counter. I head a groan, a crack, a crash. Something that should be too big to move was starting to slide. A splintering snap. The room was starting to tilt as the side to side motion of the ground continued to increase. There was a tremendous boom as the sliding motion became a crashing tumble.