this day could be a film.
it rained. not heavily, but that annoying drizzly kind of rain that soaks you all the same (you know, lets you think you might get away without a coat...) but heavily enough to make me reconsider my plans.
the children slept, the rain fell, i thought let the day be; we stayed home. i was organised, for once, and decided to cook the evening's meal, setting it to reheat in time for tea. i surfed the net, boasting to friends online about what had i left to do other than to get drunk.
luckily i remained sober.
jola awoke, she ate. she came and sat on my knee while i continued surfing, waiting for her brother to wake. his gentle sleep on the couch behind me finished with a stir and a cry; jola and i went to comfort him. within minutes (was it hours?) our world changed again.
there was no warning sound that i heard. just a bang. and the sound of the house rising up and dropping down again. and the children screaming. and me screaming. and cupboards opening and their contents falling to the floor. of glass breaking. in slow motion (or real time?) i looked round the room while i saw books pour from the bookshelf onto the seat where i had been sitting. a picture fell from the wall. a mask leapt to the floor. and something happened behind me that made me act, throwing my children to the floor, sheltering them with my body.
we, three, in the middle of the room in a blind panic. my son chanting -veux dormir, my daughter's face wet with tears despite me trying to calm her with my breast. typing 'frightened' doesn't even contain enough heartbeats to really encapsulate its significance.
we, three, in the middle of the room unsure of where or what or how. i saw the floor littered with broken things, knowing we wore no shoes in the house but unsure of the solution.
i held them tight.
it seems, before the earth had finished its prehistoric dance, my phone was ringing beneath the clutter and debris on the floor. papa pascal.
we cried into the phone, come home. the earth continued to shake; the children screaming, i had no idea what he was saying, but i asked him the impossible -i need to know where it was!
this shake was so violent, so intense, that it had to be closer than darfield. was it under my house? was it at sea? we had no way of knowing. we just had to carry on living for that moment.
it seems, before the earth had finished its new boogy, (the fandango chachacha?) i heard the noise of the gate opening. papa? already?
we, three, holding each other tightly, the phone clenched in my fist, turned to see our beautiful friend and her son shine the brightest ray of hope my life has ever witnessed. she opened our door and came in, hugging us, reassuring us that in fact, everything was going to be ok.
we went outside and while the earth continued to shake it didn't seem so threatening outside. the boys, happy to see each other, immediately went about the pressing business of play and when i heard my neighbour's door slam shut i went to see if they were ok. on the footpath we met, talking small while sweating large. i turned and again witnessed the surreality of slow motion as the road in front of me swelled, rose up, and exploded, sending a filthy brown fluid flooding towards my home.
i turned and ran.
my beautiful friend met me half way -there's water coming up quickly in your back garden; grab some stuff, we gotta go!
at the same moment (was it?) her very capable husband arrived. he put the two small boys safely in his van, where they carried on playing oblivious to their peril. with dirty brown liquid flooding towards my house from two directions i ran with a panic a blind man would be proud of.
in our two years of living in this home, (my first) i'd two trial evacuations. both with a little humour and no real threat, but evacuations all the same. they meant shit.
from our garage i grabbed what i could find, amongst the turmoil and rising floodwaters, of our preparedness kit. i puzzled myself with the dilemma of noshoesinthehouse while trying to get the things we needed to go quickly- passports, hard-drive, nappies, the dinner i'd cooked, some toys. all piled into a washing basket.
i scribbled a note to leave on the door -gone to t&l. i replaced it with another, -watch for broken glass. i couldn't open the door. the house had moved and the front door wouldn't open. with force (my beautiful friend's husband has both good timing and considerable force) the door opened, but wouldn't shut again properly.
my poor brain couldn't really cope.
we drove, slowly, to my friends' home to see what would happen next.
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