Bryant
Godfrey
English
1010
Professor
Scott White
24
September 2012
8.8
Three minutes. My entire being awakens
to violent shaking. My body tosses to and fro, like a small rescue boat trying
desperately to make it across the Atlantic Ocean. Child sized, the aluminum
bunk bed begins moving to the center of the room. The cold, metal window grate
I hopelessly cling to, praying the movement will stop. Three minutes is all it
takes to profoundly change my life forever.
We walked through the unpaved, dusty
streets. Doors slammed coldly in our faces. It had been, in every way, a normal
day in the life of a Latter-Day-Saint missionary. The large, uncluttered sky
was becoming dark as my companion and I staggered the last few steps to our
apartment. The door to the cast iron gate, which surrounds the abode, squeaks
out a scream as the key hits the lock. Our feet are sore. The once neatly
polished black shoes are now hidden under a thick layer of tan, colored dirt. I
think to myself, “I have never been more tired in my entire life.” Somehow,
even with the exhaustion, I cannot help but notice the large smile enveloping
my newly colored face. I love Chile, no matter how tired I am.
The best part of the day had now
arrived, sleep. With a bit of effort, I haul myself onto the top bunk of the
bed. With the gray wool blanket snuggled tightly against me, it doesn’t take long
to drift off to sleep and begin dreaming.
A sound, deep and profound, begins to slowly
enter my ears. The volume of the noise increases until it reaches a beastly
roar. I am jolted awake. The entire house and everything in it, has begun to
quake and tremble. Having had no previous experience with an earthquake, my
first instinct does not surprise me. Get out NOW. As if in slow motion, I leap
from my perch on the bed and hit the tiled floor. Someone has managed to, in
the darkness, find the keys and open the front door. In a matter of seconds all
four of us are outside, taking it in, watching, hearing, feeling the sixth largest
earthquake ever recorded.
Three minutes was all it took for the
8.8 magnitude quake to decimate the small town of Hualqui. It is 3:34 A.M and
it is into the darkness we intend to venture, however we need supplies. Upon
re-entering, it appears the house has vomited. Books, pamphlets, and shattered
glass make up a haunting mosaic on the tiled floor. We quickly put on jackets,
pants, and shoes. I snatch my black Nike backpack from the bedpost, toss my
Black Diamond headlamp awkwardly upon my head, and we are off.
It isn’t until outside again that the
gravity of the recent events really hits me. Words like earthquake, injured, and
killed, all go sprinting through my head. I am informed by my companion, Elder Gary,
that we have a plan.
A bright, red sun is just beginning to
peak its head over the nearby mountains. The gray, eerie fog that crept in
overnight, now slowly wisps away into nothing. We have been hiking for about an hour,
twisting and winding, following the road to Chiguayante. The plan that my
companion spoke of is just this; get to Chiguayante and re-group with other
missionaries.
The distance we must go is six miles,
and I feel we have made impressive progress. The people we pass seem stunned,
even bewildered, not knowing what their course of action should be. Many of
their wrinkled, tan faces look down, no doubt comparing the cracked, tan earth
with their own faces. Being focused on the people and their faces, I hardly
notice the vehicle that has pulled up alongside our small quartet.
With some resemblance to its original
white, the rust covered Suzuki L40 squeaks to a halt next to us. “What is this
thing? My four-wheeler has bigger tires than that!’ I think to myself.
The van is miniscule, probably intended
to seat a maximum of three passengers. I am astounded when the passenger side
window rolls down, and I see at least seven people squished into every crack
and crevice the van offers.
“Do you need a ride to Chiguayante?” pipes
a woman with a large mole on her cheek.
“Um, yes, we actually do.” I reply,
already nervous of my decision.
It takes a moment for the four of us
to heap ourselves into the already overloaded van, but somehow we fit. The van
reeks of sweat and has trash filling the remaining crevices we somehow manage
not to fill. Formalities are exchanged between us and our band of rescuers. I
give my name, where I am from, and how long I have been in the country;
surprised they can understand my broken Spanish.
After what seems like an eternity,
trapped inside our sardine-can size prison, we reach our destination. One by
one we slide out of the van, grateful to be out of the putrid situation.
Turning my head slightly to the right, I see a comforting, secure sight, the
church. Massive white walls, and a forest green tin roof make up the exterior
of the building, however it is not what is outside I care about. Deep down
inside of myself, I know that inside that building await my comrades, just as
scared and unsure as I am. I know the hell the earthquake created is far from
over, but that I do not have to face it alone.
I look to my companion. He is not
there. I look back to the van. It is not there. It is in this moment I realize
where I really am. I am yanked back to the present. The tan micro-fiber couch
is comfortable and familiar, it is the first time I have felt it in two years;
I am finally home. I sit upon it, contemplating the events that shaped me over
the course of the last two years. Vivid and bright, the memories of the 8.8
come flooding back. A familiar grin begins to envelope my face once again. I
think to myself, “The earthquake was the most difficult thing I have ever been
through, how did I do it?” It is then that I realize it wasn’t my personal
strength or survival skills; it was the strength I found in numbers. When life
continues to up-heave and quake everything I know; I don’t have to face it alone.
I am prepared and ready for any subsequent 8.8 experience that life has to
offer.
I calmly tilt my head downward;
glancing at the metallic Fossil watch situated firmly on my wrist. The grin on
my face grows a little more as I realize something. I have been on the couch
for exactly three minutes. Three minutes
was all it took.
No comments:
Post a Comment