Wednesday, November 29, 2017

T

he balcony lurched. Clumps of cement and tiles crumbled from the edge and descended. The wardrobe only added weight to the crumbling structure.

Loneliness was never my forte. If I fell through the cracks and submerged to my death, the planet would be just one person lonelier than before. I would never see my parents again. Never see my teachers, or my friends. I would never know if any of them endured the wave.

If I died, would anyone mourn me? Who was alive to care if I did die?

I looked for a reason for existence to keep me. What have I to give back in exchange for survival?

Friendship?

I was a good friend. My friendships bridged over many isolations.

Before the tsunami happened, I could be seen together with at least one person all twenty-four hours of the day. I normally fell asleep while Skyping multiple friends. And on the odd occasion that I passed through an empty street without a friend, relative or lover to stroll beside me, you could always bet I had a phone in my hand.

The world is smaller thanks to the Internet, and I never saw beauty in solitude away from my phone or computer. I have friends from Japan who cannot sleep without their laptops lying next to them, warm and purring under their armpits.

There was a dry crack of thunder in the black clouds once I thought of all this, and I suddenly realized the bulge of my back shorts pocket over my tight, left buttock.

I only noticed my phone underneath me at this very instant, and so my first rising thought was—

Grab it!

I grunted and the pain kicked in like a shock collar around my stomach. I lifted at my abs and my muscles spasmed while my brain's circuitry coughed into madness. In my attempt, I swung up too quickly, and the teeth of the dismembered wood bit into my lower belly. I twisted nonetheless, enforced a wild thrust of willpower as I slid one hand under my left buttock (the bones inside my hand shook under the compression of the wardrobe's weight) and then, feeling for the slick iPhone, I pinched two fingers around the metallic edge, like chopsticks on a single grain of rice. A cramp surged through my elbow and wrist, but I slid the damn phone out from under me.

Okay, good. I pulled my phone to my face, and suspended like a monkey over the edge. My hands sweat and I feared the slick device would slip right out my fingers. Teeth chattering from the cold wind, I clicked the power button and the screen illuminated in front of me. "It's on!" I said aloud. Adrenaline pumped through the bulge in my forehead. "Come on," I said, racing my finger to swipe open the lock screen. I dialed my password: J-A-C-K—and Walla! The home screen zoomed into view. The tears swelled in my eyes and dropped to my forehead. "I'm saved," I told myself. "I'm going to get out of here, and everything's going to be okay. . ."

I dialed 9-1-1. And then the phone hiccupped and failed, returning me to the home screen. No, I thought, try again, I encouraged myself, my hope breaking every second. I dialed 9-1-1 again and whispered the words, "Please save me. Bring a helicopter, bring a boat, bring anything. Get me out of here. HELP ME, PLEASE. Please-- oh god, what did I do to deserve this?"

The call dropped and went to home screen. I cursed and screamed as loudly as I could. My stomach bled and the wardrobe sunk deeper into me but I didn't care, because the only horrifying thing in this entire world at this moment was the tiny right-hand corner of my phone where the data icon was supposed to say LTE... but instead jeered with malice... No Service, You're gonna die you spoiled little girl. You're gonna die, you're gonna die, you're gonna die, just like Jack and your mom and your little old daddy, too.

I screamed and cried and moaned and the wardrobe pulled my intestines into its broken drawers with its crocodile jaw. "HELP ME!" My voice echoed shortly over the wind and the crashing ocean. The debris below was louder than my screams, covering my noise with the sound of metal junk and cemented street lamps dragging across the concrete sidewalks beneath ten feet of extended Pacific Ocean. "God!" I cried out, because God was the only one left to hear me.

(But he wasn't there. Why he let this happen?)

"Please, help me! Please?" My words died off, and the dry thunder whipped and cackled over the sky. The clouds darkened the morning light, and a faint dirty brown hue filtered the scene to mirror the beginning of the Wizard of Oz.

My life was coming to an end, wasn't it?

"Did I do something wrong?" I said, when suddenly the balcony jolted and my adrenaline punched. I held onto the wardrobe with all my might, scraping my nails across the chipping wood as it slid further into me. I slid onto half my buttocks and then onto only my hamstrings as the entire balcony dipped down at a forty-five. This was no roller coaster to be on-- I was going to lose it all and it was a damn funny game the universe played on me. The last to go. Make me suffer by watching my whole world drown before me, and then milk my death like torture. Just do it!

Then I heard a noise, like a ruffling stampede-- Was it the water beneath me? I listened some more, and could hear the loud sound of something like animals somewhere off in the distance, somewhere above my body, somewhere. . . behind the wardrobe. . .

It wasn't the water, no, it wasn't the crackling storm brewing up above, no, and it wasn't my stomach slowly snapping in half. . .

No—It was—It was—It was--

feet. . .

Five boys to be exact.

My hope rushed back into me so quickly, that in my immature happiness—something even worse happened. . . My phone that could have saved us all, regained its satellite connection, but only for a second, because it slipped right through my fingers.

And landed below into theblackness, dying under the surface.