Gentle
I think I felt my first earthquake.
And it was gentle.
Barely noticed.
Heads shoot up as the slight shake could’ve been anything. My monitor moves a little. It could’ve easily been someone walking by, or heavy machinery running on another floor.
Did you feel that? one coworker, a Bay-area native, asks.
Another Cali native agrees, saying they were both about to accuse the other of kicking their cubes.
I felt it. And I could still feel the gentle tremor in my mind for a few minutes afterward. Like butterflies. A soft, sick little shake. It could’ve been anything. It was barely there.
The Central San Joaquin Valley is not known for its earthquakes. If part of California does fall into the ocean, creating Arizona Bay, chances are I’ll have oceanfront property.
But there are a few quakes, and sometimes just the tremors felt from far-off quakes in more active locations.
It was cool. I imagine I wouldn’t feel the same about if I lived somewhere in serious danger.
Man, I’ll be the resident goober as I didn’t notice this at all. You’ve got to kick my monitor next time.
I thought you noticed. I said something briefly, and a couple of our coworkers talked about it for a while.
I’ve never thought seriously about earthquakes, but I suppose they bring with them a whole range of possible reactions from horror to elation. Or, in Heather’s case, apathy. Interesting on a philosophical level: what exactly do they DO to the human psyche?
We have a friend who doesn’t consider a quake real unless they’ve hit a certain magnitude. I don’t quite know what that magnitude is, but he does ridicule a magnitude 4. Finds them fun, in fact.
Your description of the earthquake sounds a great deal like the early movements of a child in utero. A “gentle tremor”. . .”like butterflies”, and when it’s gone you second-guess yourself that you even felt it. But fortunately for you that earthquake’s not going to develop into something full-blown in the next nine months