The purple haze lit up the sky like a Technicolor picture.  It was warmer than usual which gave the atmosphere an eerie quality.  In the distance I could see the fires burning, yet where I stood on the hill, it was silent.  I didn't know what I was feeling.  It seemed unreal somehow.   

Growing up in California, I had experienced earthquakes but they were always small. As a child I can remember enjoying the feeling of the shaking of my bed -- but this was different.  I was walking around in a daze as if I was going in and out of a dream that I was only partially able to wake from.  I walked home up the hill, feeling like my legs were wobbly and unstable. I did not know what I would find in our basement apartment on Bush Street.  It was dark, and I opened the shade to see the damage.   

There was not a dish out of place. The only evidence of the shake that had ravaged the buildings that lay below the hill was the water that had overflowed from our fish tank. If it had not been for the earthquake preparedness kit that my roommate had gotten for a Christmas present, we would not have access to the rest of the city and the news of the destruction that would leave others without a home for weeks and for some months.  I was working at the time in Union Square at an upscale department store doing commission sales.  I was grateful that I had not been there with all of the glass fixtures and windows. I could only guess that the damage had been substantial.  We didn't have power for days.  I had this feeling that, in spite of the fact that I had not personally suffered, I would still look at life in a different way. Others like my roommate remained undaunted by the experience.

The idea that I came so close to disaster but escaped without a scratch had a profound effect on me.  The worst thing that happened to me was that the bulk food my roommate and I just bought went bad after three days without power.  I had become so stuck in my routine that I had forgotten to absorb the world around me.  I had stopped questioning what it was doing or feeling.  I had gone along with my routine without giving my life a second thought.  Suddenly, life was so much more precious yet precarious. I started to question what it was that I was doing. I was flung out of my routine, and it felt strange and uneasy.  

Not having power was a strange phenomenon in itself.  The only source of news was the small transistor radio. I didn't receive the television version of the events of the earthquake until our power was restored three days later. The television gave a more sensationalized description of the earthquake and what they referred to as a “City on Fire.” The truth that was not reported was the devastation in the poorer neighborhoods that were literally destroyed due to poor construction. These stories didn’t even warrant a thirty-second spot on the camera.  

I felt guilt for not having been affected more substantially while hundreds of others were displaced from their homes and forced to take shelter in Red Cross Shelters, not to mention those that had lost their lives.  

I can still remember the sitting on the top of the hill on Fillmore and Pacific, looking down on the fires the night of the quake and seeing the fires burning.  I felt like it wasn't real.  The feeling is easy to remember but still hard to articulate. For days, even months afterwards, I kept waiting to wake up and find out that what had happened was just a bad dream. I was lucky I wasn't hurt and neither was anyone close to me. I knew dozens of people that had been displaced from their homes for months.  After the earthquake, I couldn't stop questioning everything.  I started to realize how important it was to live life as if each day was your last. I couldn’t honestly say I was doing what I wanted to do.  

I returned to work to experience a different level of ambivalence from the manager of the department store where I worked.  There was a mandatory meeting to discuss the damage and the preparation for the weeks to come.  To this day I remember her words because of the callousness that she displayed, her reaction being so different from my own.  She explained that the damage of the quake had caused some to lose everything and this was a great opportunity to assist them in the process of replacing their retail possessions.  In other words: Their loss would be our gain, and we could lead them through their time of need while padding our pockets. I watched in horror as this woman tried to explain how we could capitalize on the losses of others.  I looked around me to see if others were as shocked by her speech as I was. Her final words were, “Sell! Sell! Sell!” I gave my notice the next day.  I knew that I couldn't work for a company that was managed by a woman that was so far from my own moral code. It was a decision that I never regretted.

I won’t say that the experience changed me forever but for months afterwards I had a clear view of what was and is important. Life is fragile and we don't know what lies ahead of us, but if we stop for a moment through the routine of our own lives and listen to our hearts, the answer always lies somewhere inside.  It is a fact that we often forget how to hear.  It's only when our lives are disrupted from their routine that we are forced to remember the art of listening.

Author's Biography

Stacy Tatem is an artist and freelance writer living in Seattle, Washington.  

Stacy’s poetry has appeared in Poetry Motel and Fluid Ink Pressand. She has a short story featured in an upcoming anthology.

E-mail Stacey at tatem_stacy@yahoo.com

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