SHAKE, RATTLE AND DIVE

I hold on to the chair back as the floor starts to move. The sheer drapes over the terrace door slide to the side. Behind the sofa a glass lamp falls on the floor and shatters. An ear splitting siren warns me not to take the elevator. The sign on the door advises, ‘Use the stairs in emergency’. I hesitate long enough to open the room’s safe, take out the two good pieces of jewelry and my cash, toss them in my purse, open, close, lock the door and walk hastily towards the stairs, remembering the 6 doors I counted when I was given my room. A young couple are holding hands at the elevator. The guy pushes the down button time and again, angry because it is so slow.

Of the 20 or 30 people in my wing of the Atlantis only ten are in the hall. Nobody gives a damn about the foolish young couple until I do. ‘Didn’t you feel anything? Follow us. We’re all walking down.’ A light goes on in his woozy brains. He walks fast, steps in front of me, holds the stairwell door open for our group and falls in last.

The sound of hurried feet clanking on metal steps echoes from the ground up. If the circumstances were different, I might have thought it musical. There is no panic. I, for one, hold the railing tightly, just in case. The ‘in case’ happens. A strong tremor shakes the building. A crack zigzags down the windowless wall as far as I can see. Our overhead lights remain steady but our pace slows. As we reach a landing, we see a large red eight on the door. Two strong voices reverberate from below. ‘Pick her up. You men can carry her a few flights. Move, move now!’ We keep going.

I think I hear sirens but the noisy, frightened guests, one of which I am not ashamed to say I am, talk, yell, cry too loudly. The heavy metal door at ground level is held open. Sunshine streams in. A fire hydrant to the right has torn open and has flooded the street. Traffic moves slowly thru it. Where are all the shoppers? Where are the fire engines, the ambulances, ladders climbing 18 stories skyward? What do I do now? Where should I go? Questions with no answers swirl, make me more nervous. Everyone who comes out of the Atlantis door looks as bewildered as I feel. The young couple who I convinced to use the stairs, gives me a dirty look. I blink and they evaporate.

Down the street groups are sitting around the Algonquin fountain, chatting, sipping cocktails. My toes begin to quiver. I feel the earth move a little. Traffic pulls to the right to let a creepy ambulance pass. Children have taken off their clothes and are romping in the still strong flow from the broken hydrant. Closer to them, the cold of the water slogs into my shoes, strikes me like an electric eel protecting its cave.

The Algonquin snobs run for cover as gun fire strafes their tables. I can’t stand the thunderous noise, kick at nothing and yell at the top of my lungs, ‘Get away. Get off of me!’ With inhuman strength I push them off. My satin comforter falls on the floor. I fall on top of it. Something smells bad. It is my own sweaty body.

The T.V. remote is still where I left it when my eyes began to droop last nite. It was eleven and I had had a busy, unproductive day. As I push the clicker to ‘off’ the room moves. My feet tingle. ‘Earthquake,’I scream and dive under my bed.