I was standing on a bridge just staring at the column of smoke rising from the mountain. There were only about a dozen people there with me. The rest of the world had opted to ignore the warning sign and go about their business. I wondered if I should be evacuating instead of waiting for something, or nothing. Then the volcano had exploded, not as violently as we had expected, but a large chunk of it had flown off the top and showered down in a million pieces. Cries of "O my God!" and "Jesus Christ!" erupted from the group around me. Everyone left the bridge hurriedly except for a man in a dark blue business suit and a trench coat who just stood at the rail, eyes closed, shaking his head.
A rolling panic started through out the community. It took almost half the day before the streets completely emptied. As I made my way home through the empty cobblestone streets, I noticed an assembly of cheerful townsfolk entering and exiting one particular house. I passed a threesome of amiable patio conversationalists and made my way to the rear of the house. Here, where the sea touched the shore, was a small army of people, preparing to survive by floating on air mattresses. At least three-dozen mattresses were spread out in the backyard and several people lay upon them waiting for the water and lava to arrive. There was no panic here, just organized chatter.
Safety orange colored rubber sheets covered many as they waited patiently on their floats. Some seemed to be sleeping, others read paperbacks. It reminded me of a passenger terminal at an airport where everyone sits around impatiently waiting. Someone had the bright idea of filling the sea with mattresses to approximate the timing of the lava flow and surge of water. Three mattresses out someone yelled 'Three' above the din. 'Three' was bantered around so everyone could hear it. I never heard the count of two. All I heard was "Here it comes!"
I stepped off the back porch to get a better look. Tall hedges and overgrown trees only gave me a partial view of the sea out of the corner of the yard. The bright red and black lava seemed to float upon the sea like a life raft. The head of the flow was over a foot thick, maybe two. A surge of water hit the shore and a large dollop of salty lava flew towards the porch and landed where I had just been standing. Flames leaped up immediately. An air mattress and safety sheet exploded and caught fire but was quickly quenched by the surging water, but not before the poor soul had been melded to the plastic like a butterfly trapped for eternity in its cocoon. Small fires instantaneously appeared everywhere around the yard. The order deteriorated. Chaos was now the order of the day. People ran to and fro trying not to get hit by the particles of lava being flung by the force of each wave. A young man dissolved in front of me as he was caught by sea spray mixed with the red-hot pellets of molten rock. I ran for the door to get back on the street. A fire burst forth directly under my feet as I crossed the threshold of the door. I felt the singe of heat, but hoped I had made it over fast enough to do no damage. I realized I was barefoot.
The building would only serve as a very temporary barrier to the lava flow, I knew. As I ran out of the house with the warm, foamy water sloshing around my ankles, a man behind me was also headed for the front door carrying a kitchen's butcher knife. He wore a dirty, dark, gray sweatshirt jacket with the hood covering his head and half of his face. He muttered under his breath about the coming of the end and the worthy and the undeserved. His mind must have snapped from the pressure. I secretly hoped the lava would catch him quickly.
I ran up the street noting the coming dusk. The darkness of the hour made all the buildings look a single gray color. Next to the steps of the courthouse I turned and hit the buzzer on the door of a tall old building to get let in. A deep gruff Irish accent grunted at me as he came out that said, "There's nobody there."
I wasn't going to trust a stranger with the whereabouts of my mother so I dashed inside and sprang up the steps. Nearly choking from the inability to breathe, I clanged open the door for the 27th floor. The hallway was empty. It seemed the darkened day had made it inside as well. The same gray from outside muted every color. I ran towards our apartment. I yelled out, "Mom!" several times.
After nearly breaking my fingers trying to unlock the door, I burst into my apartment calling out again. She was looking out the window at the smoking volcano.
"Mom, we should get out of here," I said. "The building is sure to catch fire."
"Where will we go, " she said, her gaze not moving.
"It doesn't matter," I said, "as long as it's away from all of this."
Knowing she would want a destination before moving I said, "At least to the other side of the bay."
My mother was a small, petite, perfectly coiffed gray-haired lady that looked older than time. Stretched across her high cheekbones was porcelain paper-thin skin that wrinkled when she smiled or frowned. Deep furrows on her forehead and the etched crows feet around her eyes only served to make her more beautiful. I grabbed our emergency bags and gently took her arm and pulled her away from the window.
We were on a bridge across the bay watching the small town ever so slowly being engulfed by the volcano. The day was bright, blue, and clear. A long yellow ribbon trailed off my mother's hat in the ocean breeze as she stood at the rail, watching the scene. I was on one knee, latching the Velcro of my boots. I stood up next to her and put my arm around her and kissed her ridged forehead. She told me to come back safe. I picked up the fireproof jacket that matched the bulky pants I was wearing and headed for the truck. The trip to the docks was within walking distance but if I came back with injured I wanted a quick way to get them to a hospital.
I felt heroic the whole next day. I may have even did some heroic things.
A rolling panic started through out the community. It took almost half the day before the streets completely emptied. As I made my way home through the empty cobblestone streets, I noticed an assembly of cheerful townsfolk entering and exiting one particular house. I passed a threesome of amiable patio conversationalists and made my way to the rear of the house. Here, where the sea touched the shore, was a small army of people, preparing to survive by floating on air mattresses. At least three-dozen mattresses were spread out in the backyard and several people lay upon them waiting for the water and lava to arrive. There was no panic here, just organized chatter.
Safety orange colored rubber sheets covered many as they waited patiently on their floats. Some seemed to be sleeping, others read paperbacks. It reminded me of a passenger terminal at an airport where everyone sits around impatiently waiting. Someone had the bright idea of filling the sea with mattresses to approximate the timing of the lava flow and surge of water. Three mattresses out someone yelled 'Three' above the din. 'Three' was bantered around so everyone could hear it. I never heard the count of two. All I heard was "Here it comes!"
I stepped off the back porch to get a better look. Tall hedges and overgrown trees only gave me a partial view of the sea out of the corner of the yard. The bright red and black lava seemed to float upon the sea like a life raft. The head of the flow was over a foot thick, maybe two. A surge of water hit the shore and a large dollop of salty lava flew towards the porch and landed where I had just been standing. Flames leaped up immediately. An air mattress and safety sheet exploded and caught fire but was quickly quenched by the surging water, but not before the poor soul had been melded to the plastic like a butterfly trapped for eternity in its cocoon. Small fires instantaneously appeared everywhere around the yard. The order deteriorated. Chaos was now the order of the day. People ran to and fro trying not to get hit by the particles of lava being flung by the force of each wave. A young man dissolved in front of me as he was caught by sea spray mixed with the red-hot pellets of molten rock. I ran for the door to get back on the street. A fire burst forth directly under my feet as I crossed the threshold of the door. I felt the singe of heat, but hoped I had made it over fast enough to do no damage. I realized I was barefoot.
The building would only serve as a very temporary barrier to the lava flow, I knew. As I ran out of the house with the warm, foamy water sloshing around my ankles, a man behind me was also headed for the front door carrying a kitchen's butcher knife. He wore a dirty, dark, gray sweatshirt jacket with the hood covering his head and half of his face. He muttered under his breath about the coming of the end and the worthy and the undeserved. His mind must have snapped from the pressure. I secretly hoped the lava would catch him quickly.
I ran up the street noting the coming dusk. The darkness of the hour made all the buildings look a single gray color. Next to the steps of the courthouse I turned and hit the buzzer on the door of a tall old building to get let in. A deep gruff Irish accent grunted at me as he came out that said, "There's nobody there."
I wasn't going to trust a stranger with the whereabouts of my mother so I dashed inside and sprang up the steps. Nearly choking from the inability to breathe, I clanged open the door for the 27th floor. The hallway was empty. It seemed the darkened day had made it inside as well. The same gray from outside muted every color. I ran towards our apartment. I yelled out, "Mom!" several times.
After nearly breaking my fingers trying to unlock the door, I burst into my apartment calling out again. She was looking out the window at the smoking volcano.
"Mom, we should get out of here," I said. "The building is sure to catch fire."
"Where will we go, " she said, her gaze not moving.
"It doesn't matter," I said, "as long as it's away from all of this."
Knowing she would want a destination before moving I said, "At least to the other side of the bay."
My mother was a small, petite, perfectly coiffed gray-haired lady that looked older than time. Stretched across her high cheekbones was porcelain paper-thin skin that wrinkled when she smiled or frowned. Deep furrows on her forehead and the etched crows feet around her eyes only served to make her more beautiful. I grabbed our emergency bags and gently took her arm and pulled her away from the window.
We were on a bridge across the bay watching the small town ever so slowly being engulfed by the volcano. The day was bright, blue, and clear. A long yellow ribbon trailed off my mother's hat in the ocean breeze as she stood at the rail, watching the scene. I was on one knee, latching the Velcro of my boots. I stood up next to her and put my arm around her and kissed her ridged forehead. She told me to come back safe. I picked up the fireproof jacket that matched the bulky pants I was wearing and headed for the truck. The trip to the docks was within walking distance but if I came back with injured I wanted a quick way to get them to a hospital.
I felt heroic the whole next day. I may have even did some heroic things.
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