I will always remember the day they happened. Sometimes I have nightmares where I just relive them over and over again. The Quakes changed everything.
The New York City air was frigid, but the excitement of the parade kept me warm. The crowd was compacted behind metal bars to keep us a few yards away from the floats and performers as if they were voracious beasts in a zoo. Wesley, my boyfriend, kissed me on my cheek and it began to snow lightly. We were both students at NYU, the perfect couple. Wesley was the boy that every girl on campus wanted to have, but I wasn't as serious about him as he was about me. We decided to stay in the city for the Thanksgiving Day Parade before going back home for Winter Break. The balloons were monstrous and towered over apartment buildings and stores. The atmosphere felt like Christmas and smelled like cinnamon, but that was probably just my imagination. It was one of those few moments in life where you truly feel happy. Small children squealed with glee as Santa Claus made his way toward. His red sleigh lined with gold bells jingled as the large man playing Santa laughed heartily down the city street. The snow had begun to fall faster. I shivered and put my gloved hand in Wesley’s. He looked in my eyes and pulled my wool hat over my eyes as I giggled. Then, they started.
The ground shook with intense power. Children screamed. Wesley pulled my hand and started running, “Where are we going?” My eyes were wide as the tremors continued growing even more violent. He didn’t answer. Suddenly he stopped and I crashed into his back.
The ground was opening up.
At first it was just one huge crack about 10 feet wide. Floats fell into the ground and people did too. The Earth was swallowing the massive crowd and nobody knew what to do.
Children screamed.
The crack stemmed into even more, smaller splits like branches of a tree. They were still large enough for people to fall in. Wesley looked behind him and I followed the path of his blue eyes. Santa’s Sleigh had splintered in half from the force of the Earthquake and had descended into the pit opening beneath us. Wesley staggered in disbelief. One small step. He accidently stepped too close to an opening. He stumbled. Lost his balance. He was falling. He had let go of my hand so that he didn’t bring me down with him. I could hear him screaming, “Cassidy!” all the way down the pit. The darkness. I screamed.
Children screamed.
Children were falling down the cracks too. Mothers jumped in after them. The parade balloons had been released into the grey sky. Floats were abandoned and broken. The color and excitement of the parade was fading and the terror and confusion was closing in on me. Previously kissing couples were now holding onto each other with all of their strength. The high school bands that were just marching uniformly to their music were now scattered chaotically trying not to be consumed by the gaping holes. I couldn't stop looking at the hysteria around me. I was mesmerized by the destruction. The city I called home was falling apart: buildings began to crack and crash. I shook myself out of my grotesque trance. All I could do was run. I ran.
I didn’t know where I was going. The ground still shook, but less frequently and less violent. I remember looking up at the sky and wiping tears and snow away from my cheeks. I was searching for planes or an answer or for aliens. I don’t know. All I knew is that I needed to be safe and New York City seemed to hold few options. After a few minutes I reached Broadway, I decided to take shelter the St. James Theater. I remembered seeing my first play there when I was little with my mother. I felt like it would be a nice place die.
The entire theater was deserted. The stage was still set with props from a play, but no actors remained. I sat in one of the red-velvet line cinema styled seats. I didn’t know if my parents were okay. I didn't know how bad any of this was, but intuition soured my stomach. I cried quietly into my knit gloves all through the night. The Quakes persisted.
The Quakes happened nearly two weeks ago. Finally they stopped sometime during the first night. They haven’t returned, but the damage they caused is unbearable. It seems as if the cracks in the Earth go on for miles. It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen anyone. Anyone. The once bustling streets are as desolate as the St. James Theater the first night. Luckily I’ve been able to find food in grocery stores, only canned food of course and the junk food that lasts for decades because of preservatives. I hate being alone. There’s not even radio or TV. I wasn’t in love with Wesley or anything, but I still miss him.
I decide to go to Central Park after two weeks staying within the general vicinity of the theater. Some skyscrapers fell during the chaos and collapsed into piles of dust. The ones still standing have their windows blown out. I look into the each building hoping to find some form of life. A cat, a dog? But there’s never anything. It’s just so eerie, the emptiness of a big city. I want to cover my eyes, but I can't help but look. There's something intriguing about destruction. It looks as if someone paused a videotape. Nothing changes. Bikes are chained to metal posts waiting for riders who will never come back. Stores are still stocked with products no one will ever buy. I walk down 34th street where Wesley and I watched the parade. There are no bodies. There are no signs of life, just wreckage.The once magnificent floats are still strewn across the street and the red and green confetti tries to make the whole scene more festive. It makes me sick.
Finally I reach Central Park. It seems like the snow is heavier here. My boots leave footprints throughout the park. Then I notice something odd. There are other footprints. Fresh tracks. I spin around almost slipping on the icy snow expecting to see someone behind me, but there’s no one. I continue walking, but I’m guarded. I know someone is here. My mind races with all the possibilities. It could be anyone. I figure with my luck I’m probably the only person left in the world along with a serial killer or something. A loud cough interrupts my thought. I turn to my left and see I’m behind a small shed-like dugout. It smells like there’s a fire burning inside. I tiptoe toward the dugout and from the side try to look inside as unnoticeably as I can. There’s an older boy hunched over a small handmade fire. His army green parka broadens his shoulders. He’s smoking and coughing in between drags. Without turning around he casually says, “Damn, I thought I was going to have to spend the apocalypse alone.”
