Sues - The Earth Shakes

The earth shakes. The fragile double storey timber house rocks on its stilts. The dining room table, which is more like a card table, wobbles on its spindly legs. The egg cup rattles on the plastic plate and the bread and butter soldiers fall off onto the tablecloth. Even the high chair, supposedly ergonomic and sturdy in design, slips and slides on the wooden floor.

And Billy is having a wonderful time. There he is in his high chair, whooping and yelling, throwing his little arms around in the air and beating his legs against the legs of the chair.

Mary is hanging onto the kitchen island with one hand. With the other she is trying to gather, into a little pile, the loose utensils and ingredient packets for the jam sponge she’s making. It’s pretty difficult with one hand and now the egg carton has just flown across the granite surface. She sighs with relief that Billy is OK and not scared as she’s not sure how she could negotiate the distance between the kitchen and the high chair. She relaxes a second and glances outside.

The view is unbelievable. The sky has turned jet black and has become a moving fury of rolling cloud, interspersed with wild zig zags of terrifying looking fork lightening. The clouds vibrate and echo with roars of thunder so loud that the room, the house and the earth shake. Branches, big and small, fly past the windows, trailed by a flurry of leaves, bits of twig and the odd birds nest. Next, Mary tries to imagine what is going on down in the street. She’s six floors up and suspended, or that’s what it feels like, off the ground.

Umbrellas are either, well and truly inside out or else have been furiously wrenched from their owner’s hands to join the debris of stuff flying around in the sky. Their frames all buckled and bent, their waterproof covers in shreds. Plastic dustbins are probably rolling around the pavements like a load of fallen ten pin bowling pins, lids are doing cartwheels along the gutters. Anyone with any sense is taking cover in the local cafe.

Wow. Mary’s white knuckles grip the granite tighter and she braces her feet against the cupboard door. A sheet of blinding white lightening coincides with such a loud rumble of thunder that she’s positive the house bends right over to the left. Billy yells with joy and he bashes the egg spoon on his tray like a set of bong bong drums.

Phew. It’s gone eerily quiet. Nothing flies past the rain sodden window. The sky lightens amazingly fast. Billy’s egg cup settles back onto the plate, his high chair stands so still, it’s as if it is never moved. The house is once more grounded on its foundations. Now the next drama starts. Billy is crying, not just softly and steadily but in bucket loads. A sea of tears cascade down his cheeks and furious gulps of air whistle through his wheezy chest. He keeps pointing at the bread and butter soldiers, now lying in a muddle on the floor.