The earth is a total jerk right now. It bucks beneath me, like a bull in a rodeo, as another aftershock hits. Not that I’ve ever actually ridden a bull. I’ve never even been to a rodeo. I’ve only seen them in movies or read about them in books. There are a million things I haven’t seen. Haven’t done.
Charlie whimpers.
“Hold on,” I say.
“To what?”
Charlie is speaking literally. I’m speaking figuratively. But what’s the point? What’s even left to hold on to?
“Just hold on!” I say, because it’s easier to repeat myself than explain myself.
I cover my head with my hands.
The table legs creak around me. I can’t look. I pull my hoodie in tighter over my face. Bits of crumbling cement hit my hands, pounding my knuckles to a bloody pulp.
I hear something crash.
“Argh!” Charlie. He’s getting pummeled.
The earth bucks again. Bigger. Stronger.
Thumps.
Grinds.
Charlie is grunts and moans.
And still it goes. Rocking relentlessly. Shaking sharply.
Crumbling. Cracking. Creaking.
I shut my eyes, thinking it can’t go on for much longer.
Until, finally, it stops.
“Charlie?” I call through the crack of air above my face. The dust dances around in its light.
“It fell—on me—again—”
“What?”
“The table—and whatever—was on top of it. The dryer, I think. It’s—on me again. It pushed the table down. On my chest. There’s glass. Cement. I can’t”—a grunt—“move it.”
I close my eyes. I want to be one of those people who suddenly develops superhuman strength, busts through the walls, and gets us out of here. How can it be that my safe space is almost completely intact but Charlie is pinned again?
Why him and not me?
“Listen to me, Charlie. You did it once. You have to do it again.”
“I could still feel my arms before. I still had some strength. My energy is gone.”
“You have to move it. Do you hear me?”
He mumbles something to himself, and then the sound of scraping metal echoes. Inch by inch by inch it goes.
Charlie pants.
“You’ve got this.” I try to sound calm, like Coach does when we’re down by a point in the last minutes of the fourth quarter and we draw an ejection on the other team to give us a miraculous six-on-five advantage. Yelling doesn’t help in that situation. Only confidence does.
Charlie pauses. Breathes in. Breathes out. Grunts. Pushes again. The metal hisses along with him.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuck!” he shouts. The noise of scraping metal stops, and all that’s left is the sound of Charlie’s labored breathing.
I can only hear air going out. Not in.
And then the earth shakes again. Harder and stronger than it did a few minutes ago, but only for a moment.
“Charlie!”
He doesn’t answer with real words. It’s only the sound of something guttural. “Muargh.” Like there is a rumble inside of him. Fluids bubbling up.
I reach for him. Spread out my fingers, trying to make them longer. Trying to make contact so he knows he’s not alone. So I know I’m not alone.
Then another crash.
“The wall—” Charlie’s words get cut.
There is only sound.
It’s one thing, then another. Toppling over. Caving in. I imagine that whole side of the laundromat coming down on him. Washers. Dryers. What’s left of the ceiling and the walls. All of it collapsing and burying Charlie underneath.
I brace for it to bury me.
“Help!” I shout, even though nobody can. And then I’m whimpering Charlie’s name over and over again.
Charlie is blergs and bubbles when the cave-in stops. Gurgles sputtering out of him. A mumbled prayer.
“Jesus.” And “God.” And “Amen.”
I pull my hands back. Hold them to my stomach, trying to keep myself from being sick. Because when I call his name again, there is only silence.