David Vest

As of this morning (Ash Wednesday 2001), I’ve now been in my first earthquake. It may have been the biggest to hit these parts (the Pacific Northwest) in half a century. It was centered around Tacoma and they felt it in Salt Lake City.

I felt it in Portland, on the twelfth floor, where it felt like one of those Star Trek scenes where Voyager is "losing structural integrity."

At first it sounded as though someone was driving a truck down the corridor. Then I heard someone in the next row of cubes say, "We’re having an earthquake." I walked over to tell her not to worry.

Then she said, "Oh my God, you can see that building moving."

She was referring to the Hilton Hotel, right outside our window. The last time we all ran to look at the Hilton, Al Gore and Joe Lieberman were staying there during the campaign, with a gazillion Secret Service vans in the street below and a press corps out of Cecil B. DeMille. Back then we were saying things like, "Oh, look at the cute bomb dogs."

Now, looking at the Hilton, we realized that it was our own building moving, floors and walls more or less undulating for maybe 30 seconds. I had visions of all the floors collapsing into each other, pancake style.

I forgot all about telling anyone not to worry.

Someone suggested that we get out of the building. She opened a door I’d never noticed and we went into a stairwell. I was carrying a cup of tea. Absurdly, I realized I needed to go to the restroom.

Down we went. I worried about spilling my tea and was slower than anyone else. It seemed as though dozens of women half my age ran past me. How can people sprint down whole flights of stairs?

Finally I reached another door I’d never noticed and found myself deposited directly onto the sidewalk. The first thing I noted was that the crew at the construction site around the corner hadn’t left their posts.

Oddly, the buses were running. So was the light rail. Evidently normal reality had not received word of my great adventure.

Since I had no intention of going back into my building, I went with some co-workers to lunch – in a ground-floor establishment, thank you. It seemed to me that the Keemun tea I ordered was spinning slowly in the wrong direction in its cup. The food was wonderful. I noticed colors and flavors that had escaped me last week when I ordered the same dish.

Someone said she thought the abnormally sunny weather we’ve been having caused the earthquake. I said I thought it was retribution for trying to have Mardi Gras without hiring Fats Domino or at least Snooks Eaglin.

The thing about whistling past the graveyard is that you know it doesn’t work and you can’t stop whistling.

On the way back to the office, I noticed that the guy who always plays guitar on the sidewalk for tips was just sitting there holding his guitar in his lap and staring into space.

Now I’m back at my post. After phone calls and e-mails to make sure people are okay, everyone is back to business as usual, or at least working hard to give that impression.

But I keep thinking I can feel it starting again.

Once the earthquake is over, how long does it take to stop shaking inside you, until you can trust reality again? I can’t begin to imagine what it feels like to survive really major damage. The experience itself, without permanent physical effects, is all I can deal with right now. I couldn’t believe it was happening when it started, and now my mind-body connection can’t seem to accept that it’s over.

A young techie walks by. How is he? "I’m still shook up, man." Even though he says it with a grin, he means it.

Like any other news junkie, I get online to seek confirmation of my reality. It is somehow incredibly important to read that a major earthquake has been felt in Portland, Oregon. It is like receiving confirmation that there truly is ground beneath my feet.

The local media assure me there is no need to expect a Tsunami. Fear of a 30-foot wall of water had not occurred to me until they told me not to worry about a Tsunami.

This is a city that saw the top 1,500 feet of nearby Mount St. Helens blown off, that shoveled volcanic ash out of the streets for weeks with snow removal systems. Around here, they have a pretty good idea of what to fear.

My own idea of what to fear, and what to be grateful for, got a little deeper and a whole lot heavier today.

The Associated Press reports that President Bush picked this very day to propose killing the federal program designed to help communities protect themselves against the effects of natural disasters.

Had he been in my building, he'd have signed anything they put in front of him if it meant he'd get out alive.