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“Love you, Toad.”
“Love you, Frog.”
I changed into yoga pants and a tank top, and fussed with my hair in the mirror. I wanted to look good enough when he arrived, yet casual enough for two in the morning. I settled myself on the bed, and turned on the TV. My eyelids grew heavy as I flipped back and forth between two movies I had no interest in watching. I continuously glanced at the clock throughout the night. Midnight meant it was three o’clock back in New York. I fought the sleepiness for as long as I could, but eventually I passed out.
A little while later, I opened my eyes feeling as if Chase was shaking me awake. I remembered falling asleep with the lights and TV on, but everything was now off. Only the light of the moon was shining through the window. I sat up in bed, disoriented. I still felt like I was moving. A rattling sound crept into my ears, as if a train was passing through the apartment, causing all of the dishes and glasses to shake in the kitchen. That is when I realized what was happening.
I grabbed my phone off of the nightstand, and clicked on the flashlight app. The floor jerked and swayed underneath my bare feet as I tried to navigate out of the bedroom. I held onto the doorframe, watching the cabinets in the kitchen swing open, spilling their contents out onto the floor. Ceramic and glass crashed and exploded everywhere. I looked down at my bare feet, trying to remember where I had left my sneakers. I spotted them across the room, next to the front door. That was my way out.
On a silent three-count, I let go of the doorframe and attempted to steady my legs, as if I was surfing through choppy waters. I stumbled only a few feet before I fell. I began crawling instead, shards of glass cracking under my hands and knees. My skin was being sliced, but I knew I had to keep moving. Solid and striped balls were knocked off of the pool table and rolled across the floor in all different directions; the pool sticks followed. A loud crash froze me in my tracks, and I looked behind me to see the flat screen television face down in the middle of the living room. I focused my attention forward, and fixed my watery eyes on the door ahead. Mere seconds felt like hours as I made it through the trembling apartment.
At the door, I scrambled to get my shoes on. Glass had slashed through parts of my pants, and I could see red smears of blood on the wooden floor in the light from my phone. I grabbed onto the doorknob and pulled myself to my feet. Without stopping to think, I began my descent down the stairs. Thrashing from side to side in the narrow stairwell, I dodged pieces of the ceiling that were falling from above. When I reached the bottom, the rumbling and shaking stopped. I stood still, holding my breath and refusing to believe that it was really over.
A loud sound split through the air. I quickly ducked down, covering my head with both arms. A large wooden beam dropped from the ceiling near the top of the staircase, crashing through several of the steps. I looked up when the dust had settled, worried that the rest of the ceiling would cave in next. Spinning around, I turned the doorknob and pushed against the door, but it did not budge. A sinking feeling washed over me as I tried to open the door again: I had dreamt of this moment – I was now trapped in the stairwell.
I pressed my ear against the door, and listened for any sounds on the other side. Chase, Dave, and over a hundred people were inside the bar when the earthquake struck. At the moment, all I could hear was the sound of my own breathing. I tucked my phone into the strap of my tank top, and pounded on the door as hard as I could.
“Help!” I shouted. “Can anybody hear me?” I slammed my fists against the door, and then listened again. Nothing.
“Chase!” I screamed. I smashed my shoulder into the door, pushing against it with all of my body weight. Something must be blocking it from the other side. I stepped back and tried kicking it until my legs tired out. I looked up at the fallen beam at the top of the stairs, and back at the unopened door in front of me. I couldn’t go backward, and I couldn’t go forward. I was stuck. Sweat began beading on my forehead, trickling down my face and neck. I could feel the panic setting in.
I covered my face with my hands and began to cry. Chase was on the other side of this door, and if he was not banging it down to come get me – something was very wrong. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to ignore all of the horrific things that flashed through my mind; I had to stick with the facts, for now. Breathing deeply, I positioned myself as if I was standing in front of T.J. I could hear his voice telling me to punch harder, and to throw my back into it. “You are a warrior,” he would say. “Get back up and keep fighting!”
I began throwing punches against the wooden door, one harder than the next. The sound of my fists making contact with the door sounded so loud in the silence. Once my knuckles were sore and bleeding, I used my foot instead. I kicked the same spot in the door over and over. Finally, I saw it crack. My kicks became faster, and I didn’t stop until the door had split open from the middle. I rammed my shoulder into it, and crashed through to the other side. Several bar stools, and a beam from the ceiling were piled in pieces in front of the door that had blocked me in. I climbed over them and scanned the room with my phone, shining the light above my head to reach as far as I could.
People were lying on the floor, with wood and glass scattered everywhere around them. Part of the ceiling had collapsed in the far corner, and many of the windows had shattered. To my left, I could see people huddled behind the bar. Some of them began to stand, shaking the glass and dust out of their hair.
“Are you okay?” I asked. My voice echoed in the still room.
“I think so,” one man answered.
“Dave, are you back there?” I called. He had to be. I waited, praying to hear his voice in return. My throat felt dry as I tried to swallow. No response.
Several women that had taken cover under one of the pinball machines stood up, brushing themselves off. I shined my phone in their direction, crunching on broken glass as I stepped over the stools that had been knocked over.
“Are you girls okay? Is anybody hurt?”
“We’re okay, but one of our friends was in the bathroom,” a blonde sniffled. Her knee was bleeding, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Use the flashlights on your phones. Stay together, and be careful where you step.”
They nodded in unison and began shuffling past me.
My heart was racing as I continued to look for Chase. The stage was covered in debris, and the lights above it had fallen. Chunks of the ceiling covered the surrounding area. I saw a brass cymbal and a guitar sticking out from underneath one of the wooden beams that had crashed on top of the stage. My hands trembled, as it looked like the worst of the damage was in this area.
“Chase?” I called. “Chase, where are you?” I choked back a sob when I did not hear a response from him. Reminding myself to breathe, I did my best to remain calm. Panicking would get me nowhere. Chase was here, somewhere. I had to keep searching.
I picked up hunks of sheetrock, moving them aside to uncover anything or anyone that might be underneath. A white sneaker caught my eye, and I quickly pushed the wood and broken bass drum off of the body that the sneaker was connected to. It was the drummer of Chase’s band. I struggled to recall his name – was it Chad? I crouched down and gently shook his arm, shaking it harder when he did not wake up. Philip should be here, and I wondered if Brooke was, too. I covered my mouth with my hand as I started to cry again.
Several people walked by me on their way to the door. I watched them exit the bar, stepping over the people that were unconscious, or worse, lying on the floor. I couldn’t blame them for wanting to get out. The air inside the bar was musty and thick, making it hard to breathe.
I cleared everything off of the drummer’s body and left him there until I could get help. I was afraid to move him and cause more harm.
“Chase!” I yelled. “Chase!” I continued picking up fragments of the building and band equipment. I tried to move a large part of the ceiling from my path, but it was heavy. I was going to leave it, until I spotted a large hand sticking out from under it. A familiar leather cuff was attached to its wrist. Frantically, I bent down to find Chase lying on the ground sporting a decent-sized gash on his forehead. A thick stream of blood had seeped into his hairline, staining his golden hair red. I breathed a small sigh of relief – finding him was only half the battle.
I touched his face with my shaking hand. “Chase,” I croaked. “Chase, please wake up.” I thought to check for a pulse, but hesitated as two very different scenarios played out in my mind. I pressed two of my fingers against his neck, and held my breath. He had a pulse!
I shoved my phone back into my shirt and tried to lift the wood that was crushing his torso. Pulling with all of my might, the piece barely budged. “Come on,” I grunted. Then, I was reminded of tire flipping, and T.J.’s voice sounded in my head again: “Press up with your legs.” Squatting down, I positioned myself appropriately and pressed upward through the heels of my feet. My whole body shook as the wood lifted until I was able to free Chase’s body. Once it was up, I tossed it over and kneeled down next to his lifeless body.
