Standing
on a beach, I’m surrounded by people sunning themselves, playing volleyball,
throwing frizbees, and wading in the calm water. The sun beats down on my light skin, but the wind keeps me
from feeling it’s harshest rays.
Palm fronds sway back and forth, keeping time with the gentle swoosh of the small waves. I close my eyes and take a breath, inhaling the salty sea
air deep into my lungs, holding onto it for a moment before letting it go.
I
hear a cry of alarm and my eyes snap open, searching for the source of the yell. I scan the beach to see what is wrong. The
gentle waves have stopped and the water is quickly receding. Rocks that were once submerged now show
their sharp edges, threatening to cut open the sky.
I
can’t move as the realization hits me.
Oh no. I try to swallow but I can’t. A tsunami is coming. Panic rises and I watch
as beachgoers snatch up their belongings and begin to run inland. They’re going the wrong way! There is no higher ground where they
are going!
I
go against the instinct telling me to put as much distance
between the beach and myself as fast I can. Instead, I run parallel to the ocean up a slope toward
forest. As the land rises, the
terrain changes. The sand starts
to blend with soil until the ground is spongy and cool against my bare
feet. Small shrubs give way to
tall evergreens, until I am running through the forest on the edge of the
sea.
There
are no sounds of life aside from my thumping heartbeat and gasps for air. I stop and walk to the edge of the cliff,
where I see bare roots that once clung to the soil before the water swept it
away. Water always wins that
fight.
I
realize the water has stopped receding, and my breath catches. The giant waves are racing toward the
land like a cheetah about to capture its prey, or a bullet train exploding
though the terminal at the end of the line.
The
water won’t reach me. I am confident. I am standing on a cliff towering over
the ocean floor. My stomach
tightens as I think of all of the people trying to outrun the wave on flat
ground. Water always
wins the fight.
And
it’s here.
The waves smash
against the cliff, and I take a step away from the edge. I start running again, searching for even
higher ground. Just in case.
The merciless
waves continue to eat away at the cliff and I get the feeling that they are
here for me. The swells seem to
reach up trying to grab my ankles and pull me into the roiling water. I keep running toward higher and higher
ground until I’m at the apex of the cliff. I am defenseless against the threatening, swirling, powerful
waves of water that keep rising and rising. But this is as high as the ground gets.
I stumble as the ground
gives away beneath me and I watch as the soil disappears into the hungry waters.
But the ground is longer packed
soil, held together by tree roots.
It is dry sand, sifting slowly, then faster and faster down the cliff
and into the sea. As the sand falls, I slide off the cliff
and am engulfed by the angry waves.
As the water spins
and rolls me, I don’t know which way is up. Gravity doesn’t exist in this wet new world. I fight the water, pushing against it,
trying to catch a breath of air. It
doesn’t work. I relax my body,
hoping that I will be brought to the surface. That doesn’t work either and my lungs are telling me I need
to take a breath. My body cries
out for oxygen and my mind goes dark.
A deep breath shocks
me awake. I find myself in a tube of air; clear blue water spiraling around me.
I look right and I look left, trying
to make sense of where I am. I am
in the heart of the tsunami—its life force, where all of its energy originates. And it doesn’t seem to have an end, as
it continues around the curve of the globe.
While I am here, I
know I am safe. I close my eyes and
breath in deeply, filling my lungs and my veins and my cells with precious
oxygen before I’m forced back into the roiling waters.
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