Chapters (18)
Just then there’s a jolt, hard like repo men kicking down the door. I sit up straight and look around, but no one’s there. Everything is still for another second but after that moment it starts again and I realize that it’s me, my body shunting with the shock of the noise coming from the cliff outside. The sea is trying to break me. It got sick of slapping and it’s punching now, hurling its side against the cliff, pulling back to get its breath before banging, pounding its body, slinging slimy arms up the cliff, trying to pull my house down.
This is one of those moments when you can feel your eyelashes brushing your cheeks and you feel so alone you don’t know what to do. At first you can’t even scream, but you try again and scream and scream out at the tide pushing against your life and it doesn’t give a shit about the fact that you’re alone and no one’s coming back to save you. You’re alone with your voice and the noise and the nothing, nothing but the terrible rest of your life, laying out to mock and taunt you, and there’s no one to help.
The monster roars at me; there’s nothing in the air but the noise. It’s like thunder shouting in my ear, rock and rubble smashing into each other and crashing into the sea below. My muscles grip my bones. This could be it, my house falling down, finally, once and for all. I grip the blanket, force my eyes closed, and wait, listening to the shout and smash of the land falling.
Then nothing for a long time except the gulls and the wind and the waves.
I consider going to the window to see how much land I’ve lost this time. It’s hard to tell if what keeps me inside is fear or resignation, but I guess it doesn’t matter. If my house falls down tonight I’ll be tucked into my bed when it happens. The guest bed, I mean.
On my way up, something catches my eye from the top of the stairs. A crack all the way down the far wall of the house, from the ceiling to the foundation. It splits a few feet above the floor. It looks like a huge man, standing angry, in my house. He’s the slice that lets air through in a sharp, pernicious whistle. Already, mosquitoes are invading through his belly and between his legs. And it’s clear he’s going to grow.
They have to come tomorrow. I can’t stay here.