On the map a little symbol, showing where the earthquake took place, was added. It was in the ocean, close to Indonesia, pretty far away from Thailand. But I could see the island of Phuket, where my family was, on the map…it was far south, as close to the quake as any part of Thailand could be.

“Within twenty minutes, the first of three waves rocked the coast of Sumatra. This wave was believed to be over forty feet tall, while the third wave was reported to be more than twice that height.”

A series of little red ripples radiated out from the earthquake site and hit against the coast of Indonesia.

“The tsunami was traveling at speeds of close to five hundred miles per hour across the open ocean. This is comparable to the speed of a jet airplane,” the announcer continued. “At approximately 9:45, the first of a series of waves hit Thailand.”

The red ripples hit the coast of Thailand and the word “Phuket” flashed on the screen. I dropped the phone and it hit the floor with a loud thud.

“Thousands of people, having just finished breakfast, were caught off guard.”

I thought back to talking to my parents on the phone. I tried to do a quick calculation. That must have been before the wave hit, but when, how much earlier? Did it matter?

“At 11:30 a.m., local time, the first wave hit the island country of Sri Lanka and the southern and eastern coasts of India.”

The little red ripples got bigger and bigger until they made contact with India and Sri Lanka.

“This was almost four hours from the time of the earth quake, over two hours after the devastation of Thailand and three hours after the tsunami first hit Sumatra. Yet, unbelievably, in this era of instant worldwide communication, no warning was given to the people.”

The announcer and his backdrop disappeared and were replaced by images of the aftermath of a terrible flood: a gigantic boat sitting on its side in the middle of a street, a train overturned, cars all piled up like toys that had been tossed by an angry child, buildings knocked down, people rummaging through rubble and garbage, demolished buildings…and bodies…lots of bodies…lying face down in the street. A mother was screaming and crying uncontrollably, a dead child in her arms. Bodies hung limply from the limb of a tree; arms and legs stuck out of the mud or peeked out from beneath mountains of debris.

“Beth! Beth?”

I started at the mention of my name. It was Tad…the phone. I bent down and picked it up from the floor.

“I’m here. It’s awful.”

“What channel are you watching?” he asked.

“Twenty-seven.”

“Don’t put down the phone. I’m going to switch to that station. Let me keep talking to you,” he said.

I heard the sound of the TV on his end become the same sound I was listening to.

The anchor came back on the screen. “The number of deaths, at this time, can only be roughly estimated. Projections suggest that the number will rise to over eighty thousand.”