Tsunami

There is a tall cliff, several hundred feet high, dotted with the nesting sites of thousands of sea birds, that overlooks the northern edge of an Oregon coastline town. The locals nicknamed this overview “The Mullet” as the exposed grass bakes in the hot sun all day and is short. Beyond the grass stands tall pines that sway in the late-afternoon breeze.

On the flat of the plateau, a woman and her adopted daughter enjoyed the afternoon. “Serendipity,” the mother called to her child. She received no response. The mother looked back down to reread a sentence from an article in the Signal about the town's new gas station. She had to reread the sentence several more times as her mind persisted in evaluating why the child did not respond. Maybe it was my tone. Certainly she respects me—she must. But it's rude to not respond when someone calls your name. She was not going let it bother her that she got no response. Today can still be fun she thought to herself. Children need to play and be children. 

With a shallow sigh, the mother stopped reading and looked down at the shine of her new wedding ring as she trailed off in thought. Happy that she had someone who listened to her when she talked, she got up from the outspread blanket and walked to the viewpoint near the edge of the cliff. She was hoping to catch the small dot of him smoking outside the shop.

She did not get the glimpse of him she was hoping for. Instead, she was startled to see the ocean had sucked way out. It was not like this when she left the house this morning she thought. Surely she would have noticed.

The shallow surf where the two of them first made love was a shimmering flat expanse of dark sand. The tide was the lowest she had ever witnessed. The barnacle covered supports of the dock were exposed and crab pots lie on the sand; each connected to a length of line with a numbered float trailing off towards the horizon. Boats that were moored in the harbor lie on their side; their owners in awe and confusion, were out circling the boat that rested on the ocean floor. The water's edge was further out than she could see; almost flat with the horizon. She tried to block out the sun with one hand and squint really hard but still she could not see where it had gone. From high on the bluff she returned her focus back onto the town. She could see out-of-towners gathered in packs and the small dots of children running out to touch the sea life stranded by the unusual retreat of the tide. 

The mother turned her back to the ocean and began to search for her own child. After a moment of scanning without luck, she decided to head back to the blanket and pack up. As she took a step though, she tripped on a rock jutting from the dirt and fell to her hands. Anger coursed through her small body sparked by the sudden jolt of physical pain. No longer able to tactfully hold it back, she became furious. The mother, in an irrational fit, blamed everything on the insolent child. If only we had done what I wanted today, I would not be on my hands like I am now she thought. She must be bent over in laughter seeing me in the dirt like this.

She gathered herself and once again headed towards the blanket, this time more mindful of her steps. After folding the blanket into a tidy bundle, she spotted the child digging feverishly in the dirt below a pine. “Honey I would like to get back into town,” she called. She did not want to provoke the theatrical side of Serendipity, so she purposefully omitted the sense of urgency from her tone. To her surprise, the child turned and acknowledged her stepmother, but quickly returned to digging. This made her very upset and so she cursed under her breath.

Onlookers down on the beach began to celebrate and cheer; pointing out to the return of the ocean. "Everything is fine see," a corpulent man in a small swimsuit said. "Maybe the moon just wanted to play a trick on us," he offered as a joke. As he was explaining why the joke was funny, people began to hear the sound of distant thunder and again pointed out towards the horizon. This time they did not cheer. The wall of water could be seen crashing over large boulders that had fallen into the sea from the cliff with terrific force.

When the first wave hit, the surge of ocean was incredible. Those that had ventured out onto the exposed beach, now tumbled violently beneath the terrible weight of thrashing water as the wave moved with ease through the shopfronts. Vehicles parked next to the boardwalk all down the beach became play things for the water to toss about. The salt water poured into an antique store like a mob of looters. An exquisite champagne colored wedding dress with its long train bundled and snagged on a taxidermied head of a moose, along with other treasures, were carried out with the ebb of water through the smashed shopfront window.

The husband of the woman on the bluff was at work. He owned a small marine repair shop and was behind on a project. When the first wave smashed into the side of his workshop, he saw the shop walls shift from his periphery and clicked the grind wheel off. He was behind he thought, but not enough for the boat's owner to come pounding. As he grasped the handle to the door, he noticed a small trickle of cold water flowing from the lock. The door was heavy to open. He figured that someone was playing a prank on him so he pushed as hard as he could. The door swung open with the greatest of ease and the ocean roared into the shop, knocking the man down and pushing him across the floor. He was unprepared for the sudden rush of surf. It flowed with such weight that it toppled over the supports holding up the 32' sailboat he had been working on. As the supports buckled, the keel came down across his right thigh, snapping his femur and leaving him pinned under the boat as the shop filled with cold ocean water. 

Water swirled in the streets—slurping and sucking like an uncivilized mongrel lapping up soup. The boats that lie on their side in the harbor were now bits and pieces strewn across rooftops of small buildings. Wave after wave pounded the small seaside town to bits. The ocean devouring everything.

Every year the town would practice the tsunami drill. The locals went through the motions like seasoned airplane passengers; most ignoring the drill, assuming someone would come save them when the supposed “tsunami” struck. 

The line of cars on the single lane road out of town was long. Some people resorted to running. A young bachelor, in a frightful bit of panic, filled his backpack with pictures of his favorite dead dog, some toilet paper, and a fishing pole. Whatever could be rescued. A man and his wife, both carrying blankets wrapped tight with cotton cord, each firmly grasped the small hand of a child as they headed out of town. The mother telling her two children a small lie about where the family was going in such a hurry.