Irene

It's a rocking, a vibration, as though the garage door is opening. All of the garage doors. At once. I pause, and lift my fingers off the keyboard for a moment, hovering off the desk, but I still feel myself shaking. I stand, and pull back the gauzy curtain to peek outside for a cause, perhaps unexpected yard work of neighbors. Nothing. I let the sheer fabric flutter closed. The chair in the corner catches my attention, a rocking chair, an old birthday present, currently used as a makeshift coat hanger. The strap of a dark grey messenger bag is slung across the back, and the bag shakes gently as the entire chair rocks back and forth. I stare at it, but I'm still without any real explanation for it. Moderately annoyed at the interruption, I sit and resume my writing, and make a mental note to blog later about how easy it is to ignore some phenomenon for the mundane, how set we are in our ways, and how determined we are to ignore anything magical. But then, as quickly as it came, it stops, and I freeze again, struck by the reality of it. It happened, didn't it? I couldn't have imagined it.

I ran downstairs quickly, and asked everyone in the house. Did you feel it? Did you feel that? The house, it shook. They look at me, and break into laughter. No, of course not. Of course not. And then I'm crazy.

But I wasn't crazy. I was right. My phone lit up with the same question I'd been asking, and I was validated. My friend grumbled about it. "Now this is all anyone will talk about for days," he moped, "no body got hurt, but you won't hear about anything important until this entire thing blows over."

He was right, in the first bit of his prediction. Facebook and Twitter flooded with bits and pieces blown out of proportion. From victorious declarations of survival, to threats of more of God's wrath. But at the same time, I'm pleased. Of course you won't hear of anything else important, but why isn't this important? The usual garble is meaningless as well, teenage angst and celebrity obsession. But this, an earthquake, however minor, is something. The planet, solid rock tore beneath us. It ripped, scraped, and shook land for miles.

The speculation over Irene is overblown (pun) as well. At worst, category one. Some rain. Some wind. But now, how can I help not being excited? As I type now, the gutter complains noisily outside, and I wish for something. For excitement. For something important.