Going Down
Wednesday, January 11
Those that knew said that once the river started to go down it went down fast. And it did.
But we still had no electricity or running water or way to town and it was still raining and the land phones were iffy, but the cell phone worked.
And now the emergency was over and a whole new thing was to begin. The obvious lessons had already been learned, you know about control and insignificance.
And the rest of it, well you just did it one foot and one minute at a time.
How could you even begin to imagine what it would look like, even knowing. You couldn't. And I couldn't even order it, make sense of it, understand it, or actually just plain see it even when standing in the middle of it. The chaos and disarray and destruction of what once had been familiar and home and orderly was absolute. And at some point, at some level, you knew that everything would have to come out. Everything. Down to the nubbins. Even the goddamned nails in the sub flooring, you know. In all the rooms. Nothing had been spared. How could you know what it would feel like to dismantle, to gut your own home? Perhaps like shooting your own dog. You shouldn't, I shouldn't have to know.
Thursday, January 12
So walking down the street to the house I pass someone in a yellow slicker, the Guerneville haute couture of the times, and out of habit I say, Hi, how're ya doing, and I sort of shrug as if to qualify it with, under the circumstances, and maybe even say it aloud, and he nods and says how're you? and I actually say, under the circumstances I guess it's a pretty stupid question. Funny how that has stayed with me and I find myself thinking in the middle of one of the nights I couldn't sleep that it would be an interesting paper to write, about greetings and salutations. I think of Asia where the greeting is "where are you going?" and the answer is "to work" or "to play." And I remember Fred, who at the inception of the AIDS crisis, began asking "what are you doing?" in place of how are you, it having become far too complicated a question. But it is that people ask it and it was a while before I came up with a proper answer. Bottom line I'm stressed, very stressed, and sad. But it was not a spot that I could live, you know, on a daily basis, too hard, too raw, too visible to the buzzards.
So I move up to the next level, and I discover that given the circumstances at the mark, I am OK. Given the circumstances. Although truth be told there are sometimes that I am not so sure. That is to say, the cover wears thin in spots, you know, so that I am vigilant and ever on guard so that I will not be overwhelmed by the immensity and the intensity of the sadness. Overcome all of a sudden as if by surprise. It seems it would be a bad thing now. Better dealt with once we are safe and sound. Like at the beach, drinking Margaritas sharing flood stories, the way we did earthquake stories or like that. And I am grateful that I do not need to manage this alone. Not so much that Paul&I talk about it, because we don't, but because practically speaking the burden of the tasks and the decisions is so great. And somehow it is important to point out that we don't talk about it because it is clear that it would disturb the fragile boundaries and overload the system. And there is nothing to say that is not already known, that is not already apparent on my face or in his eyes. It is important to know that to share feelings at this point would spawn distance and not foster anything but animosity. At this point it is a survival thing and there is little room for the luxury of indulging in ones feelings. This is an important thing for me to know and to remember. It is one of those bigger lessons that comes later and something new for me to understand. A thing I did not know before. Sometimes talking is just voyeuristic and vicarious and thrill seeking at someone else's expense.
Anyway there was no time either.
We spent the next 5 or 6 days hacking away at the destruction trying to get the upper hand. And this is when you start thinking those thoughts like where the hell is everyone and why do other people get to go on with their lives as if nothing has happened, and can I actually make it through this.
Not to mention that it is still raining, there are still helicopters flying overhead, we are still collecting rain water and bathing out of buckets on the back porch and we still need to boat to town.
And we begin to think about contamination in very real and dangerous terms, you know. There are issues here of integrity and immunity and compromise and Paul&I went in search of gamma globulin shots just on g.p.'s. And we try to keep Matthew out of harm's way. And Clay too, but swollen legs and all he just kept getting into the middle of everything. Oh well.
Friday January 13, (someone pointed out, the days at this point lose their singularity)
So the roads finally opened.
They had set up Highway Patrol roadblocks to check the identity of people travelling into town. They had already shot and killed one looter, I guess they didn't want to have to do that again.
