comforting arms? At that moment, I didn’t think he wanted me or
anyone watching him cry, so I walked back to the front of the house, sat on a
piece of broken cement and waited.
Chapter
9
~~
Adela ~~
“Adela!”
“Max?” I jumped up at
the sound of banging and the sweet music of Max calling my name and rushed
toward the commotion he was making.
The air smelled of
burnt wood, furniture, fabrics and plastic. Max’s life. Warmth from the fire
that consumed everything Max owned rose from the ground. It appeared he and I were
in the same boat.
“Max?”
He stood in front of
the wine cellar, banging against the door.
“The door is jammed.
Help me,” he pleaded.
I had to admit, it took
me a minute to figure out what was actually going on and Max looked at me as if
I’d suddenly been struck deaf and dumb.
“Come on. They must be
down here, help me!”
I nodded, realizing he
was talking about his parents. “Yes, I bet that’s where they are.” I tugged at
the door alongside him, praying they’d be standing right on the other side of
the door when we got it opened. But a certain kind of logic, some hateful kind
of reasoning in my brain kept repeating … if they are alive wouldn’t we hear
them? Wouldn’t they be yelling back?
“The handle’s jammed.
The earthquake must have jarred the entrance off balance and the door is stuck.”
Max pounded on the door some more. “Mom? Dad? Are you down there?”
No one answered and Max
bent to the ground, picked up a large rock, and hit it against the handle. It didn’t
budge, so he banged at the stubborn metal again and again until finally, it broke
and part of it fell to the ground. He pulled the heavy doors open and called
out again, but still, no answer. He jumped down the stairs, missing most of
them and I followed him, though a little bit slower, intimidated by the
darkness. Max tried the light switch but nothing happened.
“Wait here,” he said,
holding up his hand in front of me in the universal “stop” signal.
He got no argument from
me as I stood stiff, afraid to move. He shuffled around some then I heard a
match strike and a tiny glow came from the other side of the cellar. I stood in
the middle of the stairs and my heart sank in my chest as I listened to Max’s
muffled whimpering sounds.
“Max? Is everything
okay?”
He didn’t answer so I
crept down the stairs, unsure of what I’d find. The light from a candle cast a
flickering shadow on the wall. When I reached the bottom, I surveyed the area. The
room looked like someone threw a fit and tossed everything out into the middle
of it. Dozens of wine barrels came into view, taking up most of the cement
floor along the wall, along with several more in the middle of the room that
must have rolled there during the quake. A metal shelf lay toppled over on its
side with several cans of food and water jugs scattered about. Some other items
that didn’t belong there took up space on the floor. There was a bar to my left
covered with broken bottles. The smell of wine permeated the air as I noticed
all the liquid spilled over the top and down the front of the bar. Max sat on
one of the barrels at the other end of the room, his face in his hands. Max’s
parents were nowhere in sight.
“Oh, Max.”
He glanced up at me,
wiped the tears from his cheeks, and sniffled. “I really thought they would be
down here.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I guess I’m an orphan
now.”
“Maybe we both are,” I
managed, trying not to start sobbing with him. I shook my head at my lack of
tact. How stupid. “Maybe we both are,” was the most comforting thing I could
come up with?
“It was cold this
morning,” Max said in such a soft voice that I almost didn’t hear him.
“Huh?” At first, I thought
he’d lost his mind from the trauma. What did the cold have to do with anything?
“It was cold this
morning,” he repeated in that same soft voice. “I was sitting in the back yard trying
to think why
anyone watching him cry, so I walked back to the front of the house, sat on a
piece of broken cement and waited.
Chapter
9
~~
Adela ~~
“Adela!”
“Max?” I jumped up at
the sound of banging and the sweet music of Max calling my name and rushed
toward the commotion he was making.
The air smelled of
burnt wood, furniture, fabrics and plastic. Max’s life. Warmth from the fire
that consumed everything Max owned rose from the ground. It appeared he and I were
in the same boat.
“Max?”
He stood in front of
the wine cellar, banging against the door.
“The door is jammed.
Help me,” he pleaded.
I had to admit, it took
me a minute to figure out what was actually going on and Max looked at me as if
I’d suddenly been struck deaf and dumb.
“Come on. They must be
down here, help me!”
I nodded, realizing he
was talking about his parents. “Yes, I bet that’s where they are.” I tugged at
the door alongside him, praying they’d be standing right on the other side of
the door when we got it opened. But a certain kind of logic, some hateful kind
of reasoning in my brain kept repeating … if they are alive wouldn’t we hear
them? Wouldn’t they be yelling back?
“The handle’s jammed.
The earthquake must have jarred the entrance off balance and the door is stuck.”
Max pounded on the door some more. “Mom? Dad? Are you down there?”
No one answered and Max
bent to the ground, picked up a large rock, and hit it against the handle. It didn’t
budge, so he banged at the stubborn metal again and again until finally, it broke
and part of it fell to the ground. He pulled the heavy doors open and called
out again, but still, no answer. He jumped down the stairs, missing most of
them and I followed him, though a little bit slower, intimidated by the
darkness. Max tried the light switch but nothing happened.
“Wait here,” he said,
holding up his hand in front of me in the universal “stop” signal.
He got no argument from
me as I stood stiff, afraid to move. He shuffled around some then I heard a
match strike and a tiny glow came from the other side of the cellar. I stood in
the middle of the stairs and my heart sank in my chest as I listened to Max’s
muffled whimpering sounds.
“Max? Is everything
okay?”
He didn’t answer so I
crept down the stairs, unsure of what I’d find. The light from a candle cast a
flickering shadow on the wall. When I reached the bottom, I surveyed the area. The
room looked like someone threw a fit and tossed everything out into the middle
of it. Dozens of wine barrels came into view, taking up most of the cement
floor along the wall, along with several more in the middle of the room that
must have rolled there during the quake. A metal shelf lay toppled over on its
side with several cans of food and water jugs scattered about. Some other items
that didn’t belong there took up space on the floor. There was a bar to my left
covered with broken bottles. The smell of wine permeated the air as I noticed
all the liquid spilled over the top and down the front of the bar. Max sat on
one of the barrels at the other end of the room, his face in his hands. Max’s
parents were nowhere in sight.
“Oh, Max.”
He glanced up at me,
wiped the tears from his cheeks, and sniffled. “I really thought they would be
down here.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I guess I’m an orphan
now.”
“Maybe we both are,” I
managed, trying not to start sobbing with him. I shook my head at my lack of
tact. How stupid. “Maybe we both are,” was the most comforting thing I could
come up with?
“It was cold this
morning,” Max said in such a soft voice that I almost didn’t hear him.
“Huh?” At first, I thought
he’d lost his mind from the trauma. What did the cold have to do with anything?
“It was cold this
morning,” he repeated in that same soft voice. “I was sitting in the back yard trying
to think why
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