The Washing Machine

The second earthquake I experienced in Japan was weaker than the first. It seemed merely asking, "What`s that?" turned both off like a password. There were no toppled appliances, cabinet doors thrown open, water mains set gushing, fires pressing up from the floor below or parents wailing for children. Nothing.
Nothing of horror but, surprisingly, a sense of calm... nostalgia. This morning I am eight again and living in the trailer out on Eagle Pass drive. The pale, predawn sky lends the bedroom a chilled breeze and I might have to wake up for school soon. Might have to take a shower and walk down the gravel drive out to the bus stop. Listening for the big diesel engine to grumble somewhere up in Lithia Springs or, on dark days, watch for lights in the mountain to trace the switch-back. Jake and I would shift weight in the cold and wonder back to the morning`s shower: it`s warmth. After getting out, Jake and I would take turns passing the hair dryer through the steam and drawing the fan of heat over us. We would run to our bedrooms and then dress grumpily by the heat vent in the floor, letting the hot exhaust gather on us in fragile layers. It would be time for breakfast soon. Scrambled eggs, bacon, maybe pancakes but wait... not yet, I can sleep for now. It`s early. Maybe 5... 4? Someone`s up. The house is dark. It`s warm in bed and something is making a noise? no not a noise, a... humming? I won`t open my eyes- still asleep- I can feel through the dark, the humming like a buzz, then it`s the house. I can feel the trailer shaking and the ripples of it through the bed and on me, like a pulse. The whole house undulating like a lone carriage speeding on tracks, the intervals quickening, the thuds getting softer as they blur together and I am at peace again, nothing can stop the train and it`s humming. It is going nowhere, not school or errands, only the in between. A restful nowhere.