I remember bits and pieces.
Mexican schools took the dress code seriously and my mother was upset that I had wrinkled my pressed shirt when jumping on the bed. The morning was hurried and I had delayed us 5 minutes while she re-ironed my shirt.
I was on my way back from having my milk in the kitchen when the shaking begun.
The record says that it was an 8.1 quake but to me if felt like the end of the world.
In a moment, I saw my mother thrown across the kitchen like a rag doll. The force shocked my sisters and I and then the violent crash of glass begun. For what seemed an eternity the ground moved and tossed us. I was so scarred.
Once the movement ceased, my mother took stock of the condition of the house. So much had happened in such a short period but in her mind we still had a day to take on and we’d be late for school.
As soon as we started to make our way down our long street to the bus stop we noticed that things would not be okay for a while. Water was bursting from the sewers and many homes seemed in disarray.
We never made it too school that day. For the next 8 months life would not be as we knew it.
My father was not about.
