I’ve been sitting at my computer all morning, working on my Shakespeare project. Suddenly, all the letters on my screen begin to dance in slow motion. Then I feel unsteady, as though the floor is shifting under my feet. Even the pictures hanging on the wall look like they’re sliding back and forth. I run outside to the verandah where Nick is strumming his guitar. “Nick? Did you just feel that?” “Feel what?” “An earthquake!” “Nope,” he says and keeps on strumming. I call over the railing to Hannah who’s lying in the sun down by the pool, eyes shut, earbuds plugged in. “Hannah!” I shout. “Did you just feel an earthquake?” She lazily takes out an earbud and looks up at me quizzically. “An earthquake? No, I didn’t feel anything.” Did I just have a stroke? Seeing shaky letters is one of the warning signs. Maybe my prayer to outlive Mum by a few months wasn’t so far off. Maybe I should lie down. I head upstairs and take a two-hour nap. When I turn on the radio at suppertime, however, the announcer is talking about the earthquake in southern Ontario—5.0 on the Richter scale.
