Monte Nido, California fell asleep and never awoke.
For most residents, this was nothing to be embarrassed by, nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing as difficult as trying to describe what it is like when a bomb goes off.
People figure the sudden roar or the clutter of soaring projectiles makes the first imprint.
This is not so.
You never hear the blast. Air that normally caresses sound waves soars skyward. Only from a safe distance can the explosion be heard. Close by is nothing.
If you had been on the patio at the Hotel Bel-Air that morning when the bomb went off, you would know the rolling and tumbling of the air. You would understand the sweep of deep suctions and battering ram barrages.
Gravity vanishes. Chaos unfurls. Context dissolves in the dust. Everything spins in silver swirls of disorder.
Space simultaneously shrivels and expands. Dimensions rearrange themselves.
You can’t hear any of this and what you’re able to see makes little sense.
And then, if you’re lucky enough to make it home to Monte Nido, California or Laguna Beach or wherever, you start asking questions.
You sit and wonder how long until you’ll be able to listen to Cannonball Adderley.
