Happy Anniversary, Los Angeles

13 years ago on January 17th, at 4:30 am, those of us dwelling in the land of perpetual sunshine were rudely awakened by the earth having a temper tantrum.

I was sleeping in a water bed. If you've never had the pleasure of trying to escape a riptide under the sheets, let me tell you, it's not easy.

Or fun.

I could hear my parents yelling from the other side of the house. Once I finally stumbled out of the wave pool, I ran to the doorway. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the shaking stopped. The family met in the living room.

My little brother, who had been sleeping in there, was thrown from the couch and was still lying on the floor. The aftershocks would continue all day. As soon as the sun came out, he and my cousin set up shop outside away from the cracked walls, and slept under the sunshine. They refused to come back inside after the pre-dawn ordeal, afraid the walls would collapse.

And they did. All over the city. My sister-in-law's building was condemned. The university across the street fell to pieces. Freeway overpasses fell down and went boom. It was so very unsettling.

A few days later, they reopened our high school. By that point, most of us were used to the aftershocks. We no longer evacuated at the slightest tremor. But one day, in 5th period pre-algebra, we had another one and the girl sitting in front of me freaked out. She dropped to her knees and scrambled under her teeny desk. The rest of us just stared at her for a few seconds and then broke into hysterical laughter.

What doesn't kill us makes us laugh. Like hyenas.

Where were you that morning?