very reassuring since I had no idea if I could get the door clear enough for these poor people to get out.
I used every bit of strength I had left, throwing large pieces of ceiling behind me, as a seemingly endless pile of debris just kept filling the spots I cleared. Eventually, the door was freed enough to get it open and I pounded on it to let them know they could try to make their way out. I was then greeted by four dirt covered faces. It was a nuclear and quite picturesque family…minus the dirt, cuts and bruises mind you.
The mother had shoulder length, sandy blonde hair with feathered bangs framing her face at the eyebrows; epitomizing the term “soccer mom” to a tee. The father had a kind face and a body that was a little soft around the edges, as though he had worked at a desk job for most of his life. His face had plump rosy cheeks and his chin was beginning to double. He was an average build and his dark brown hair had begun to thin slightly on the top. As for the children, they looked as though they had been given equal parts of both their mother and father. The young boy, possibly 12 years old, (who must have been in a catatonic state, because I didn’t hear him speak at all) had dark brown hair like his father, his mother’s nose and chubby cheeks like his father. The daughter looked to be around 16 years old, had a stream of freckles running from cheek to cheek – riding up her nose, and then back down the other side. Her hair was the same sandy blonde as her mothers, but she had her father’s grayish blue eyes and smile.
The family was deeply grateful. I then urged them to gather all of the clothing and supplies they could because we had to get out of this building before it came down on us. They emptied the fridge of all of the water and food they could find and grabbed a few bags of peanuts stashed in the cupboards of their partial kitchen. The family introduced themselves to me as they gathered their things. The mother’s name was Connie, her eyes welling up with tears as the reality of our situation struck her. The father chimed in with a strong, low voice, “The name’s Henry, friend, nice to meet you. The girl over there is Olivia, that’s our daughter,” she looked at me and gave a nod of her head and waved. “And the quiet one over there is our son Nick” I gave Nick the same courtesy nod and wave…TURN PAGE >>