People used to talk about the Big One, about the massive destruction a single earthquake in a specific location would cause. But that idea ignores that the tectonic plates are part of a connected system, and their movements affect each other. The Big "One" would inevitably prompt a Big Two and Three and Four.

 

When the first big quake happened in Southern California, people said, "We knew this day would come." The one in Memphis a few days later was more surprising, and the quakes continued from there, circling the globe. Plates shifted, collided, and split, forming new faults. As the series of quakes affected more and more regions, global infrastructures began to break down. Internet connections became intermittent. Phones were unreliable. The power went out for hours with no warning.

 

Some people quit their jobs. Others found religion. I stuck to my usual routine, but it felt lonelier. Zack, my longtime boyfriend, had broken up with me and headed to South Carolina so he could "spend the end times with family."

 

I liked my job at the library, so I kept going. We had occasional patrons, and as long as the building was standing, I had a purpose—even if daily life had become rather dull.

 

I still got paper paychecks from the county, and every other Friday, I walked over to the bank after work to make a deposit. One Friday, just after the Jersey Shore quake, the line was longer than usual.

 

When I made it to the teller, I asked how her day was going. She said, "Not great. Everybody wants cash, but the vault is almost empty."

 

"But our accounts are okay, right?" I wondered aloud.

 

"They should be," she said, "They're insured and all, but is anything really okay these days?"

 

The earth trembled as if emphasizing her point.

 

She didn't have any bills in her drawer, and she knew I'd want a little spending money to get through the week. Some of the local businesses had stopped taking cards. That's how I ended up filling my canvas tote bag with $500 in rolls of quarters. I only took so much because I knew they might run out of change next.

 

The tote bag was heavy. Too heavy. I tweaked my shoulder carrying it home.

 

What would I do with all those quarters? I had no idea. I was still thinking about it on my walk to work the next morning when a shiny penny on the pavement caught my eye. I leaned over, picked it up, and for a split second, I felt like a carefree child. Heads-up meant the penny was lucky! Maybe something good was destined to happen to me?

 

Then my adult brain took over. A penny couldn't buy anything these days. And chances are, the next big event in my life would be an earthquake. What good would all the change in the world do if everything I could spend it on was gone?

 

I had a few rolls of quarters with me. I unpeeled the paper wrapping from one roll, but I wasn't in the mood to spend them.

 

On a whim, as I walked past the grocery store, I put a quarter in each of the gumball machines, but I didn't twist the handles. I didn't need any candy or stickers.

 

I put several quarters in the soda machine, but I didn't make a selection. Later today, somebody would get a little surprise, and maybe they'd stop worrying about earthquakes for a second.

 

I kept walking.

 

I left a few quarters on top of a stranger's mailbox, and a few more in front of my friend Martha's apartment building. I felt silly and generous. I felt lighter, too, though that might have been because I had fewer quarters weighing me down.

 

The next day, I put more quarters in my bag as I left for work. I walked a different route, leaving quarters here and there, and took a roundabout way home. I sprinkled some quarters along a busy walking path in the park and sat on a bench nearby to watch as people found them.

 

The third day, as I left work, I only had one quarter left in my bag. I dropped it at the top of the library stairs and watched as it bounced wildly down the worn stone steps toward the street. When it hit the sidewalk, a man's shoe came down on it... hard.

 

"I got it!" said an excited voice. As I descended the stairs, the shoe's wearer picked up the quarter, and raised his hand in my direction. "And here you go." He bowed his head slightly, returning the quarter as if it were something of great value—and in that moment, it was.

 

"Thank you," I said, and when I met his gaze, the earth shook.

 

"Did you feel that?" He asked. I knew it must have been an aftershock of some not-so-distant quake, but it felt like more, like a burst of real human connection. We stood there, looking at each other.

 

"Spend it on something nice," he said, with a slight smile. "Or something reckless."

 

"I will," I said. And then I did something impulsive: I offered to buy him a coffee to thank him.

 

"That is reckless," he said. "A coffee costs more than a quarter." We walked to the only cafe nearby that was still open for business and sat on the patio. We talked about how unpredictable life had become, and we laughed, because sometimes laughter is the best way to cope. We pondered what the future might bring, and we both sounded hopeful. When he set down his mug and took my hand, my heart danced in my chest.

 

Sometimes when the earth shakes, buildings crumble. Economies collapse. Things fall apart. And sometimes people fall in love.