Haitian Commute
BY MICHÈLE D. STERLING
Photograph Source: WILLPOWER STUDIOS – CC BY 2.0
I closed my eyes and listened to the quick muffled sounds of nurses’ sensible shoes rushing through empty halls, the hissing and buzzing of harsh neon lights, clanging of metal pans as they’re scurried away on trollies after morning meals. Those banal and reassuring sounds familiar in hospitals everywhere.
My heart was still pounding, but the panic had finally subsided. We waited for news of her condition. She’d been shot. One of the bullets that pierced through the car had gone straight through her seat and hit her, where exactly we didn’t know. I closed my eyes and waited. “Was it a decade ago, or was it all just this morning?” My mind was a jumble … racing … blood rushing….
“Earlier? Yeah...









