On the other side of the counter, the woman panicked and started making phone calls. I’ve lost my ability to speak before, and it horrifies me each time it happens. My words slurred as the muscle spasms spread to my throat and face, and I choked back helpless tears. I tried explaining that I could not walk to the gate unassisted without going into severe convulsions, but as I spoke, I began to stutter. When I got downstairs, the information agent-an older white woman-told me the cart had left without me. The ticket agent expedited me through security and called a cart to get me to my gate. By the time I got to the check-in desk, my body was seizing visibly, forcing short bursts of sound past my gritted teeth as my torso caved and convulsed. Last week, I fucked up and wheeled a trolley of luggage from one terminal to another in JFK. I haven’t been able to navigate an airport without being in a wheelchair for about a year now. It can’t bear the weight of a pet carrier with Güs inside while pushing through an airport packed with frightened people trying to leave a city before it drowns.

I forgot it can’t drive anymore, not for the hours evacuation takes. Catch a flight to New York, to the only other city in this country I ever called home. I thought I would drive to Houston if it came down to it.

I’d been gathering supplies-gallons of drinking water, boxes of soup-things I could load my car with. Hurricane Ida JournalĪll gates in the levee system are closed. Sign up for our newsletter to get submission announcements and stay on top of our best work.

I am the eye of the storm