Trafika Europe 7 - Ukrainian Prayer

JOY Translated from French by Clayton McKee

I noticed it right away on the phone. I tell her I will be there soon, that I’m already on my way to her. All she has to do is close her eyes and sleep, I would be there when she woke up. I speed up a bit more and it seems that all of the stoplights in Paris are in sync, that they gave each other the word to turn green. Louise calls me, a sleepy voice. She wants to know how I’m doing, how I’m managing without sleep, if I have a headset, if my meeting went as I had hoped. She tells me that she’s still in bed, that my smell is lingering in the sheets, our smell. At the entrance to the hospital, in order for them to open the gates, I announce that I’m there for an emergency. This has worked for weeks, I tell the same lie, the gate rises as

PART 1 1 I didn’t get a lot of sleep yet there is happiness in my muscles, warmth in my blood that keeps me company. There’s this light in the city, the September sun thaws the heart and the hoods of cars. I’m driving with only one hand, the other arm is hanging out of the window, I love feeling the warm door beneath my palm, the caress of the metal on my forearm. Truly, I’m not driving but being driven, I let myself be driven: it’s the road that decides for me: the roads, the stoplights, and the sun. My car knows the way to the hospital by heart. I’ve traveled there a lot lately. Today mom has a good voice;

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