A wave of nausea came over me from some unknown place. I was unsteady, like the first step into a canoe. The streetlamp finches were retreating outside my window, and the apartments were emptying outside my door. A father, shirtless with shaving cream covering half his face, was clutching his son in one arm. My hand was on the doorknob, my voice carrying to her in the back room. Moments later we were barefoot on the edge of a fountain in La Plaza Rio De Janeiro. A scene passed by on mute: a dark wooden stretcher; flashing lights; ambulances; two helicopters suspended in the sky; and a poignant street-art project with strings that resembled a wave. It was an earthquake, my first.

La Gran Ola, Irene Dubrovsky 2012 (photo by Jmt)