It began with a toy not packed. Midway there was a shirtless, furious seven year old stomping alongside a park road alone. At the end there was a thunderstorm worthy of its Texas roots.

In the meantime, I am treading water with a stitch in my side. There is no timeline of knowing it worked. Any normal person would be smiling and excited in this situation. But the fact is, I am a worrier. I wish I could rearrange those vowels. Because a warrior did appear when it was time to make the decision for this change and I’m grateful for her arm-twisting. But I suppose her work here is done; she hasn’t showed up much in the time since.

I’m doing that thing where you try and look normal but also scanning all areas of the sidewalk back to our campsite. I’m certain this results in my looking desperately suspicious. I’m both relieved and panicked that I’m halfway back and haven’t found it. My underwear and the ground are remarkably similar colors so I wonder if I should double back to see if it is camouflaged in the sand.