A glorious full moon beams over The Grand Canyon as you climb into the passenger seat to leave. With an almost reverent awe, you peck away on your phone, trying to process and package this experience with the word making machine that is your brain. You want to capture not just the Grand Canyon, but San Diego, Las Vegas, and the joyful thirteen days you’ve spent with your family so far. But you’re failing. Because as much as you love words, they’re only good to a point. And as it often does, your mind returns to the opening passage of Anna Karenina: “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” And you stop trying to explain, or analyze, or organize your thoughts. Because your family is happy, and your simple awareness of this fact is enough. Indeed, it’s everything.
And you’re almost floating in a zen-like bliss when your son complains from behind you that his stomach hurts. His complaint barely registers though, because your brain is bathing itself in happy chemicals. And he probably just needs to crap. And you dismiss his remark, and go back to your musings. And you have maybe never been this content with your place in the universe. This right now – this is what it is to be alive and fulfilled.
And then your son projectile vomits onto your neck.
And your shirt. And the window. And the car door. And the floor. And the seats. And his iPad. And everything. Everything. EVERYTHING.
And your wife pulls over as undigested chunks of pizza slide down your neck into your shirt. And as you realize what has happened, part of you prays for death.
And now you’re on the side of a dark Arizona highway, fifty miles from civilization. And you don’t even have an unused napkin in the car, let alone anything with which to actually clean. And the stench envelops your universe.
And now your unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
And forty-five Hellish minutes later, you’re walking through a Target in Flagstaff, filling your cart with anything that might clean up the Superfund site that is your car. And alone in the middle of the aisle, you suddenly start to laugh – like some madman with dried vomit caked to his back.
And you absolutely love this shit.