The morning began in the dark. Reflective film covered every window, so the interior of the camper held a low cave-light even as the day outside warmed toward ninety, and rswfire moved through that dimness listing what the day required: propane to check in one small town, laundry in another, a tire place, the tanks to empty, the slide to bring in if there was time. He noted that the rig had not been level since arriving. He said the back pain was still there, a little, and that he thought maybe it was the unlevel. The mattress supports he had installed underneath had held. The tank sensors were on and he had been watching them, and the tanks were only half full — he registered this as evidence of a system running well.
Before he left, he took stock of the interior. The clothing was still too much, he said; he wanted it down to one stack. Shorts and pants in the back, shirts in the front, towels behind, the nicer shirts hung — and that reallocation had opened a spot for the crockpot and the induction stove he had not yet used but was curious about, wondering whether it might replace the skillet. Other things went under the bed and would have to be moved again. He said the longer he lived this way, the more willing he became to give something up: that you prioritize, you decide what actually matters, and the rest just goes because you were never going to use it and were never going to care. Then the showers — six of them, each with its own door, all accessed from the outside, and he named that privacy as one of the good things about the place. He would shower, then photograph the camper so the tire people could see what they were working with.
The day opened outward. Landscape came into the frame and he said the camera did not do it justice, that he had a better one and was going to start using it. At the tire place he paid for all-terrain tires and stepped out into the lot to say he was just waiting on them to arrive, that he would have to schedule a time to bring the rig back down, that they looked like really good tires and he was excited. He could not say where he was. He stated plainly that he did not want his parents knowing where he was and would keep the location concealed until he left the campground. The coordinates were his to withhold, and he withheld them without further explanation.
Then the piercing shop, which he had been looking for and thought he might have found. What he came out with was not what he had gone in for. The studs were not the little silver hoops he wanted, and the upper placement he wanted could not be done — some regulation, he said. One ear was bleeding hard. He stood in the parking lot bleeding and describing it, turning over whether to get the silver now or wait, and deciding to wait, to let them heal and then get what he actually wanted. He said the idea had arrived the other day: that he wanted to pierce his ear. Self-expression. So that is what he did.
The drive back carried rock formations he called freaking beautiful, and then he was home in the heat — ninety degrees up in the cab, eighty-one on one reading, seventy-four or seventy-nine on the wall sensor he said could not really be trusted. He noted the numbers, noted that it did not actually feel hot, and moved on. Thunderstorms were forecast for a couple of hours. Bailey was down there chilling.
What remained of the day was project work, and rswfire laid it out with the same continuity he had applied to tires and tanks. The Ring devices to get up. An idea for securing the solar — a hollow cavity in the structure he could mount into, tricky because of the hollow, and bungee cords so that the panels never move ever. The whole aim, he said, was that everything in here be secure, so that when the slide is in Bailey can walk around without any fear of there being a problem. There was the camera upgrade he was not sure he was ready for. There was the shower area he needed to do something about pretty soon. There was the tour he would give eventually, when it was ready. Also on the near horizon: the dentist on Monday, two appointments, probably a month at least, and he had figured out how to pay what he needed to finish it — he wanted that done before he left this place.
She's not there yet, he said of the rig at the close of the day. Getting there though.