March 10th

Dear Mom,

My ankle is still quite sore, and I feel like I have nothing to write to you.

I am tired of this pain and tired of the fact that it isn't healing as fast as I'd like and I'm supposed to stay off it.

But I feel like there's a giant clock ticking down to when I will need to go home and face whatever my life will look like when this is all over.

It's so hard for me to believe I have only seven more weeks in my year of travel. Not to say that I won't travel for longer, but I had planned a year.

I still can't believe it's taken a year for me to cover the ground I have, and yet, I have seen so much and learned so much. I've become a completely different person.

I know you'd still recognize me though. You always believed I could be the strong willed, yet kind person I believe I've become.

I got a call from Marc today. It took me by surprise since I'd almost forgotten the quiet man and his adorable little girl who pulled me out of that lake in South Dakota.

He said he'd been thinking about me a lot, and wanted to be sure I was still alive.

We didn't talk for very long, just fifteen minutes or so, and there were plenty of pauses during that. He seemed comfortable with a bit of silence though, and I told him a bit about my travels. He told me how Kris is doing, and how proud he is of her.

I remember meeting them and feeling left out of something beautiful because of the relationship he had with her. I so wanted that with Dad, and it's a restful feeling to know we're on our way, if not to something that close, to at least a respectful and loving father/daughter friendship.

I told Marc that, about the effort Dad has put in to stay in touch with me, and our trip to New Orleans.

He said he was happy for me, and he wouldn't worry so much. Asked me if I could please just text him when I got home so he would know he didn't need to fret about me anymore.

Again, I know this might not be normal behavior, and in someone else might have raised red flags, but there's something infinitely trustworthy about Marc.

He legitimately cares about the sopping wet twenty-something straggler he met six months ago. He saw me and I know he imagined Kris in that position and hasn't been able to get it out of his head since.

I'm glad he called. I really have met some incredible people throughout this trip.

Speaking of the incredible people, I miss Jasper. I want to see him all the time, or at least talk to him all the time, but we both are always on the move. Me, traveling, and him working in his shop.

He told me the bayfront is pretty nice this time of year, mostly because it's cold enough all the fish being packaged don't have time to start smelling, but he's not looking forward to the summer months.

The smell of the fish doesn't bother him, but customers come crowding in the shops of the bayfront, not to buy, but to escape the stink.

I hadn't experienced this before, so I had no idea it was like that.

I told him about Michigan, where I am, and my pitiful attempt to enjoy the Great Lakes while my ankle is still needing rest.

It's one of the most difficult things this water loving soul has experienced to not be able to walk on the shore of Lake Erie and ponder all the things I can.

It's messing with my fanciful self to be restrained, but I suppose it's forcing me to think and imagine in a different way, and that can't be all bad.

I have a nice hotel room here, so I've taken advantage of the amenities, including a pool where I've been floating for hours at a time, and an on-call massage therapist.

I've been here three days and gotten two massages, one of which was a hot rock massage. I don't think I've ever been this relaxed in my life.

At least not since I became an adult and my shoulders seized up with stress.

The massage therapist is a really nice girl too. Her name is Alana, and her hands are scary strong. The second massage she gave me was a deep tissue massage, and I'm still a little sore.

I've noticed that therapists, or most of them anyway, have a certain vibe. You can tell a therapist when you're just talking to them because of it.

I think maybe it takes a special kind of person to invest years of their lives into helping people be better.

I want to be that kind of person, but I'm not sure I'll ever get there. So many of my everyday decisions are so selfish. An only child, used to having attention.

But I believe I'm better today than I was a year ago, and if I can get better then hopefully someday I could be that kind of person.

We'll see, but for now I'm going to slip into my swimsuit and go float in the pool some more. I'm so glad it's an indoor pool and there aren't many kids staying here right now. I get to be as selfish as I want with it.

I wish you could be here, and we could play mermaids like when I was little, and we could splash and scream and be the wild free things we once were.

Before the world went mad.

I love you.

I miss you with everything I am.

Bo.