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Win on the couch with that family in Indiana who let us sleep on their backyard trampoline.

My thumb and forefinger framing the head of a giant Lincoln statue somewhere in Illinois.

Me jumping off a bridge somewhere over the Mississippi.

Win on a covered wagon in the rain outside Pepin, Wisconsin.

A shot of me from twenty yards away, streaking toward the camera, my water bottle already firing a stream toward Win.

Morgan and Effie in their kitchen, awkward, as if the camera’s gaze embarrassed them.

I don’t know how long I sat there as the pictures faded from one to another. The whole glorious two months unfolded before me, flooding back in a way that made me even more emotional than finding Win had.

The last picture—right after a sequence including a shot of uniformed Danielle, carrying a tray past that counter where I’d eaten just a few days ago; a shot of a fake dead cowboy in Winthrop; and a fuzzy image of a mangy, rabid coyote—was of Win.

He was sitting on the floor of Morgan’s barn. I imagined he’d positioned the camera on that very crate where I’d sat when we talked. He was looking straight into the lens. In his hand he held a scrap of one of our maps—probably North Dakota, judging by the emptiness. Random letters cut from that damn bumper sticker looked tiny and crooked on the middle of the almost colorless map, creased and furry at the edges. I had to enlarge the photo to read it.

Win’s message was only one word.

THANKS
.

I nodded, staring at the picture a little longer before closing the window and removing the drive.

I held it in my hand, marveling that something so tiny could carry so much …
weight
.

I crossed to my dresser, dropping the flash drive in a plastic cup
I’d been given during orientation. I opened the top drawer and pulled out a clean pair of shorts. I hesitated before slamming it shut. I grabbed the cup and fished the drive from it. Reaching back into my drawer, I unearthed my itchiest, heaviest pair of winter socks. Mom had made me bring these, but I’d never wear them. Being warm wasn’t worth that much pain.

I unfolded the ball of wool and elastic. The drive slipped quietly down into the scratchy blue, nestling in the toe. I felt it there for a second before rolling the cuffs over each other and shoving the socks back into the darkness of the drawer.

I closed it gently and stepped away, studying the dresser. It didn’t look any different. Didn’t look like it would burst with all the memories it held. But when I glanced in the mirror hanging over the dresser, I realized I did.

I looked like that guy from the photos. The one who knew how epic life could be. The one who knew who his friends were. The one who knew what it meant to find adventure.

I didn’t need those pictures in my hands or on my wall to know that.

And I didn’t need Win, either.

But it was good knowing they’d be there when I wanted a reminder.

Both of them.