Ruth isn’t really looking at the food, but wanders around looking at her phone. She stops and eye rolls at it.

“Friend drama?” I ask, risking the eye roll being redirected at me.

But Ruth holds up her phone. “Mom,” she says. “She’s already bugging me about making sure I take my meds and putting GIFs like that’s going to make it less annoying. Also she’s terrible at GIFs.”

Of course Mom’s worried. When Ruth started taking daily medication for her depression, my parents reacted kind of differently. My mom made a spreadsheet and set alarms on her phone and Ruth’s, plus reminders twice a day that said Time to hydrate! Dad made a box shaped like a skull, the top half hinging upward like a doorway to the brain, and a slot inside perfectly shaped for a pill bottle. Mom groaned when he brought it out, but Ruth thought it was hilarious.

I don’t tell Ruth I watched to make sure she took her pills that morning.

Not that she’s in the habit of skipping or forgetting, but with a brain or a sister (or a sister’s brain), you can’t be too cautious. Instead I casually show Ruth where the granola bars are. The ones with the cherry filling. She’s always liked cherry. Getting enough food is always a good thing, right? Not that food is something that automatically cures Ruth’s bad days or anything like that, but it helped when Ellie did it. Ruth picks up one of the granola bars and after we pay at the register, she drops it into her purse. I hope she doesn’t forget about it. Ruth losing her appetite is not a good sign.

That night we stop at a Waffle House for dinner. We’re all fans of breakfast dinners, even Ruth. After we eat, Eddie gives me a couple quarters for the machines in the front lobby that spit out stickers or plastic rings or washable tattoos in little plastic carriers. I go for sparkly tattoos, because I’m pretty sure that’s the one Ruth would go for.

My perfect Instagram shot hasn’t happened today yet either. I try a few shots in the Waffle House parking lot on our way out, but nothing quite works. I don’t get discouraged, though, because the sun is going down and even though night photography is super hard, it can be the coolest stuff when it works out well.

We park for the night, and I knew my hopes weren’t in vain because across the street is a streetlamp and a giant oak tree.

Perfect.

Being out there alone with my camera and the nighttime breeze is my happy place. Happy in the peaceful sense. Happy in the sense that my head can finally stop buzzing about like a hyped-up bee.