I could skip the part about spending Valentine's Day with a dozen strangers.
And the part where four 17 year old boys rode up to our campfire on one ATV, then stripped down to their bleached white underwear and danced with wedgies.
Maybe one of them got this last bit of covering stolen and then hidden by one of our crew. Maybe she said she was inspired by the scene from Now and Then with the Wormer brothers.
Maybe the boys left and came back trying to prove they weren't as childish as thieves, digging holes with their dirt bike tires around our twinkle light tee pee and dog bowls and taking over our music selections.
Maybe someone threw a beer bottle at one of them.
Some people don't care for careful behavior, but then maybe those of us who do stayed in the RV with the lights off.
Maybe all of our concerns out here were a little different.
I could leave out the part about the BB guns and the Tecate cans, the part about building a fire with thirsty sticks, the part about winning my first game of Rummikub, the part about how the sky looked old and the dirt craved being in your nose.
I could tell you I saw a tan dog with no tail.
I saw a highway.
That I drank a whole carton of grapefruit juice, but my lips were still dry.
That I saw sunlight on the sand and a couple in a fight.
Saw hula hoops with sparkle tape.
Saw a dead gopher.
Saw the sun set in a haze.
Borrowed a sweatshirt from Basia.
Danced a slow dance with Scott.
Saw my friends holding hands.
Took a picture with my dragon and my baby.
I could skip all the details and just tell you the desert made us feel so far from home, like we went to the moon, but maybe that would make it seem like we didn't make any memories at all.