Just when I think he’s going to take off running, actually listening to my request, he does something quite different. He bends down, lifts up my legs and hoists me on his back. “Grab tight, love.” My hands wrap around his neck, and he speeds off. The wind whips my brown hair, and I listen to his easy breath as he carries me away from the chaos and towards the city where we live. I’ve ridden on his back before. When we were kids. When I couldn’t make it up the Great Sand Dunes in Colorado. When I forgot to wear closed-toed shoes in the Costa Rican rain forest. When I just needed a lift. He was
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