IT’S EASY TO spot other campers when they go out in town. They look around as if they’re rediscovering everything. They leave sand behind as they walk. They don’t pay attention to traffic lights when they cross the street, and sometimes they almost die, because they’re arriving from another world; they’ve forgotten the rest.

The sun was setting. I, too, had forgotten. All that day, there had not been just the campsite, trapped between the road and the sea. I saw buildings again, buses, electric lights, I heard snatches of conversation as people walked past. Step by step, I expanded my loneliness. It wasn’t just at the campsite that no one knew. Everywhere, no one knew. I had forgotten about the streets and the other countries, this world that continued spinning while I was burying. Beneath the sand, Oscar was the center of that world. I could distance myself from it. When the horizon opened up, I saw other cities in the distance and highways. Escape routes. We had come here by car; we could leave by car, too. My family and Bubble were walking quietly alongside me. I could have suddenly thrown a fit: curled up in a ball and screamed like a child until they agreed to cancel this final night and go home immediately. It was feasible, if I forced it. But I was hungry. I’d hardly eaten anything since the day before. I wanted a steak and fries, with the obligatory salad that you never touch. One small pleasure, at least. Afterward, I thought, we’ll see.