Restricted by the tight seat belt, my shoulder began to ache along with the rest of my body. My family of nine and I had been stuck in the car for over five hours, and one look out of the window told me it could easily be five more. In addition to the heavy traffic, I was overwhelmed with the sense of dread hurricanes always bring with them; images of destroyed homes, flooded cars, and crying babies instantly consumed my mind. I continued pondering the strength of nature when I was suddenly hit with an extraordinary pain in my abdomen; the unmistakable sign of an overfilled bladder. I tried to convince myself it was no big deal, I could just hold it in. I had always prided myself on my steel bladder; I was thrilled that in all my eight years, I was never the reason we had to pull over for a bathroom break. I tried clinging to this thought, but the pain continued to swell in my stomach. My face flushed with heat as the panic set into my body; why did I drink all six water bottles?

I began imagining myself at thirty-years-old, engaged in an intellectual debate with one of my six siblings, only for them to invalidate my argument on the claim of that one time I peed on myself in the car. Determined not to make that nightmare a reality, I knew I had to do something about my situation. In spite of my humiliation, I explained the problem to my parents and welcomed any suggestions. “Just go in the middle of the street,” my dad replied, as if this was the most obvious answer in the world. Just the thought of that experience was enough to send a violent shudder down my spine. Sheepishly, my mom handed me a medium-sized tupperware container that had been used to house the snacks. I looked back at her in horror, but quickly grasped that it was my only chance of survival. I struggled to find a way to pull down my favorite lavender mini skirt, adorned with heart shaped pockets, to maintain as much modesty as I could in this situation. Slowly, I lowered myself over the thin, plastic, tub, careful not to expose too much of my body to the environment around me. A tangible heat began to fill the old Suburban up; it was so thick I could have reached out and grabbed it. The snores of my older siblings were interrupted as this episode came to its finale and they understood what was happening. My body quivered with shame as I overheard their unsuccessful attempts of stifling their laughter, knowing all too well the weight this transpiration would hold over me for the rest of my life. The soft, pitter patter of rain falling against a tin roof was once a sound I enjoyed listening to; that sentiment, along with my dignity, was gone after this trip.