When I was 10, I had diarrhea at Six Flags.
I was hoping my mom wasn’t noticing my frequent trips to the bathroom in-between rides.
The evidence of my sickness flung from the highest point of the tallest roller coaster.
“Eww, somebody puked,” cried a little girl as she protected her snow cone from the onslaught.
My mom looked up from her phone. “I’m pretty sure that’s not puke,” she whispered quietly to herself. “Shit.”