Following

  Ok. Let's just pretend for a second that my first follower is not just the cop upstairs. If you're not - then please let me extend an apology for the assumption. You'll understand why in a few sentences.

 Upon leaving Sitka, I knew the chances of them dropping such blanket unconstitutional violations of freedom and privacy were practically non-existent.

  Did you know you can tell if someone is following you by looking in the rearview mirror and not watching the first or even second car behind you? It's usually the third or fourth car. I had read that somewhere and dang if it wasn't true. I tried it in Del Rio, Texas, our next stop on the map. I would switch lanes and the third or fourth car would follow. Then I would switch back. And the third or fourth car would follow. You know what's really fun? Wait until the green light is getting old, then speed up to go through just as it turns yellow. Just to see if they'll run it to keep up with you. One time I got real inventive and just decided to go in a square - around the block - for no reason whatsoever. That only worked once until they caught on.

  In Del Rio we lived in the barrio. Besides testing to see how many people were following us, we spent a good deal of time taking walks up to the so-called park. Which was actually just a square of grass that neighborhood mommies strolled around to get fresh air. Two things could be counted on during our walk. The house on the far corner consistently featured a screaming mom. Always screaming. Every frigging day. The second thing I could count on was a white van with it's door open - yet it was so dark inside you couldn't tell who might be in there. That van seriously creeped me out. It could have been a mommy's van. But why would she leave it wide open for a stranger to then hide in for her return? Not likely. The other option was a potential kidnapper. Considering we lived in a poor neighborhood and we sported the fanciest stroller by miles, that was a real possibility. Especially since Del Rio is just across the Mexican border and we looked like a prime target. That van with it's dark interior and yawning door made me seriously nervous. The third possibility was we were being followed by the usual suspects yet again - the police.

  At home, I wondered where they had put the cameras since our new house wasn't fronted with glass like the one in Sitka had been. I didn't bother to try to find them. With technology the way it is now I knew they probably were everywhere, even the computer, tv screen, potentially all over. Laughing Head had already proved to me that I was being filmed. At that point I considered hiring a private detective to protect me and Isaac.