It’s 2am and you awaken to the realization that the piercing pain in your pelvis will easily translate into a urine-soaked sleeping bag if you don’t do something quick. So you fumble to find the flashlight you’ve left on top of the cubby next to you, but once your fingers make contact, the veil of sleep behind your eyes lifts and you gingerly place this lifeline between your teeth.
You brace yourself for the stiff welcome of stinging cold as you peel the blanket on top of the sleeping bag back and emerge from your cocoon. You reach for the jacket you’ve left hanging on the edge of the bunk bed for just this occasion, and once you’ve slinked it on, you grasp the edges of the top bunk and begin the ascent down to civilization.
“Next time I’ll come early,” you think as your clumsy feet struggle to find each rung “so I can snag a bottom bunk.”
Finally you reach the gritty floor and very carefully slide your feet inside your tennis shoes. You don’t lace them up or anything—they are merely makeshift slippers for the night. You try to creep quietly to the door, which is really just an opening where a door would normally be covered with a sheet, but the gravel stuck beneath your shoes gives you up, and you crunch crunch crunch along until you can feel the cool mountain breeze tickling your nose.
Off you go. You turn on your priceless flashlight and illuminate the pine needle path to the facilities. Not to the shed with the 10-foot (that’s only an estimation) hole in the ground, no, you’re taking the trek toward actual toilets. You nearly fall over a pinecone but regain composure as you are on an increasingly dire mission.
You should feel afraid, what with the pitch black and the trees for hiding and aren’t there bears in the woods? But somehow you feel nothing but focused on your imminent relief and as pristine as the air your lungs strain to swallow.
And have you ever seen so many stars?
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