Member-only story
NIGHT CLIMBING / A STORY
Going Home
The Stars Calling
I turn over for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes. The ground here is uneven and greets every attempt at comfort with a new root, or a small rock, or a pebble, or a hollow.
I cannot fall asleep; I cannot find the position that might allow me to. Or perhaps I have slept, perhaps I have stretched my legs a little on sleep’s surface, I don’t know, but I do know that now I am very much awake.
So, back to the drawing slash moving board. I ease my way around again, slowly, aware of Rick not quite snoring but definitely — and happily, I gather — asleep only a foot from me. He must be used to this mountainous treatment. Even so, I don’t want to wake him. The sleeping bag rustles as I maneuver onto my back only to find the ground true to its torturing mission: another pebble.
There’s no way. I give up and open my eyes onto dark, cold air.
We’re two to a tent, and there are three tents in our little camp. Rick and I in this one. Linda and Jeff in another. Jim and Eva in a third.
It is very still.
Evening saw some brisk, cold winds, but they have eased now to barely a whisper. I listen to this stillness. There is not a sound from either of the other tents. It seems they are…
