“Are you asleep?”
Your soft whisper breaks the silene of the mild October night. I wouldn’t known how to answer your question; I am awake enough to have heard it, but asleep enough to doubt whether you actually said anything, or if I am dreaming it. So I don’t answer.
You sigh. I can hear you move about a little in your sleeping bag, which is close enough to mine to touch it. This is the third night of our field trip. We have three more to go. During the day, we walk, almost from dusk to dawn. When the sun gets low on the horizon, we pitch our tent, eat and go to sleep. We’ve done this many times before.
I hear the zipper on your sleeping bag slide down – actually I can almost feel it. Another longer, gentle sigh, and your breathing gets heavier. At this point, I’m pretty sure I’m not dreaming. I don’t dare open my eyes even a little bit. The tent becomes an echo chamber for your deep breaths and the rythmic strokes of your fingers. It’s all amplified by the total silence of the night.