The air smelled of summer rain on dead leaves: hot, wet - rotten. Susan crawled out of the tent and felt her hands and knees sink into the soft, soggy earth. It was predawn, dark, and everyone else was sleeping hard, exhausted from the 12-mile backpacking hike that had taken them to this ungodly place.
Susan would be asleep too, if it wasn't for the liter of red wine she had snuck into her pack. She had guzzled it quietly in her tent the night before. While everyone else was hanging out by the fire, laughing, singing songs, and telling stories she had stayed in her tent and gotten drunk.
Now all she wanted to do was find a place to go to the bathroom. She had to pee, bad. She struggled to her feet and thought she might have to throw up too. One, two, three steps and she was down again, head first in the dark, into the wet leaves. The hangover was bad. She was spinning.
Susan lied there awhile, pissed herself, then crawled back into the tent. It was warm and dry in there, and she didn't have to go to the bathroom anymore. Susan slept.
Susan Paul [Colorado Springs, CO] is a denizen of Colorado and all that state has to offer: the mountains, streams and wild backcountry. She climbs a mountain every week and sleeps outside every month, year round. When she's in the house she writes a little.
© 2009 Susan Paul. Original for CCF. Susan grants CCF first electronic rights for one month; CCF may archive the material indefinitely and include it in an eBook anthology.
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