The sun’s dying, gray light barely shone through the blue polyester of the tent. The Rocky Mountains were dark, looming silhouettes. Insects bumped into the taut fabric, attracted by the muted glow of the flashlight hanging from the top of the tent. The flashlight swayed, causing shadows to scurry across the tent. A campfire crackled in the distance. An erratic patter of rain fell on the tent, raindrops streaming down all four sides. My mouth was dry and I could feel my breath flowing down my throat. My phone was by my side, providing a sense of comfort. Never mind that it died hours ago.

I wriggled down in my sleeping bag and pulled the hood over my eyes. My labradoodle, Truffle, snored, her paws flitting in her dreams, clawing at the pink mattress she lay on. She yelped aggressively in her sleep. I stuck my arm out of the sleeping bag and ran a hand over her fur. It felt brittle, like the staccato notes on a harpsichord. People sang in the background, their voices somber, although the tune was light. The singing died away seconds after I noticed it, like the remnants of a dream floating away.

Though it was less than five degrees celsius outside, my thermal clothes were soaked with sweat, the result of the three blankets my body was twisted around. The wind was noticeably still, providing an eerie contrast to the murmurs of the night. Strong winds usually appeared in abundance this time of year, eroding soil and stripping leaves from branches. I normally welcomed windless moments, but not when a slick layer of sweat coated my skin. I heard footsteps on dried leaves outside of the tent. Someone unzipped the tent and clambered in. It was my mom. Her hair was wet and her face had a saturated, scrubbed quality. 

“Don’t shower, the water’s too cold,” she said. “There’s no one at the showers right now so you should probably go.”
I wormed out of my sleeping bag and fished for a toothbrush and a bottle of toothpaste from my backpack, propped up in a corner of the tent. I pulled on a pair of running shoes and climbed out of the tent. The rain had stopped, leaving trickles of water flowing on the ground and a fresh, musky smell. The air was so humid that I could feel it resist against me, as if I were wading through a pool of warm water. The sun was no longer visible, but the final rays of light streak across the sky. Shadows were amplified, moving along with the shifting light. A magpie picked at a rabbit carcass, its feathers stained. The magpie’s eyes were illuminated, giving it a cunning, mysterious look. I forcefully shifted my eyes away from the sight, focusing on the red road ahead of me. Camping lots lined both sides of the road, most of them occupied. Aspens rustled harshly, their branches dotted with leaves, although there was no wind. 

The shower facility was a small building, built from concrete walls covered in bricks. Several bricks had detached on the wall and lay scattered on the ground. A rusted gutter emptied water into a patch of grass. The patch of grass, long and green from feeding off the rainwater, provided a severe contrast to the dried, brown grass resembling hay that surrounded the building. The metal door was propped open by a wooden plank covered in a pale green fuzz. I stepped into the building, the lights above me flickering. Strands of hair clung to creases between the ceramic tiles lining the floor and walls, fighting the pull of the drain. The building was small, composed of three shower stalls and two sinks. Warped, nauseatingly yellow planks of wood lined the ceiling. I set my toothpaste on the counter and turned the tap on. The water was cold, and small slivers of ice flowed along with the water, despite the weather. 

I squeezed the blue and white paste from the toothpaste bottle over the frayed bristles of my toothbrush and dipped it in the running water. I brushed my teeth quickly and gathered up my belongings, spitting out the spicy taste of mint. 

I walked back on the other side of the road. This side was less kempt, with tufts of grass growing into the road. The red dust slid into my socks, and I felt sand slide between my toes as I walked back to our tent. I crawled back into the tent. My mom was on her phone in her sleeping bag, watching a show, and I fell asleep to the sound of my dog snoring, the faint sound of unintelligible words, and the quiet buzz of the flashlight.