I hate the air mattress more than broccoli. I’m seven. Camping. There's a lump under my sleeping bag, and what if I can’t sleep? What if I’m awake in this tent forever? I struggle out of the sleeping bag’s caterpillar constriction. Mom shushes me. “You’ll wake up your sisters.” But my heart’s a rabbit in my throat and I’ve got to move. “I’ll take her,” says Dad. “Come outside.” Uh-oh. On go the shoes, the coat. In the ink-night I brace for a talking-to. But Dad doesn’t lecture. Instead, we sit at the picnic table and look at the stars.
Emma Halverson lives in Colorado, where she teaches writing to college students. Find her on TikTok: @theaceofbooks