Permafrost

"Don't touch the walls of the tent," you warn as I hold you closer, shivering beneath two winter jackets and a poncho. Goosebumps coat my skin while the hair on my arms stands on end, trying so desperately to collect any warmth from your body. Rain taps on the tarp as the wind threatens to bring a branch down on our heads as we sit and wait out the storm. The dying glow of some coals in our makeshift rock fireplace outside is the only light we have until dawn and the oil in our lamps ran out an hour ago; you said flashlights and batteries were for losers. I look at the faint light through the thin canvas that separates us from the wilderness and sigh, my own breath quickly fogging up my glasses. My teeth chatter almost uncontrollably as my body continues to react to the chilly, 54 degree air and cold water that seems to have seeped everything in only a matter of hours.

You light a match and  let it burn for a moment to see if I'm all right. My skin is a ghostly white, much paler than usual and both my nails and lips are blue; hypothermia is now a major concern. You spring into action as the rest of my energy slowly starts draining from my body and my shivering finally stops but that is the worst thing possible right now. Too tired to fight you, I let you remove my soaking wet clothes and then cover me in your jacket, one of the only things that isn't soaked from the relentless rain, and practically smother me in a bear hug.

"Maybe we should go camping in the rain more often. I kind of like the affection," you joke as I finally come around about ten minutes later, my core temperature slowly regulating.

"Give me a break, man. I'm about as cold as my heart usually is," I answer, sticking my tongue out playfully.

Next time, losers or not, batteries and flashlights are my number one priority.