The campfire has died down, the moon has yet to rise, a breeze whistles gently through the tamarisk trees, the night air has cooled a bit since the sun has sky-dived over the horizon. The stars shine brilliantly in the moonless clear sky of the desert. I show her how to find Polaris, the North Star and the Little Dipper from the edge of the Big Dipper, all the stars of the Little Dipper clearly visible, something you just cannot see in the haze of the city. We track the pinpoint reflection of a satellite as it passes overhead working its way through the stars.
As we lay on our inflated inflatable mattress itself on a tarp, under the cover of our spread out sleeping bag, we hear a twig crack near the tree behind us. “What was that?”, Angie says quite alarmed. Even in the dark, I can see the wide-eyed look of fear as she slides herself closer to me. “I think it might be a bear”, I tease. “Really?”, she says quite alarmed. No bears live in the Anza-Borrego desert, a fact I fail to mention. I tell her the old joke that I don’t have to outrun the bear, I just have to outrun her. Her back to me, both of us laying on our sides in the spooning position, she elbows me in the ribs.
Some leaves rustle in the distance. “Its a mountain lion”, I tell her. Mountain lions do exist in the desert and for that matter in San Diego proper. I have never seen one in the wild. “Are you serious?”, her voice cracks with genuine concern. “No, of course not”, I quickly say, regretting my inability to resist teasing her. She backs into me even more. I have my arms around her and kiss the back of her neck, my face getting lost in her long hair. Ok, maybe I don’t regret it that much. I see a little kangaroo rat hop over the corner of the tarp. I don’t tell her. Something tells me that a rat would freak her out even more than the mountain lion.
A bat flies overhead. I can see its shadowy outline as it passes in front of the bright stars. Bats are pretty common. “Ok, now I know you are just kidding”, she says. I can feel the tenseness leave her body. Angie relaxes a bit on her first night under the stars. I pull her tight and give her a hug, she turns her head back and gives me a light kiss on the cheek. I’m not sure why bats flying over our heads is not believable, but I let it go, glad that it has diffused her anxiety at least a little bit. A shooting star flashes overhead winking at us. I drift off to sleep, my arm around her waist, our legs curled together, leaving her to find her own sleep fighting through the vivid terrors of her imagination fueled by the unfamiliar noises and sensations of our outdoor adventure.
