Thirty-two
Peter
Ishot to a sitting position, drawing a startled breath as I battled for my bearings. Confusion lingered, cool damp air nipped at my shirtless torso, and a musty scent filled my awareness. But a low moan several feet away pulled my brain into the moment.
Tent. Cooper.
That was Cooper moaning.
Reassured all was well, I eased back onto the ground, tugging the sleeping bag up and over my shoulders. My breaths came erratic and shallow, adrenaline burning in my veins. Cooper’s moaning must’ve startled me, but I wasn’t sure why.
Just as I drifted back to sleep, Cooper said, “Stop it. No.” He said it plain as day—with the clarity of someone who just woke up and had a cup of coffee. I frowned, confused on whether he was talking to me.
“Cooper?” I whispered, my voice husky with sleep.
He didn’t respond.
A few seconds later, he moaned again, the sound devolving into a prolonged whimper. When he spoke this time, his voice was small. “Please stop. Please.”
Frozen, I laid there, listening.
Snapping fabric filled the silence and the swish-swish of the nylon sleeping bag came faster and louder as I realized he was thrashing or flailing around or something.
When he whimpered again, chills erupted over my skin and my mouth went dry.
If I wasn’t one hundred percent certain we were the only two people in the tent, I would’ve bet money that sound came from a child.
Cooper made a choking sound that ended in a cry. And before I could stop myself, I tossed the sleeping bag aside and called his name. “Cooper.”
Still in the throes of his dream, he didn’t respond.
“Cooper!” I moved toward him, crawling across the few feet of open tent between our sleeping bags.
Reaching out to where I believed his shoulder would be, my fingers found his clammy skin and I squeezed.
The moment I touched him, Cooper bolted upright and the crying stopped as if someone had flipped a switch.
Before I could predict his movement, his body collided into mine with the force of a full speed freight train.
In the blink of an eye, Cooper had knocked me onto the bare canvas floor of the tent, sat on my chest, and grabbed my throat.
I gasped as oxygen got trapped in my lungs and his fingers adjusted to get a better hold.
Spittle hit my face as he hissed, “Touch me again and I will kill you. I will kill you.”
Clawing at his hands and arms, I tried to say his name but no sound rose from my lips.
Panic sliced through my chest as he bared down, transferring the weight of his body into his hands. If I didn’t act right now, I would die.
My kicking legs were useless against him so I reared my fists as far back as the ground would allow and started punching. Eyes, mouth, cheeks. Anywhere. Everywhere.
One well delivered punch to the neck stunned him enough that he loosened his grip, and I pushed him off of me.
A long wheezing inhale carted oxygen into my starving lungs. My throat spasmed as I coughed, and for a few long moments I thought of nothing but pulling air through my aching trachea—inhaling and exhaling. And trying not to crap my pants.
He must’ve realized where he was and what he’d just done, because a sharp gasp that wasn’t my own filled the air. “What did I do?” he mumbled, the words laced with bone-chilling terror. “What did I just do?”
“Coo-per,” I rasped.
Suddenly, he was at my side, his hand on my shoulder.
He rolled me to my back and words poured out of him like a faucet on full blast. So fast and so many that I couldn’t grab onto a single one.
His speech stuttered with panic and his teeth chattered so violently he could hardly talk.
Maybe that’s why I couldn’t understand him.
My own confusion rolled away as I made heads and tails of the situation.
I’d interrupted his nightmare, and he attacked what he perceived as the threat—me.
“I’m sorry, Peter—I’m so sorry. I can’t believe—I don’t know why I did that—I wasn’t thinking—”
“Coo-per,” I rasped again. “I’m—okay.”
He sniffed long and loud, and I realized he’d been crying. “I’m so sorry.”
“What the hell—happened?”
“I thought someone was attacking me…I had a dream.”
“Are you okay?”
He paused for a few long beats, like he didn’t know how to answer.
Or like he couldn’t. Then the tent door zipped open and he darted out.
His footsteps staggered away from the tent before a terrible retching sound filled the quiet night.
Time ticked in slow motion as Cooper lost everything he’d had for dinner and then some.
He finally quit dry heaving and silence fell again.
All of what transpired couldn’t have lasted longer than a few seconds, but every moment of it would stretch in my memory like an infinity.
I touched my neck and winced. I’d be sore for a while.
Hopefully, there weren’t bruises because walking around with finger-shaped marks on my neck would draw some questions.
And, for a reason I couldn't pinpoint yet, I didn’t want to tattle on Cooper.
I searched my soul for the most basic instinct of rage and indignance, but there wasn’t a drop of anger to be found.
What just happened wasn’t normal. People didn’t attack other people in their sleep for kicks.
I knew enough about the brain and trauma and my own bad dreams to understand that real life could put you on high-alert.
That stress from the day was stored in the subconscious and could resurface in dreams. And when I thought about that, it was impossible to be angry.
All I felt was concern.
Outside the tent, intermittent sniffling started.
And, even though I didn’t want to feel anything, my chest burned with empathy.
My muscles tensed as I fought the urge to go to him.
But what would I say? I didn’t want to pry.
The only person I’d ever talked to about bad dreams was Sarah.
Doing so with Cooper felt personal and intimate in all the wrong ways.
But the sniffling intensified and he threw up again.
He was not okay.
Unable to hush my need to comfort a suffering soul, I pulled a hoodie over my head, careful not to move my neck around too much, and slipped tennis shoes on my feet. “Cooper?”
“Over here.”
Following the sound of his voice, I walked to the picnic table. “You alright, man?”
His exhale was emotion-laden. “I’ll be alright.” Considering we were in the middle of a campground, the night was surprisingly quiet and Cooper’s heel dragging over the pebble gravel felt loud in comparison.
He scraped out words. “I am so sorry, Peter. I’ve had a lot of bad dreams, but that’s never happened before. I could’ve…I would’ve…” He couldn’t press the words out.
“But you didn’t.”
“I thought you were someone else.”
“I figured.”
A few beats of silence passed.
I hesitated. “Do you…need to talk about it?”
“I never talk about my dreams.” His voice was small again.
“Well, if you need to, you can. I don’t get many anymore, but when I used to, I’d always talk them out with Sarah. Or we’d just lay and talk about something completely unrelated to help me relax.”
Abruptly he stood. “I can’t do anything without a cigarette.”
With that, he disappeared into the tent then came back, rolling a lighter as he did.
The flicking sound gave way to a soft puff and soon, the scent of tobacco lingered in the air.
Fully focused on his smoke, he took long, shaking inhales and seemed to forget I was there.
I debated on whether to leave him be or sit with him, but as my indecision pushed from seconds to minutes, I felt it would be more awkward to leave than to stay.
So I stayed. I was wide awake anyway.
I leaned back against the table and crossed my arms over my chest. Instinctively, I tried to roll the tension out of my neck and grunted when my muscles snapped tight.
Cooper whispered, “I didn’t even ask. Is your neck okay?”
I touched it. “It hurts a little.”
“I’m gonna turn on my phone light,” he said. A second later, he pushed closer. “Look up.”
I tipped my chin back.
He exhaled with relief. “Nothing yet. I guess we’ll see.”
“Has anything like that ever happened in the bunkhouse?”
“No. Harlan said he’s heard me talking and moving a few times. But, I haven’t walked around or done anything in my sleep. I—use a sound machine. That helps, I think. ”
I nodded, remembering the white noise muddying the silence of the bunkhouse. “How long have you been having them?”
He hissed his breath through his teeth. “As long as I can remember. They started when I was in elementary school. I’m a bit of an insomniac. The fact I fell asleep at all is a miracle. Usually, I stare at the ceiling most of the night.”
“Same. It’s frustrating isn’t it?”
“Very.” He grunted. “I want to take sleeping pills, but I can’t ‘cause I’ll get addicted.”
“I don’t take sleeping pills either because of my other medications.”
“When you can’t sleep, what do you do then?”
I gave a humorless laugh. “Stare at the ceiling and fight a panic attack.”
That made Cooper laugh a little. “That’s honest.”
“There’s no reason to sugar coat it.”
“Sometimes I do push ups if my adrenaline starts going. Other times, I read.”
“You’re a reader?”
He clicked his tongue. “Yep. Hollie got me started.”
“That’s cool. She’s loved to read her entire life. She mentioned the two of you are good friends.”
“We are. I’ve never had a friend like her. She’s the best.”
“Why? What is it about her?”
“She just…” Cooper floundered for a few seconds.
“She’s always made me feel like I was worth getting to know.
My entire life I’ve been”—he paused, searching for the word—“silenced, I guess. So her listening ear has meant a lot to me. At first we’d just talk about birds and stuff, but she practically knows my life’s story now. ”
“Birds?”
He gave a soft laugh. “I like taking pictures of them.”
“Really?” I could not picture Cooper bird watching. “I thought that was an old man hobby.”
Cooper’s raspy laugh filled the quiet again, the tension spinning away. “It definitely is.”