Together in the Clouds

Chapter 2

The sporting goods store has an insane amount of sleeping bags. Who knew, right? It's kind of mind-boggling. After thirty minutes of reading labels and feeling overwhelmed, a bearded man asks me if I'd like any help. He's one of those super-outdoorsy types: tanned, wiry, intense. I'm a bit suspicious of his hair hygiene, which is significant coming from someone who's been washing out of a sink at the public library for five weeks. But his hair is so, well – messy. It's like he forgot he has hair to take care of at all. I wouldn't be surprised if something is living in it.

"I need a really warm sleeping bag," I tell him.

The store is jam-packed with so much camping equipment and military gear there's hardly room to move. The sleeping bag display is crammed between the hiking boots and the hunting knives. There are about fifty sleeping bags hanging from the ceiling in what would best be described as a hallway.

"Where will you be sleeping and what time of year?" He asks as he stops beside me.

Despite his appearance and lack of attention to grooming, this guy makes me feel at ease. Maybe it's the bushy beard that feels familiar. Or maybe it's because he's dressed super casual in shorts and a t-shirt with brown sandals on his feet. He could have just stepped off a sail boat in Key West.

"Let's say I wanted to sleep outside in the winter? Like, here, in Toronto?"

His eyes leave my face and scan my body. I can feel him assessing my clothing, calculating my height and weight. I'm surprised sleeping bags are so specific. I wonder if they're customized.

"Will you be in a tent or roughing it?"

"Roughing it?"

"Like, exposed to the elements."

"Oh. No. I'll be in a boat."

"Is this hypothetical are you really planning on sleeping in a boat in the winter in Toronto?"

"That's the plan. But I get the sense you think there's something wrong with it?"

"Nothing wrong, I guess. It's just that most Canadians store their boats in the winter, due to the lakes freezing over."

"Even the big lakes freeze over? Like Lake Ontario?"

The man nods and presses his lips together as if he's delivering catastrophic news. It makes his moustache and beard touch so that his mouth completely disappears in his facial hair. I wonder if Dad knows about the ice issue in Canada in the winter. I make a mental note to talk to him about it when he calls.

"I take it you're not from around here?" The man asks.

"No. I'm from Florida."

He nods, as if everything suddenly makes sense, then turns to consider the sleeping bags hanging in front of us like discarded condoms.

"In that case, I would suggest one of our higher-end bags. Probably a hybrid. The synthetic keeps the moisture out and the down layer keeps you warm. Probably something rated to 20 below. I mean, it doesn't often get that cold but that's what I'd get just to be safe." As he talks he turns the bag inside out to show me the down-filled liner.

"You mean, like 20 degrees below zero? Celsius?"

He nods again and pulls at his beard thoughtfully. I shift my weight from one foot to the other and the wide, worn floor boards groan in response.

"Wow. That must be really cold. I mean, I remember one time it got down to like forty degrees Fahrenheit. We were up north, near Panama City. And I thought that was a cold night's sleep."

"If you think that's cold, then I definitely recommend one of our warmest bags."

"I need two. One for my father."