He poked his bare head out through the tent opening. The cold bit his face and he immediately saw the white steam escape from his mouth. It was bitter. The reality of the situation was stark.
He quickly pulled his head back into the tent. Not that it was much warmer in there, but it held enough of his body heat to radiate back inward. A tear came into his eye. How did he get into this mess? He pulled his jacket together tighter and wrapped the blanket around himself. He sat and shivered.
After sitting for another five minutes, wallowing in self pity, he stuck his head out again. The sun was setting. He knew it was only going to get colder. It was decision time. The tent was not likely to be a stituation that would get him through the night, but leaving it was not a particularly more appealing option.
His head went back in again. He sat sulking, beginning to feel the desperation creeping like the cold.
As he was sitting there, the zipper of the tent opened. His mother’s head appeared and he looked up.
“Joe, it’s getting cold. Are you coming in?” She said, gently.
“Is Dad mad at me?” He asked in reply.
“I’ll worry about your daddy, honey.”
“But, Mom, I broke his chair.”
“Honey, I think he’d rather have a broken chair than a frozen son. Come back in the house.”
“Ok, Mom. Can I leave the tent outside until the morning? It’s really cold.”
“Sure. Let’s just get inside, I don’t have my coat on.”