My Universe

Late summer sun sparkles and gleams off the chrome of the ’64 T-bird as it glides down the interstate. Turquoise with cream interior, it was his pride and joy, his baby from another lady. Yessir, four straight months of refurb, and she was purring nice and strong as she ate up the asphalt stream below. Sitting next to him in the passenger seat was his baby from his main lady; 15 and tall as ever, with bleach blonde hair whipping about her face. Absentmindedly chipping away at the lavender polish on her right thumb, she had initially complained about the 6:00 am wake up call, but was secretly excited and glad to be out on such a sunny morning with her father. They were finally on the road at 9:00 am, and he was chomping at the bit to get out to Frog Lake and watch her cast the first line.

Morning filtered in through the dense branches of the fir trees and cast a speckled blanket of light over the mother doe lying below. She had just given life to the boy fawn curled up right beside her in the hidden glen. He needed to rest, and then try walking again. Even in this peaceful time she knew they couldn’t stay much longer. The scent of birth was sure to drive out the more notorious of predators in time. She bent her neck gracefully down and licked his brow with her rough tongue. He would need a good bath soon, but first, sleep. Her quiet brown eyes scanned the surrounding area once more before she, too, succumbed to the sandman.

Life out on the far side of the purple mountains was a dream – there were fields to play and roam in, streams to splash in, and many, many bushes laden with tasty treats. The boy fawn was wrapping up his fourth month of life, and had grown much in that time. The white spots that had once flecked his backside were almost gone; replaced with a deep brown coat that was readying itself for the winter months ahead. Mimicking a field rabbit, the young buck was doing just that – following and bucking behind the poor creature as it scurried and hopped trying to find his burrow. Destination reached for the rabbit, the thirsty young deer trots off to a nearby pond. Wading cautiously though the muck, the fawn turns to observe his own hoof prints following him. Scanning the watering hole before dropping his ample neck, the young buck is startled by a loud gravelly sound behind him. He starts and turns and sees nothing. More excited than scared, he pretends to lower for another sip – this time catching a rustle in a low patch of flowering rush to his left. The boy fawn lifts his head and the gravelly sound starts again. Inhaling deep, the young buck smells nothing but dirt, roots and home. The deer takes a few steps towards the bush covered in violet blossoms and drops his continence closer still. With yet another low bellow, a bright green something zips in front of his eyes. The boy fawn falls back on his long spindly legs and beholds a small frog sitting in front of him in the mud. For a minute there in the still afternoon, a frog and a deer regarded one another; the taut glistening body no bigger than a peach staring up at the awkwardly positioned one.

Dwindling summer days cradled and cared for the two new friends, warming and lighting their excursions to the deepest ends of the forest, and furthest reaches of the grasslands. Mother deer allowed this unlikely pair to explore together, and knew frogs to be wise and full of good humor. He showed the young buck all the best drinking ponds, where the biggest flies and insects lived, and would scurry through the thick bushes to help collect berries for the growing deer. The young buck, whose antlers were just starting to show, was well-liked by his other antlered peers, but enjoyed spending time with his tiny green friend the most.

One morning when the young buck went to collect his friend from one of his favorite bushes, he found no one home. Confused, he hopped all around the pond, hoping if anything that frog would feel him jumping about and come out to play. Cascading over a thick birch root, the deer lands and spots a lizard, lazing on a rock in the growing heat. The lizard tells him that he would not find his friend, for he and his kind had already migrated across the Dark River to Large Lake, where they would prepare for their long sleep. He explains that the ponds the boy fawn was so used to, were now unsuitable for a frog's long sleep, as they were too shallow and would allow the frost to reach. Frog and his peers sought Large Lake as their last refuge against the unwavering cold of winter. To this the young deer appears solemn, yet undeterred. He has seen Dark River before, when he was very small, and knew the way to it. He would find his friend before the big frost set in.

Cresting over a yellowing hill, the young buck turns his long neck towards the wind and inhales deep, before descending into the valley that would start his journey over Dark River to Large Lake. Mother would be none the wiser, as he and frog often explored all day, sometimes returning at twilight, and he was sure he would be home before then.

Midday had yet to ring when the deer crosses over a low strawberry patch, and holds in his sight the first glimpse of Dark River. It did not seem particularly deep, or fast, as the adolescent deer approaches the last line of shrubbery guarding against the river’s still edges. It was quiet here- quieter than his home, the deer notices as he slowly steps through the bushes. The buck took a deep breath, and places a hoof into the waters of Dark River. To his astonishment, the water was not water at all. It was solid, more like a rock or a plateau. This surprises the young buck, but encourages him as well; maybe he would be able to catch up to frog quicker. Still unsure, he slowly moves all four legs until he is solidly on the river. His senses tell him to walk forward, and so he does. Deer has been ambling along down the river when he feels a faint rumble in the distance ahead. He freezes, and flicks both ears forward to listen.

The beautiful scenery rushing past was starting to go unnoticed by the two in the teal T-bird rolling down the highway. Refurbished as it was, the bird did not come stock with A/C, and both father and daughter were starting to really stick to the pearly leather seats. Sandaled foot almost flooring it, he was determined to get out on that lake before noon. He glances to his right, and notices that she has fallen asleep in the heat of the day- feet up and arms curled around them. She looks babyish in this pose; like she is having a nice, pleasant dream, papa thinks to himself.

The deer is still standing, stuck in his alertness. His body is determining its next movement. Whatever it is – a tiny, bright speck now - is coming fast, and by the sound of it, there is no way it is not ripping the river in two behind it. He thought of frog, and where he must be now, and whether or not he encountered a similar creature while crossing this dark river. Maybe this is the reason mother never allowed me too close.

Strong, steady muscles carry the creature over to the other side of the river. And then, back again.

Turning his eyes back to the road, his brain barely registers the animal's first leap. Reflexes on point this morning, the driver steadily corrects away from the deer, but is not quick enough to avoid the dumb buck’s second – and fatal – jump. The right headlight clips the rear flank of the animal, whipping it to the shoulder. 43 years behind the wheel, he maneuvers the boat of a car to a skidding stop 30 feet past the fallen deer. Fingers still white on the wheel, the middle-aged man exhales slow and deep to try and calm himself before glancing over at his passenger. She is still sleeping. Quietly thanking god for this, he looks in the rearview at the carcass laying in the dirt. Stupid, stupid animals… he thinks to himself as he reaches over to shake his first born.

Nothing.

If the driver had been privy to rewind and slo-mo, he would have seen his daughter’s head gracefully -at this speed- slam against the side of the vehicle; her temple perfectly hitting the shoulder bolt. The shoulder bolt he had installed after-the-fact, to make the classic car safe enough for his baby. He shakes her again, this time more violently as hot tears stream down his face. Screaming her name and railing against the wheel and cursing his god, he finally stops to look again in the rearview at the large brown lump. He stares at it, stares past it, and then, as if in a dream, puts the 1964 Limited Edition Ford Thunderbird in drive and makes the wheels slowly form the letter U.

Daylight is fading when the deer on the side of the road gains consciousness. Opening his eyes to an overwhelming green blur all around him, the young buck sticks an uninjured front leg out and hits something solid. Pushing against this, he rises up out of the perceived forest he had awoken in, and stands up. Turning his head about, he slowly looks around him. Pulling the evening air through his dusty nostrils, he finally recognizes the faint scent of home. Limping, he moves his massive bulk tenderly through the brush, letting the smell guide him.
Sandy green eyes high up in a black cherry tree fall on their prey as it hobbles through the low grass, and a petite, cat-like nose takes in the scent of supper.