Country Road

At night when it’s dark with no moon and you hear that sound and then the brakes squealing, you know someone has hit a deer. You wait to hear the next sound and hope that you don't. You put on your shirt and walk down toward the road. You don’t know what you’ll see. One time a car left the road completely and ended up in the woods making a path out of small broken trees. Tonight, she stayed on the tar just a few feet north of the deer.

“Is everyone okay?” you will ask when you see the flashing blue lights of the volunteers. He walks over with the flashlight and points just beyond you, so as not to blind you but to try and make out who you are.

“Yeah, she’s just shook up. I was on my way to a fire, but thought I should take care of this first.”

“Should I make any calls?”

“No, she’s calling the State Troopers now. I have my cell phone with me, too.”

“Is the deer still alive?”

“Yeah, it’s still kicking, but I didn’t bring my pistol with me.”

You will wait and see what’s next. He walks back toward the young woman who is shaken by her damaged car, the dying deer, the darkness of this night that didn’t let her see that beautiful animal crossing the road. This country road seems deserted at night, but it's not. In the darkness, possums cross with feral cats, foxes, coyotes, skunks, raccoons, and deer. This road is in their way.

“Did you call the troopers?” you’ll hear him ask her, but her voice is too soft to hear what she says back.

“There’s a nice lady up there if you need help.” He points his flashlight across the road.

He walks toward his pick-up truck and leaves for the fire. She turns to examine her car.

The deer has stopped moving. I turn and walk toward the house. No pistol will need to be fired tonight.