I’m lying in bed, rehearsing what I’m going to tell him if he tries to call her when he gets back in the states. shes next to me, drifting off peacefully, the baby kicking me in the back while she tells me how happy she is.
you make me so happy, baby..everything is so wonderful now. i cant wait to have our baby, garrett; im so happy happy happy happy
if you ever call this number again you fucking cock-fuck, i’ll cut your throat and fuck the slit you spineless faggot fucking pig i swear to fucking god you will regret the day god got drunk and fucked up and let you ever even think of inhaling oxygen or taking a piss out of your incredibly worthless shriveled microscopic excuse for a penis that still somehow made him
in bible study today, the teacher talked about praying for people that we didnt like. i should have paid attention. first time Ive thought about him in a very long time, though. hes not worth the energy it requires to cross the synapses that bring him back to the front of my mind. have had nothing but deer on the brain lately. finally paid off.
it was dusk; the sky was creamy and pink, and the seemingly arctic wind was gently nibbling on my earlobes. i was very frustrated; had been out five times in the past two days and had seen nothing but fresh tracks. always a few minutes late. you have to wander up and down the power line to get to the stands. the stands lay in the midst of natural, man made hallways of pine. forests that had lanes pre-planned-about 15 feet wide and at least one hundred yards long. the stands allowed you to have several of these lanes in your purview…..absolutely brilliant. almost impossible not to make that perfect shot——as long as there was something to shoot at, something i had yet to encounter. hunting deer is exactly like fishing; theres just no fishing pole, no fish, and no boat.
it was now the best time for deer, but i couldnt sit in the goddam stand any longer. it didnt seem right. it seemed more honorable to happen across them; stalk them, maybe. but whats the difference from sitting in a comfy, wind-blocked shelter and being happened upon by them? i think it boils down to an issue of boredom. i get bored of sitting in a stand and waiting for a deer so i can shoot it, but on the on the same token, deer get sick of standing in a field and waiting for a human so they can be shot.
i put my vest on, pulled my wool cap down, and climbed down the ladder. it was starting to get dark in the lanes anyway; might see some fresh tracks in the mud on the power line so i can curse myself for not staying in the stand. rifle sort of at the ready, me kind of paying attention, i made it out of the green tunnel, half ass scanning the distance. out of the corner of my left eye, i see several white specks speeding away; brought back to the situation, my rifle comes up and military training takes over; safety thumbed off. that particular group of deer was gone, but i saw a pretty sizeable doe, just standing there, looking at me. even in the scope she was fucking small.i tucked the butt of the rifle into my shoulder as tight as i could; hadnt shot a weapon in almost a year, and here i am like an idiot trying to make a three hundred yard shot in the twilight. sighted in, my breathing steady. i thought Id be incredibly excited about this and would be unable to actually calm down enough to make any kind of shot, but something took over me, and i slowly exhaled quickly and squeezed off. explosion; more white specks running. i dont think i hit it, didnt see anything on the ground through the scope, but i had to make sure that i DIDNT hit it. had to schwak through some mud, around a pine thicket, and once i made it around the thicket, i saw another doe, staring at me; this time from only about seventy five yards. a much easier shot. sighted in, squeezed off. explosion. she rocked. stumbled. bad shot. i got closer. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. god fuck me. it was the deer i shot at the first time. i gut shot her once, shot her a second time five minutes later, and she STILL wasnt dead. hot rage began slowly seeping into my bloodstream, making my insides pulsate and throb. my rage turned to soft, runny shit as three fawns came out of the woods towards their mother, totally oblivious to me. they stood there, not afraid of me in the least as i approached, sliding the bolt back and chambering another round. ten feet away. she went down on her knees and exhaled, the hole in her belly expelling red steam and whistling like a train engine on its last leg. i was waiting for her to say something. i apologized for not killing her and injuring her and causing her undue suffering. i apologized for making her listen to her belly squeal. i apologized to her for the creation of man and for those men who first sought out animals. the fawns looked at me with their dumb faces..got to stop personifying. men have done this for a thousand million years. i wasnt shooting for sport. this was for meat. i felt absolutely no pride, however as i pumped a final round into the deers neck. one of the fawns made some sort of horrid squelching cry and they ran off. she rolled over and jerked one last time, her milk moistened nipples staring at me in the moonlight.
it would have been different if i had killed her quick. but my first fucking deer, and i gut shot her. oh well. probably good for me to witness the death close at hand.
cleaning her sealed the deal, though. kitchen brain took over. here we are. meat. must butcher. must get as much as we can to maintain a low food cost. these are muscles. this is silverskin. im just not in a kitchen. steam rose off of the deer while we gutted it. organs and undigested food and shit and blood covered my hands and instantly became hard in the harsh, seething wind. i thought this might not be so easy to stomach. it was fine. i was raised to think deer were cute and made to be looked at and that people that hunted them were horrible people and might even go to hell or something. in my childhood, someone fucked up and forgot to tell me that some people kill not for office decor, but for meat. we eat deer here several times a week. deer season is for stocking up the freezer. once i grasped this, i was anxious to hoist a rifle and add to the foodstuffs. my father in law told me that i could process the deers meat into whatever I wanted. Jerky, roast, grilling deer, burgers; whatever. but, it was made damn fucking clear that i was to get every usable piece of meat off of this creature that suffered and died so that we could eat. i did not feel celebratory. i was not saddened. it was just what needed to be done.