The Messenger

I'm a cautious driver. I've spent years driving rural mountainous highways, through thick forests and open ranges, and had long ago developed a keen eye for the road and the foliage alongside it. Deer, cattle, and the occasional bear stumble their way into the path often enough to be paranoid about them.

So when the deer materialized in front of my car, I didn't realize what had happened immediately. I was sober and alert, in a good mood after an enjoyable evening celebrating Independence Day with my daughter. It was a warm, clear night with good visibility. The road was straight for a quarter mile or so. There was no wildlife ahead of me. The evidence against this is strong, I know.

That deer did not exist in that time and place until I struck it, I swear. I kept this opinion to myself in the immediate aftermath, as it was clearly on shaky ground. Then my daughter confirmed my perception, saying the deer just "appeared out of nowhere".

Even once I had hit it, I wasn't quite sure what I hit. The impact didn't feel severe, and neither of us in the car suffered even the slightest injury. I knew it was big and brown, but the car had launched it into the air and out of sight. I had just started to pull to the side of the highway when it landed square on my windshield with a loud clatter, it's huge eye staring straight into mine. I couldn't tell if the scream I heard was coming from the deer or my daughter. It bounced off my windshield and flew up over the car, leaving only a patch of blood to show it had been there. It was a scene straight out of any of a dozen horror movies.

I finished pulling over and sat there, staring into the darkness, reassembling the moments. I picked up the cell phone and called 911.

The dispatcher asked the obvious questions and quickly determined that we didn't need any immediate help.

"Sir, can you safely move the deer off of the highway? We'll send someone to pick it up for food for the wolf preserve."

The deer had landed in the middle of the opposite lane. It's neck was broken, and I was relieved to know that it probably died instantly. I grabbed its hind legs and pulled it onto the shoulder. Sitting down next to it, I offered it my love, respect, and apology.

When I told Irene about the accident, a strange look crossed her face. "Where was this?"

"By milepost one, right out of town."

"I bet it was the same one."

That morning, she told me, she was driving into town and spotted a herd of black-tails standing near there. One of them had caught her eye because it was behaving oddly, carefully watching the passing traffic. She thought it was searching for something.

When I told Daniel about the accident, a strange look crossed his face. "Where?" I told him.

"Damn, I wonder if it was the same one."

Just hours before I travelled that road, he told me, he had passed by and noticed a black-tail. It stood out in his memory because it was behaving oddly, standing by the side of the highway carefully watching the passing traffic as if it were searching for something. At the time, he fancied it had a message it was trying to deliver.

A messenger, yes. That feels right. I just wish I understood the message.