At 3:00am. two lane road, all curves and dips- dark woods, a stream, a patchy acre of teasel and grass. You don't see the deer till they turn their heads.
You crank the wheel, stamp both feet on the brake, skid and jolt into the ditch. Glitter and crunch of broken class in you lap, deer hair drifting like dust. Your chin and shirt are soaked- one eye half obscured by the cocked bridge of your nose. The car still running, its lights angled up at the trees. You get out. The deer lies on its side.
Its long head appears like a ghost in the rear view mirror and bites you, its teeth clamp down on your shoulder and maybe you scream, you struggle and flail.
He opens the tail gate, drags the quivering deer out by a leg.
Your father walks to the tool shed, comes back lugging a concrete block.
Some things stay with you. Dumping the body deep in the woods, like a gangster.