"You're seventeen, swerving your father's car home."
"You don't see the deer till they turn their heads-road full of eyeballs, small moons glowing."
"You crank the wheel, stamp both feet on the brake, skid and jolt into the ditch. Glitter and crunch of broken glass in your lap."
"A doe, spinning itself around in a frantic circle, front legs scrambling, back legs paralyzed, dead."
"You pick up the deer like a bride. Wrestle it into the back of your car the seat folded down. Somehow, you steer the car out of the ditch and head home." "A stoplight, you're almost home and the deer scrambles to life; its teeth clamp down on your shoulder and maybe you scream and flail.
Your father´s waiting up, watching tv. He´s angry. You tell him what happened: the dark road, the deer you couldn´t avoid. Outside, he circles the car. He opens the tailgate; Your father walks to the toolshed, comes back lugging a concrete block; Dumping the body deep in the woods, like a gangster