Oh Deer!
Hovering within, a mix of both gratitude and terror, I witnessed the butchering of a deer - unsure what type - as my older sister, both of us missing these childhood moments of hunting, held the top legs as my dad carved and opened the ribcage. With its empty black eye staring blindly into space as though deep in some obscure space unknown to us, and witnessing, as much like me observing, its body dug in by three humanoid forms; on top of a yellow, grassy hill, it’s property owner only over the walls of dead trees and pass watery ditches; itself disappearing, soundless and abandoned. These feelings, aside from great delight in capturing something to take home, I couldn’t shake off that I was hunted as well. After we were done, placing its stomach, heart, and lungs in a pile on the dead grass a few feet away, and tossed the body in the pickup - as diligent as I remained - I suddenly grasped sympathy for its lifeless nature, as I too felt my insides were being moved, like a thick snake sliding throughout my own rib cage.
This is as dramatic as I could recall it being, and from my own memory, I was actually experiencing a withdrawal from forgetting my medication and I took Dramamine to prevent nausea while trying to enjoy the trip.
This was bad, as I couldn’t quite be conscious for most of it, only for times I needed to take pictures for my Instagram later. With my good camera that my father bought for my photography class at UNM. And this camera - as of lately, I seemed to have abandoned the still new tech on top of my wooden dresser - this is what I used to make the short film, ‘The Letter’; best used for that aesthetic grain, many seemed to gain from just embracing what little money they could spend.
When the time came to pack the next morning to head home towards Albuquerque, we had to stuff the deer ( still pushing out trickles of blood) under the silver camper - its pencil legs sticking out, almost looking dumb as me when I’m trying not to sleep on my stomach, after eating two whole meals of Canes, and my mother’s cooking of the evening. We also still put our baggage over to cover the legs; before, we covered it with a large blanket canopy. Once my dad felt satisfied - I was finally able to talk with my sister and speak to my dad without resistance - we made our way to the main roads.
I forgot to mention: when I typed we left in the morning, I meant we left at 2 or 4 in the morning. I know my older sister will text me later, correcting me on this matter after reading these long, overly explained pieces. Amazingly, however, the drive home was full of enlightenment as I suddenly developed a series of stories in my head; looking out the window, seeing how the headlights barely shined on the dark, open hills aside the highway, I took the advantage to imagine my whole character heading into the beginning of a movie. The title screen is playing right now, I thought, and now the camera pans to my sister, my father, then to me. And before, as the audience is aware of the danger ahead for me and my family, I was in the middle of some conspiracy soon to appear the next morning…or something of that matter. And looking over at the rearview mirror, the glowing blue hue reflecting off my father’s glasses, and the silhouette of my sister’s hair, tangled out to the sides of the headrest of the seat - I then thought, I should say I’m gonna lay down - both knowing I would at some point anyway driving home.
Now, this is where my mind goes blurry, for I can’t remember if I drove at some point - we each took turns, which made my father glad he would able to relax and read, even though he slept most of the way - I remember still feeling the effects of alienation, both from my guts and the small movements caressing on my hair and skin. For each time, as of last night, as I type this, I’ve become conscious of how my ribs are placed when sleeping on my sides. I can’t seem to remain complacent in one position, then, after turning the opposite, I lift my body to let the ribs in my body adjust. Growing weary one night it might stretch too far and snap.
Then, when we got home to the condo, my father instructed he would call over me and my sister to help preserve the meat - that night, going to bed in relief from a long drive, I had a dream about the deer.
The church I walked inside was not unfamiliar to me since this was the exact church, or at least what my mind can replicate, where I saw my mother’s grandma in a casket. I think I was in middle school when I attended. I still can see how peaceful she looked, lying nicely in the white puffs surrounding the innards of the casket. But, only this time, steadily approaching as my parents in such awful sobs, looked at me in their black outfits. And when taking one step forward, leaning heavily to see as though I would float, I saw the deer in the casket with its middle stomach exposed. Even though no information was seen or told, I knew this was a funeral for my death; and turning around, each one of my family came and looked, cried ugly, and went back to their seats. The only reason this was happening in my dream was that my memories of seeing my mother’s grandma in the casket, blurring between what I could recall and what metaphors I read in books and movies, there was, under grand speculation leading to enlightening inspiration, I awoken feeling at first heartbroken by some thought and emotion, that settled in me a sudden realization I just had a deep, proper dream many writers or artists crave to experience - especially, all details pointing to death.
When I mentioned this dream to my father, mother, and sister at a Mexican restaurant, the day felt adventurous and leveled. I assumed from their reaction they expected some grand story to come out of it. And, from specifically looking at my father, as he explained his own knowledge of speculation at the table, waiting on our food, I was convinced he knew in some parts I was lying - and in some way, he was. Actually, he was right!
It turns out, this dream didn’t happen because this was the exact scene I was thinking secretly as we carved the deer cleanout. And I thought, this is great to be told in a dream. As I motioned myself to hold the deer, and my sister as my dad went to get water to wash out the blood within its ribs, my sister said, “If you don’t like it, Don’t look at it.”
And with some motivation, I said, “I have to,” and chuckled nervously.
