Night Driving

Painting by Wilson J. Ong


Night Driving


by C.L. Bledsoe




The road was deserted. Jim watched the dark forms of the trees pass, thankful for the quiet. Anne drove and her parents slept in the back seat. No one spoke until the deer ran out and smacked the passenger side door. Jim saw its mad eyes and flinched as it hit and broke the silence with a low scream.

Anne pulled over.

"What are you doing?" her mother asked.

"We hit a deer," Anne said.

"Well," her mother said, "why did you do that?"

"I didn't do it on purpose, Mom," Anne said.

It had been like that all day—Anne's parents picking her apart like carrion on the road. And she never stood up to them, never yelled, never told them to f- off, as Jim would've done long ago if it wasn't for her sake. Instead, he just kept quiet.

"What happened?" Anne's father said, ever behind the conversation.

Jim's door creaked as he pushed and it wouldn't open all the way.

"What's wrong?" Anne's father asked again.

Jim squeezed out as Anne's parents began to yell at her. The door was dented pretty thoroughly and pasted with blood and fur, but the damage seemed superficial. He looked around and saw a mass moving a little ways back along the shoulder. The night was shattered as Anne's parents opened their doors and their complaining became audible. The noise of it grated on Jim and he moved closer to the struggling form of the deer.

It lay on the shoulder, spasming, its eyes wide open, its neck bent at a strange angle. Jim thought it was broken. The din behind him became louder and he tried to tune it out to think. Anne's father came over beside him, shaking his head.

"You don't have a gun, do you?" Jim asked. He hadn't even consciously considered what he was doing; he was acting on instinct.

The man laughed. "To shoot her with? I'd like to," he said.

Anne and her mother approached.

"It's hurt," Jim said, pointing to the deer.

"Good," Anne's mother said.

Jim turned to study her sullen face.

"Look what it did to my car," Anne's mother said.

"You have a tire iron, right?" Jim said to Anne's father. The man's face was blank.

"Why? Is the tire damaged?" Anne's father asked.

"For the deer," Jim said.

Anne's father laughed again, clearly confused.

"I'm sorry," Anne's mother said, trying her best to show annoyance with every pore of her body, "for the deer? What are you talking about?"

Jim caught Anne's eyes and she went and got the key from the ignition and popped the trunk.

"Wait," Anne's mother said. "You don't mean you're going to..."

Jim didn't answer. He riffled through the coats and backpacks and the pile of things Anne's parents had brought and lifted the mat to reveal the donut tire and the mini tire iron.

"It'll have to do," Jim said. He closed the trunk with a final sounding click and turned towards the deer.

"You are not using my tire iron on that thing," Anne's mother said, planting herself in front of him. "You'll get blood on it."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Jim asked. He didn't yell it or get angry. It was something he'd wanted to say all day.

Anne's mother scoffed. Jim stepped around her and started towards the deer.

"George, stop him!" Anne's mother said.

The man approached, mumbling and Jim turned and glared at him until he froze, then he turned back towards the deer.

"I suppose you think it's macho and manly to kill something, but I think it's sick," Anne's mother yelled after him.

Jim ignored her. The deer was still spasming. Jim went down on one knee and touched its head. It didn't even seem to notice. He had a moment's hesitation while he tried to decide where would be best to hit it and decided the base of the skull, where it meets the neck, would work. He stroked its fur again and stood.

"I'm going to call the police on you for destruction of private property," Anne's mother said. "Tell him to stop, Annabelle!"

Jim turned to look at his wife. She wore a look of night terror he could just make out. He felt sorry for her. All day, all her life, they'd been pitting her against everyone, even herself, and now, finally, the perfect opportunity had come to pit her against him. It was something he'd seen coming for a long time, though he was more concerned with the task at hand, at the moment. Still, it was a relief that the moment had finally come, and he was curious to see how she'd act. She didn't. She froze, like her father.

Jim turned to the deer and raised the tire iron. Anne's mother yelled another threat and suddenly Anne yelled too and Jim's arm came down onto the deer's neck. He raised the tire iron again without even looking and hit the deer again. It shuddered and stopped moving, and he went down on his knees and tried to find its pulse. Its eyes glazed over, and he was sure it was dead before he heard his wife, still shouting by the car.

"Shut up, Mom!" she said, "Don't say another word. Just shut up, for once! It's hard enough to do what he's doing without you making it worse."

For a moment, Anne's mother was quiet. Jim stood and took the tire iron back and handed it to Anne's father. Anne watched him with big brown eyes, the eyes of the woman he loved. He nodded and climbed back into the car.

"Get back in the car," Anne said and her parents obeyed, wordlessly. She started the car back up and eased back onto the road. No one spoke. After a second, Anne's hand snaked over and grabbed Jim's firmly. The night opened dark and unknown in front of them.


C.L. Bledsoe

Posted over on The Foliate Oak