There’s definitely something about the girl. She has this profound sense of her surroundings. We’re not talkin’ anything relative to Spider-Man’s Spider Sense, but more so Zatoichi the Blind Swordsman.
Anyways, we’re rolling along 21E through the perilous, black of night. Mallory’s usually a quiet gal, doesn’t speak unless spoken to… meh, I take that back, she’ll totally blurt out some weird inappropriate random shite every now and then. Either way, she’s sittin’ passenger, I’m behind the wheel, Oshkosh-bound for my first court date (we won’t divulge details, but spot me on the street or any coffeeshop and I’ll tell you all about it).
The basis of this trip is to take care of business, take responsibility, and make it to court in one piece. Problem is the trip doesn’t mean shite to anyone but me. The importance of the trip only bears weight in my life, and no one elses. Again, problem is I need someone to travel with me or else I’ll never escape Wisconsin (you’re getting closer, but if you haven’t figured it out by now, ask and I shall tell).
In the midst of all this personal bs, legalities and politics, I’d like you to take note, again, of Mallory; Shining, magnetizing men more by accident than purpose, smile bright as the day is long, and absolutely down for whatever. Best friend, illegitimate sister, person of immeasurable patience, ticket back to Minnesota, provider of a gallant favor by taking this trip with me, beholder of all things awesome… Mallory. We jet thru the night, pushing 60 on a pitch black road, bumping NPR, Honda’s brights slicing through the absence of light.
I feel it…
Not before Mallory felt it… she murmurs something I can’t make out (Bear in mind, these next few paragraphs are attempting to describe 3 seconds).
Hairs stand up from my forearms to my chest, then to places I didn’t know I had hair. A profound ghost whips through my shell of a body, alerting every bit of attention I can possibly give to this world and presumably the next. Eerily, without even fully interpreting what Mallory continues to repeat… I see it.
The light bouncing off its giant chest, present as the night, tall as clouds, confident since conception, marauding like a B.A.M.F. straight O.G. Some would shout “DEER”, as Mallory was, but this thing wasn’t even close to the word. This animal was huge, and when I say huge I don’t mean the conventional “wow that’s pretty big”, I mean it in terms of “Holy Christ of all things lost and found, I thought the Jurassic era ended millions ago…” huge. So large it was the descendent bastard son of the most badass fawn in all the land and a moose that use to hunt white people, so ridiculous and giant that the moose community had to outcast it from the herd. The steed’s out ran horses, gave notion to the Jagermeister logo, and evaded every red neck shotgun in Wisconsin only to return to the highway and sack cars in the name of Reggie White. It’s antlers were the size of Brock Lesnar’s thighs, but it’s stare said, “fuck you Honda, don’t mind the antlers, you see this torso, cos’ I will total your fucking car and straight roll up out this bitch, back to the fam and brag how your shitty Honda tried to contest the swag”.
The beast lunges towards Honda. I quickly take note, the swag of the monster is irrefutable. Honda’s got swag, but not enough. Fuck the car, this things horns will stab through the windshield, through my face, and continue thru my soul. I want nothing to do with this, I want my soul, I want to stick around in this world for a lil’ longer just to see what will happen with the Vikes, have a kid, and see my sister get married - so I juke right, the beast falls for it- Quick! I swerve left- he swivels his head toward the hood, I twist even deeper to the left almost a 90degree angle from straight… and dodge the mythological creature.
If this were a movie, this thing would have totaled me, Mallory, my car, and moved on to ban humans from ever entering Wisconsin again, thusly branding the Animal Civil Rights Patriot Act of 2010. If this were a video game, this thing would shoot back at the Big Buck Hunter, and if you ever had the Irish luck to get a piece of it, it’d be worth over 10,000 points, immediately thrusting you to all-time high-score. This wasn’t a deer, this wasn’t a buck, this wasn’t a big buck… this was Zeus Buck. The Bruce Willis to fawns, the Muhammad of four-legged organisms, the Moses of all Midwestern wildlife… and I dodged it.
We drive into the dark… again. Me just a little more alert, Mallory laughing so hard she almost burst into tears. She laughs loudly while I contemplate my grave stone. She confesses to having a hard time not giggling at funerals and silent elevators. I forgive her for the insensitivity to us possibly going on a road trip to the hereafter instead of Oshkosh. Had she not had the eye of the samurai, I would’ve totaled my car into Zeus Buck’s chest, become another notch on his bed post, and missed a court date that would put me yet deeper into the ass of the system.
I sigh one of those sighs that makes you grateful for simple mortality, your mother, AM/FM radio, and anything else blessing you amongst the financial upper-echelon of the world. Amidst her cackling laughter, I wasn’t able to say what I’m able to type now… thank you Mallory, thank you. Crazy or not, I don’t care what they say about you. You’re Elvis, you’re The Daily Show, you’re a Tribe Called Quest, simply all things good wrapped into one.
Aside from my thanks, Honda says she owes you her livelihood. Until next time…