In Memoriam

Beep beep beep beep.

Her phone glowed in the darkness: 3 a.m.

She groaned and buried her face in her pillow as she smacked around for the snooze button on the screen.

Why did it always have to be an ungodly hour.

Five minutes later her brother was banging on her door.

“Get up! Bus leaves in 30 minutes.”

Blurry eyed, she and her brother gulped down coffee and the bagels her mother had laid out.

In the garage, they pulled on layers of jackets and pants covered in leafy printed fabric, and tall rubber boots. They already loaded the truck.

Two hours later, she and her brother perched in the tree stand, waiting for the first lights of the day to stretch above the horizon. She held her bow loosely; it was both strange and familiar. It’d been five years since her father died and five years since she’d been out. It was too hard.

But this year, she and her brother decided it was time — for him. To remember. To honor.

She and her brother had spent every year of their youth — and far into adulthood — in this stand with their father. He was stoic; but in the stand, he would talk softly. Giving advice, life lessons, dad stuff. His voice was lyrical when he spoke that quietly, so much so it didn’t disturb the prey they were seeking.

Her moment of reflection was snapped away as she heard a rustle to her right. She saw her brother stiffen in her peripheral vision. Their eyes strained against the faint dawning light.

They saw the antlers first. It was a buck.

She slowly, silently raised her bow.

But when he stepped out of the thicker brush, they could see: his hide was pure white. His rack was small — a young male.

He seemed to looked right at them while her arrow was notched at him.

She hesitated.

Then she felt her brother’s hand on her arm.

She looked at her brother; together, they smiled and lowered their bows.

The buck took a few more steps in their direction. His nostrils flared. He looked right at them before he leapt away, disappearing into the North Carolina woods.

She looked at her brother.

“Let’s go home.”

When they got to the truck, they both stripped a layer and put their boots behind the utility box of their dad’s truck. As they drove into town for breakfast, she didn’t notice as a boot slipped off and bounced onto the curb.