(Miscellany (noun): a collection of things of various kinds || A home for: my thoughts; my essays; my memoirs; my writing)
This is the area of my newsletter that isn’t about my writing. It is my writing. Welcome to my thoughts, my musings and my essays, a place for fiction, memoir and other snippets of my work. I plan to share some work-in-progress here, plus other material that has never been published elsewhere. Some of these posts will be available for all subscribers, but others will just be for those with a paid subscription. I do hope you’ll consider supporting this project so that I can continue this direct conversation with you, the reader.
Mule Deer (Part 1 of 2)
Scott sat next to his father, with the woman opposite. His mouth watered. A plate of steak steamed on the table between them, and next to it fizzed a freshly-poured beer. Scott had a cola, as usual. But this time, it was different. There was a fourth person. Next to the woman, across from Scott, with a cherry sundae in front of her. A girl.
At first he’d pretended not to notice her. She had ribbons tied in her hair and frills fringing her ankles and looked about eight years old. Same age as him, more or less. She sat neatly, her limbs arranged just so. She was watching his father intently, her head tilted slightly to one side at the exact same angle as her mother’s. They both had their mouths slightly open, as if they were about to speak. They both looked like they were waiting for their cue.
It won’t come in a hurry, thought Scott. His father had barely warmed up. He was telling the story of the time he’d shot a deer. ‘It was a mule,’ he was saying. ‘Way out near Cobble Creek.’ The woman nodded, she knew where that was, but his father didn’t notice. ‘Colorado,’ he said.
‘It’s a golf resort, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Cobble Creek?’
His father cleared his throat. He didn’t care either way. ‘We stayed there,’ he said. ‘But we were headed out for Rifle. Good hunting there. I really wanted to bag something big. Elk or something. But…’
His father shrugged. Not his fault.
‘But?’ said the woman. She’d said her name was Mandy. Scott hadn’t caught the daughter’s name. Casey? Something like that.
‘But, it wasn’t to be,’ said his father. ‘But, still got me a mule.’
Mandy leaned forward. She rested her chin on her hand. Her nails were painted red. They were longer than his mother’s. They looked sharp. He imagined they were talons, that she was a bird of prey, or a pterodactyl.
‘That sounds amazing,’ she said.
‘Oh, it was nothing much,’ said his father. ‘I’ve shot things since, y’know? Bigger things.’ He saw his father’s glance. Say one fucking word, it said, and I’ll kill you. ‘It’s just that was the first time.’
‘What was it like?’ said Mandy. Casey leaned forward too, though she couldn’t quite balance her elbow on the table. His father began to speak.
‘The guys wanted to shoot from a tower. Y’know? But not me. Spot and stalk for me.’
Mandy nodded. So did Casey. They were rapt. Scott couldn’t help but suppress a grin. Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, they were getting the full-on bullshit. He was surprised. He thought his father fancied his chances with this one, yet here he was, doing his best to piss her off completely.
‘Every time,’ his father said. ‘Why climb up a tree and shoot? I want the thrill of the chase. That’s real hunting. Sit up, Scott.’
He did as he was told. Casey looked at him, then. It was as if it was the first time she’d noticed him, even though he’d been sat there the whole time. He held her gaze, tried to communicate with her just using the power of his mind. This is horsecrap, he wanted to say. Thrill of the chase? He sat in the back of a 4x4 and shot at anything he was told to. He missed everything. A couple of the guys started calling him Boss-eyed Pete. Even though that wasn’t even his name.
‘The thing with deer,’ his father said. ‘is to try to get a one-shot. Y’know? Kill with one bullet.’ Mandy was nodding her head. His father went on. ‘Can’t have a wounded deer spooking the others. So…’ He stretched out his arm. ‘You have to draw a line.’ He touched Mandy’s face, just below her eye. ‘From here,’ he said. He took his hand away, then touched her beneath her other eye. ‘To here.’
She didn’t blink. She didn’t close her eyes. She just kept looking at his father. It was creepy.
‘And…?’ she said. It came out as a whisper, almost breathless.
He smiled, exposing his too-white teeth. ‘And,’ he said, ‘draw that line…’ He was speaking slowly. He closed his eyes. ‘Aim a couple of inches above it.’ He pulled his hand back, folded his ring and little fingers in and extended the rest so it looked like a pistol. He put the tip of his fingers in the middle of Mandy’s brow, right between her eyes. ‘Dead centre,’ he said, and then he drew in a long breath, filled his lungs and, without warning, raised his voice. ‘Bam!’ he said, and they all jumped, Mandy especially. She gasped, then she laughed. She looked uncomfortable. ‘Bullet in the brain,’ he said. He looked deadly serious. His hand was still pointing at her forehead. Mandy stopped laughing. She swallowed. ‘That’s the best way. Instant kill. Drops the animal straight away. Dead in a second.’
None of them breathed. Casey’s icecream puddled in the bottom of her sundae glass. On the other side of the restaurant some kid was crying. The daughter had been an unexpected hiccup, he thought, but so far it was all going to plan.
‘Is… is that what you did?’ said Mandy.
His father waited for a long moment, then pulled his hand away. He picked up his fork, skewered some of his bloody steak. He put it in his mouth and began to chew.
‘I wish,’ he said. He was still chewing as he spoke. Scott could see the mashed meat in his mouth, the blood stains on his teeth. ‘Not many can do that, y’know? Unless you hunt at night. Infra-red. Night-scope.’
‘So they can’t see you?’
‘Precisely. You can get real close, then. Much more chance of a clean one-shot kill. But this was middle of the day. Exposed. Could’ve been messy. Too low and you hit the nose, too high and you’re over its head. Either way you have a spooked deer. I went for the shoulder.’
‘The shoulder?’
‘Get it right and you hit the spine. That’s one deer that ain’t gonna move again.’
‘But does it die quickly?’
His father put down his knife. ‘Depends,’ he said.
‘On…?’ said Mandy, but his father was looking over towards the kitchens. One of the waitresses was bending over, getting a cola from the fridge by the counter. Her skirt was stretched tight. He knew his father was looking at her ass, at the inch or so of skin that was exposed as her blouse rode up. He knew he was imagining kneeling in front of her, sliding her black skirt down and letting her step out of it, sliding his hands up her thighs before nuzzling into her crotch. ‘The bitches love that,’ he’d once said to him.
‘So, what does it depend on?’ Mandy said again. His father looked back at her. He smiled.
‘Let’s talk about something else,’ he said. ‘What about you? Tell me, beautiful. What about you?
(To be continued - part 2 will be in your inbox on Friday 2nd December)