Does E Doe

“Hey Buck!”              

He jerked his head up from grazing the sweet, dew-covered grass that morning and stared at the other deer. “How do you know my name?”

“Oh,” the doe chuckled, “You encourage other deer to fearlessly cross the road.”

The buck thought. “You’ve heard of me?”

“Yeah!” She grinned and bobbed her small cinnamon head. “But I don’t really know who you are. You’re a stranger to me. Just a name.”               

The buck looked at her a minute. “Oh…” He took in his surroundings as he reached for more hoof-high grass on his side of the neighborhood road. Birds fluttered their wings and then whooshed over his antlers. Some squirrels scurried down trees and dashed past. The red-brown brick house seemed to attract a couple of birds, whose claws scraped its asphalt roll roof as they landed—      

“So,” the doe took a step closer towards the oil-black road with the thin middle yellow line. “have any plans to cross this road?” She let out a sarcastic laugh. “Without freezing or getting hit?”    

“Why’d the deer not cross the road?” The buck started.

“Why?”

“Because he was waiting for the courage to do so.”

The doe nodded stiffly and then looked left as far as the eye could see, since the road forked into two different directions. “Where’s it end?”

“Don’t know. Let’s find out.” The buck jerked his head towards the right, but the doe ducked her head and gulped.

“I don’t think I can do it.” She widened her brown eyes, stepping back. “I…” Shaking her head hard, she flashed terrified eyes at him. The buck looked at her and sucked in his own lips as if to spit the metallic taste of fear from his own mouth. “My son…”

“He…” The buck ducked so his antlers stuck up like tree branches—right in the doe’s view of sight. But she wasn’t paying attention to them. She perked her light brown, medium-sized ears at him. “got hit?”

The doe just jerked her muzzle up and down.

“I’m terribly sorry.” The buck almost whispered. He stepped back and the doe gaped in awe as his huge hoofs arched over the road and then thudded onto the asphalt’s edge right in front of her.    

“How…” The doe stared at him. “H—”

“Just here to help, ma’am!” The buck stood strong, his eyes at half-mast. “So…what do you say?”

It took a minute, but the doe finally managed to say she doesn’t want to chance the road. “Not with my son sprawled out on the side of the road, food for the vultures to come and eat!” She seethed, saliva building up in her mouth like froth.  

The buck blinked and then slid his eyes downwards towards some dirt patches. Thinking of comforting words to soften this rising lividity, he pondered but soon just stayed silent. He couldn’t tell the doe to overcome her fear but more importantly rise above her anger and despair over her son’s death. Sure cars come and hit deer, but this doe’s son was probably just a naïve, young buck who got scared and froze, not knowing what to do when the car, ignorant or not, hit him dead-on.      

“Well,” he encouraged, looking into her eyes and ignoring the shimmering dread. “I can go first and you can follow. Wanna try?”

Her thin body trembled, and she stammered No.

The buck walked in front of her. “What are you waiting for?”

“For the courage to overcome.” She sighed. “The fear to go away.”

“Standing there is only going to make the fear bigger. Overcoming means facing it.”

The doe glared at him. “How can I trust you?”

The buck responded in kind. “Because I’ve jumped right over—”

“Any buck can do that! Mothers do all the time with their young. So?”

“Don’t snap at me!” The buck bit back. “We’re supposed to solve the problem. You want to stand here all day in the blindingly bright sun in front of this road and tell me you can’t?”

The doe stomped a hoof, and carelessly looked down at a snapped branch. The two pieces lay before her, separated from each other forever. “There!” She shot. “Happy?”

The buck snickered. “Happy about what? The broken branch?”

“Like my son and me!” She yelled. “A reminder!” Scampering towards the house behind her, she halted right before the window with the cream curtains in front of the white blinds. “I don’t want to have anything to do with that road.” She jerked her small head away. “It’s stupid.”

The buck walked calmly over to her, and she knew this by the grass’ soft crunch below his mighty hoofs. She turned towards him and hissed menacingly, her black nose flickering. “What do you want, buck?” She warned.                  

“I just want to know you. You’re really cool because I’ve seen you make these huge leaps from one side of the road to the next. You’re really confident in who you are—at least you were. I just…I’m sorry if I’m intruding, but I just would like to get to know you. I don’t even know your name.”  

The doe told him she lost all boldness when reminded of her son a while back by seeing another dead deer, and the buck nodded sympathetically, his bright eyes still shining. She didn’t say anything but simply watched a car go by. Flinched when another one raced past. Stared in terror as yet a third—

“Don’t look at the fear. Do something about it.”

“What would you know?” The doe quipped. She shifted her stance. “Besides, there are things I need to do. Eat berries. Hide from predators.”

The buck roared, and the doe snorted as his antlers went back, his nose pointing directly at the sky for a split second. “You are so funny!”

“Yeah…” The doe laughed dryly and then exhaled. “I…” She looked at the road. “Can I just go over there?”   

“Sure!”

The doe crept, her head low. Soon, she stood before the great stretch of road. Looking left, she squinted in the bright sun and then switched right. Then looked back.

The buck nodded vigorously.

The doe scanned the left. No cars. She leaned forward and studied the area. Still no cars. Suddenly, a massive red thing with huge wheels came into view, and the doe froze. She didn’t thaw from her panic until the car whizzed by. Then the buck called, “It’s okay. Just take your time.”

The doe reared and scampered back to the buck. She breathed shakily.          

“Watch me.” The buck trotted up to the road, his hoofs then smacking the asphalt on the other side. He danced around in the grass and whistled. “Wow! That felt good!”  

“Yeah!” The doe laughed and then grit her teeth. How am I going to do this? Anger climbed through her, rising and pouring out through glares she cast at the road. The buck, though, caught her attention as he leapt again and then pounded the earth towards her, skidding to a halt.

“You can try, too.”

The doe jerked her eyes away. I’m just waiting for the courage to make it.

The buck questioned her thought. “What do you have to wait for?”

The doe spoke, her voice dripping with irritation, “For the courage to jump over the road.”

The buck lay down. The doe copied him, and they started talking about how her son was standing over the yellow line, his two front hoofs parked right in front of this line. He wasn’t fully prepared to jump away from the raging car speeding crazily towards him. But, the human ignorantly left his body sprawled on the side for vultures to gluttonously gorge themselves on.   

“Wow.” The buck shook his head sympathetically. “I can’t believe that. It’s so real.” He looked back at the road. “So many things must come racing towards you—” He stopped and looked at her. “So many things just burst into my mind. I don’t know how to avoid that.

“Your thoughts come and go, but you can control whether you speak those ideas. If I can practice this, can you practice fearlessness?”  

The doe looked right at the buck, who was nodding hard. “I can do that?”

“Yes!”  

The doe quickly got to her hoofs, held her head out—but then reared back a little. She exhaled and said, “I…”

“Don’t wait. Do it!”

He got up and looked into her deep brown eyes. “You can do it.”   

She swallowed hard but trotted to the road’s edge. Peering out towards the endless road before her, she perked her ears.

“Something coming?”

“I don’t know!”   

The doe whipped her head to the right as four hoofs shot down onto the pavement and then flattened some of the neighbor’s grass.

“Huh.” She droned.

The buck laughed, but she ignored him.

“Come on!” He invited.

Nothing.            

The buck sighed. “I’m tired of waiting. You’re probably tired of waiting.”

“I just need to take my time!”

“Waiting!”

“Shut up!”

The buck grinned, but the doe rolled her eyes.

“Come on!”

He just doesn’t give up, does he? The doe watched the buck dance in his spot, twirling and moving his head side to side. His antlers seemed to dance with him.        

Dancing in place was great, the doe told herself. But what about the fact that…

She closed her mouth. She knew she didn’t have the right to call someone else out when she didn’t even cross the road—especially when no cars were coming. The doe watched the buck dilly-dally some more and then saw the dirt patches. I’m not scared. I just…don’t want the same incident to happen to me too.   

She studied the wind whip the grass to the left. She chuckled. As if to tell her to not only look but also go. Go across the road like other deer. Like other does. “Can you come over here, and we can talk about this?” She yelled over to him.   

“You don’t need to be so loud.”

The doe jumped and jerked her head to the side. Glowering at him, she chastised like a mother would. “You scared me!”  

The buck chortled. “Well, maybe if you look around, you wouldn’t have to do what you don’t really have to do.”      

The doe stared at him.     

“What?” The buck flashed a smile. “Just sayin’.

“So…what do you want to say? I think we’ve said it all.”

“Said pretty much everything but what we need to say.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” The doe looked around. “Like the fact that I can’t overcome my fears. Can’t jump the road. I don’t know why, but I can’t face it.”      

“Well, if you actually do what you’re afraid of instead of just talk about it, then you’ll be able to do it.”

“Well, I don’t just do things. I actually have a system.”  

“What’s that system?”

“A process by which I complete things.”

The buck cocked his head. “What does that mean?”

“If I want to face my fears of crossing the road, then I’ll face my fears after I do what I need to do to face them.”

The buck squinted at her. “What?”

“Never mind.” The doe decided to eat some grass. Chewing, she closed her eyes.   

“So…let’s have some dinner?” The buck imitated her, chomping. She merely gazed.  

“What?” He chuckled.

“Nothing.”

“Well,” the buck noticed some fireflies show off their luminescence. “The sky’s bright blueness is turning bruise black and blue, and a crescent moon has replaced the sun. What do you say about crossing that road?”       

The doe swallowed her food. She sniffed the wind and took a step forward, reaching for some more blades.

“Aw, come on.”

Some grass rustled, and the doe looked up. He pointed out the fear shining in her eyes. “Don’t wimp out!”  

“I’m not wimping out!” She retorted, weakly. “Besides, don’t you need to get back home?”

“I can stay here if I like!”

The doe yanked more, causing more bald patches to appear. A step caused her to stand perpendicular to the buck. “I just…”  

“I’ll stay here if you feel more comfortable. But if you want me to leave, I can do that, too.”  

“No—stay. I want to talk.”

“Show me how to leap over the road.”

“I…” Headlights became brighter as a car approached, lighting up some parked cars and half their driveways. Only when its red taillights stared at them did the buck keep encouraging her. “I just jump. I don’t think twice.”        

“You don’t?”   

The buck wagged his head. Then he thrust his antlers back.

“What?” The buck widened his eyes as the doe stuck her face in his own.

“I…like looking at your antlers. They’re so big!” She admired them.

“Yeah.” The buck agreed. “But they stay on my head for the rest of my life. Unless a poacher takes them home to put above the table. I’ve seen such an atrocity happen—”

“Let’s not talk about that.” And the doe continued the discussion about her fear of the road. When she was done rambling about the size and length of the pavement, the buck nodded his head understandingly but then asked whether she really knew what she was waiting for.

“I’m waiting to cross the road. You’re waiting for me to cross the road. I’m waiting to overcome my fear.”

“When’s that going to happen?”

“Don’t know.” The doe half-whispered. “Don’t know.”

“Remember when I said we were strangers? Well, that can change.”

“I said that.” The doe corrected and reminded him. The buck narrowed his eyes. At least that’s what the doe thought he was doing. In such darkness now, the doe expressed she didn’t know what he thought.

“That’s okay.” The buck started galloping away. “I’ll just be going…”

“Wait!” The doe called, and the buck must’ve stopped because no more grass crackled or snapped.

“I…I don’t want you to go. I want to talk.”

“We can walk and talk at the same time.” Grass rustled, and the sound of hoofs prancing on the pavement were mirrored, as the doe found herself prancing in place.

“Come on!” The buck invited. “It’s fun!”

The doe dashed over but jerked back as a sudden light illuminated the road, blasting the buck’s dirty-brown fur a full coat of orange. His chest, face, antlers and forelegs had received its blow, but the buck stuck out its chest. The doe saw she got hit from the side but walked over and stood rigid at the grass’ edge.

“Watching me?” The buck galloped in place.    

“Yeah.” The doe jerked her head up and down.

“Well, you can join me.”

“I’ll watch.”

“Okay….” He walked over to her. Buck and doe stood there facing each other. She told him to stand right beside her and watch the cars go by.

“No.” The buck backed up, shaking his head. “Nope.”

The doe tried to convince him, but the buck shook his antlers harder. “Nope. Still waiting!”

The doe stamped in place, but the buck stood strong, still shaking his awesome antlers. “Nope.”

The doe finally gave up and told herself to stop waiting. She reared back, bent her legs to make the jump—

But suddenly froze.  

“Come on!”

“No!” The doe came alive and rooted herself to the spot. “I…”

“It’s just a road.” His voice seemed far away.

“No…”

The buck blew a blast of air through his nostrils and shook his antlers. “Come on.” He cheered.

The doe tried again but repeated the same stance.

The buck sighed and walked over to the doe, standing parallel to her. “You got to one day. You can’t just wait for the courage to do so. Sometimes you just got to.”    

“Maybe when we’re not strangers anymore.”

“Maybe now.”

“Maybe later.”

“Maybe when you stop waiting for that moment to leap.”

“Maybe when you stop talking.”

“What bucks do!”

The doe sighed. What did I get myself into?

“When will we stop being strangers, stop just talking, stop waiting?”

“When we stop.”

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t know.”

“You never know.”

The doe sighed.

The buck mimicked her.    

“Stop copying me!” She growled. She glanced back at the window, went over and stayed there.     

“What are you doing?” The buck asked.

She ignored him and sighed, wishing she was a human rather than a cowardly doe. The buck tried distracting her, but the doe said she’d rather be a human than a stupid deer struggling to overcome a past matter.  

“So stay back!” She snapped.

The buck just said he was heading home, but she just pretended he wasn’t there. When she looked back, he had disappeared. “Good.” She thought, and faced the window again, telling herself she’d never again waste her time doing something as ridiculous as overcoming her son’s tragic death. She looked away from the buck, from the light, from the road. From everything reminding her of her son—specifically, of how he’d never come home, never come back to her. If her son was never coming back, why should she even force herself to be reminded of him? Vultures filled their bellies with him and flew carelessly off, searching for the next meal to greedily devour. Her son was only the first meal they’d have for a while. Her son had been their breakfast and maybe even their lunch and dinner.

The deer stood rooted to the spot. Her spot. She’d never go near that road again, never face that buck’s incessant chatter again. If he wanted to jump, jump he can. But he didn’t know. He would never know her suffering. He only mocked it.