SHOW AND TELL
You were doing ninety in a sixty. I was looking in the visor mirror. Your knuckles were turning white like meat fat. I was applying ‘very berry’ lipstick. You hit the deer. My hand jolted up. The blood spattered across the windshield. Sickness in my stomach rose up and up. You passed me a tissue covered in oil.
“Lipstick on your face” you said.
“Aren’t you going to move the deer?” I said.
You turned away but still held the tissue out. I opened the car door. You grabbed my hand, said, “What are you going to do?” Before I opened my mouth, you revved the car. You moved forward too fast and I felt the deer. I stared at the red spots on the windshield. “You still have lipstick on your face” you said.
The Book Of Illusions