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The baby deer's mother may have gotten back there with them, and she had wept watching them try to jump the neighbor's fence with their white tails up in terror and ... fail. Narcissi got on her knees after staggering blindly to the carpet "please god. please please save the deer in my backyard. Please help them escape and live healthy happy lives with their family where they eat and play."
She knew it was likely fruitless. Did god answer her prayers.
She opened the window and pushed the orange cat out, "please go help them - show them how to get out - show them where the gate is."
It didn't matter she knew. The baby deer would die in her backyard and flesh rot and they will have died in traumatized panic. She saw them running which is what triggered her and she wondered if the redneck worker next door was a nice redneck or an asshole that liked to fuck with animals.
She felt nauseous and blamed the mushrooms for being too much.
Why couldn't they jump over the fence they had already jumped over to enter the yard? why couldn't they jump over the even shorter fence? She wanted to cry more. She wanted to cry for the two little girls who had lost their mother. She wanted to cry for the hidden deer that she couldn't properly communicate with "THERE IS AN OPEN GATE", but the gate was off of a concrete patio. It was probably too much to expect them to explore the perimeter. They were terrified.
And, it's not like she could call him and go "oh my god. I just fucking lost my mind about fucking deer."
What would he say.
She looked at the daisy she had pressed because she thought it might matter. It didn't matter. Yesterday, she had not had a drop of drink, but she had eaten food like it was going out of style. There was always a compensation. If she were a smoker again, she'd be having to buy two packs. Something was unsettling her. She couldn't get through to herself and let herself know
"girlfriend. you can handle this. this man is not god. those deer are not symbols. you are a fucking prize and not just for the fucking. you have a heart that loves almost everything but mosquitos."
Always the wryness. She wondered when she was going to be real again. She wondered if she ever was. She kept the Marriott key card next to the dried daisy. It reminded her of Florida. The sex bruise on her right rump was still faintly visible. She had mementos of something. She just wasn't sure what it was and the indecision - the clock ticking. It bothered her. When she had done these things in the past. it had been different - they always declared love almost from the first making of it. She knew that he felt something for her because he could exude passion when inebriated. But maybe it was just a time passer. Maybe she was a placeholder.
Her lipstick was fucking ridiculous, and she couldn't even cut the grass because it wasn't growing.
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