The Fawn

And He said, "let there be light", and light there now was. And He said "let there be water", and oceans and rivers and brooks and streams and ponds and waterfalls and rain and the morning dew, there now was.

And much happened after that voice commanded creation. And storms and fires swept throughout the globe and man hunched to what he did not yet understand. And one day, a boy saw a fawn standing by a lake and he walked towards her and he asked "what are you looking at, my growing friend?"

And she said, "I see water ripple and I see me. I see schools of tiny silver fish, and I see me. I see river pebbles sitting on sand, and I see that that sand is me, and not just one pebble but all pebbles, they too are me. And now I see you. Your hair lockets are long, and your chest is large, and your step is worth noticing. And I see that you are scared and I want you to know that when I see you, I see me. And I am not scared. And those pebbles are not scared. Nor are the schools of fish, nor the waters that ripple. And the sand, the sand is not scared either. And you are we, and we are you. Drink from the water and smile at the fish and skip pebbles as far as the eye can see, for they like that, and let me smell your hair and see you walk back to your clan so that you may share how we are all one. And tell them that my energy is their energy. And that my mouth is their mouth. And that my eyes are their eyes. And tell them to be afraid no more. Tell them that that part of them is not true and bring them back so they too may skip stones and drink the water. Tell them we will be here, waiting to play and share other things."

And he walked back and encountered one who hunched even lower than the rest and he told him what the fawn had shared. And the frightened man shook his head and waved his fist and turned towards the trees and said "trees, are you me and I you?"

And the trees answered, "yes, isn't it wonderful?" And the man hunched closer to the floor when he heard the trees speak. And he turned towards the sky and asked again, "sky, are you me and I you?"

And the sky answered, "yes, come fly with me." and the man threw himself onto the floor and covered his ears and shut his eyes when he heard the sky speak. And he kicked the ground and punched his bones. And then he asked, in whisper, "God, am I God too?"

And God answered, "yes. I am you and you are me. Now go to that fawn and drink the water and skip the pebbles as far as the eye can see."

And the man got up and told the boy to go to the fawn and tell her to gather the fish and the ripples and the skies and the trees and to tell God to gather the pebbles and for everyone to wait for he would bring all the clan to hear the news firsthand. And the boy did just as he was asked. And the man stood upright and ran to the clan and said, "God spoke to me! He told me of a better way to live. He said that all you had to do was to listen to me. And you have to build a temple for Him, and a large house for me. And remember to always do as I say, for He only spoke to me." And so the people began building and listening only to the man while the fawn, and the ripples and fish and the boy and God waited for the man to keep his word.

Dialogue Outside My Door

We had a great time together. Minimal were the disagreements…almost to the point of nonexistence. Of two, I remember. Perhaps, those were the only eruptions. I left with him in search of a party and stayed for more parties and girls that any kid could have imagined. While playing party-boy, I convinced myself for a long period of time that I was in control of my decisions and life experiences. I eventually burned out. Physically at first, then, seven months later, my mind shut down.

Someone told me on Friday that she is who she is because of what she lived through. "During the time you were married?" I asked, paying more attention to the spreadsheet in view than to what she was sharing.

"No," she quickly answered. "To the things I lived before I turned eighteen and thought I was in love and ready to marry him."

The spreadsheet wasn't as critical anymore. I had been impressed by an unlikely source. My fingers stopped striking keys; my mind had seized its' capitalist plunder. Reclining my chair back and seeing her sit there in my office, facing the east window, observing thin strips of clouds move north, I thought about how true her words were for both of us.

I woke up one day, walked to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, jumped in the shower, looked at my morning erection, pleasured myself into relaxation, stepped out and headed into the room. I threw on some clothes, as all kids my age tend to do before we are turned into men by bosses and women wanting more then headed to the backyard. Normally I'd change, walk outside and find my cousin with a day for us to plan and enjoy. One could always find him trimming trees, raking leaves (traits learned from his father) picking up empty beer and soda cans; all residual from the night before. At times playing with Nikita, a big but feminine looking white Akita, and always laughing at the thought of all the mischief and characters we had been collecting through our dealings. Routine was to stand in the middle of the yard with our arms crossed, sometimes because of the morning chill, sometimes because it was now custom and with our legs spread two feet apart, we'd watch as the sun's climbing presence hid the night.

When I walked out towards the yard that morning, I stopped by a patio chair and saw him kneeled down, kissing Nikita and baby-talking to her. Although for a long time I wished I were intelligent enough to explain what happened, I settled for knowing I had lived this moment.

Watching my colleague look out that window, I wondered what her experiences must have been like when she was seventeen. I found my imagination flowing, like the grey blue seals that migrate during seasons, cyclically advancing with purpose and instinct towards a temporary home, flowing past her brown hair, into her mind and long corridors where memories and functions all have doors. There, before a large white door, I stood. Knocking and asking to be allowed entrance.

He was tall, funny, smart, charming, handsome and very confident. He always knew what to do. He always knew how to help me see, by example, that anger was cancerous and that the humble were better allies. There, that morning, in his affection towards Nikita and his body posture, something inside me told me that he wouldn't always be there and that his time with me would be abrupt. I couldn't see him at my college graduation. I couldn't see him getting married. I couldn't see us as two laughing geriatrics.

My life, everything that was yet to come became clear and between the goose-bumps and melancholy that hit at me from within I turned and walked back into the house. I sat in the living room and saw as the trees and columns that lined the walkway towards the front door began to develop shadows.

I left a few days later. I went on many trips. He died not too long after that day. I can always see when someone will no longer be in my life. I try to prevent myself from seeing it but I can't stop myself. Seeing the future isn't great nor is it a power worth possessing. It does have one upside though; it signals the coming of a storm, as all change tends to be when we are forced into it. The closing dialogue to the movie Sex, Lies and Videotape is one that, like my grandfather during winter afternoons, sits outside one of the doors of my corridors; so goes the dialogue:

Ann: Hi.

 

Graham: Hey.

 

Ann: I think it's gonna rain.

 

Graham: It is raining.

 

Ann: Yeah.