THE DEER AND THE POORLY DEFINED ITCH

Do you remember that morning when we watched the deer come out of the woods? Do you remember how it paused on the edge of the soccer fields with its head high sniffing the air? Its ears swiveled this way and that. Then cautiously and slowly it moved further out into the field. Do you remember how the dew made the field sparkle in the morning sun and how the deer's tracks linked their way across the dewey grass? Occasionally the deer would lower its head to graze, but it never seemed fully at ease. It was always tense. The world seemed full of menacing sounds, smells and suggestions to the deer. Do you rememember how it would jerk its head up, sniffing the air, eyes wide, and ears swiveling?

The moment was fragile, and as you know I am a smasher of fragile things. Watching the nervous deer made me feel tense all over, at least as tense as the deer. That's why I jumped up and yelled the way I did. That's why I shattered the moment, and confirmed the deer's worst suspicions. It made me uncomfortable.

Do you remember when I did that?

Do you remember how angry it made you?

In four graceful bounds the deer regained the woods and disappeared.

"That poor deer!" you said.

In your mind it was a sin, wrong and perverse, an abuse, but as the deer bounded away something tense within me found release. Some itch that eludes precise definition was scratched. I felt better. I felt freed.

...but you refused to hold my hand as we walked back to campus. Do you remember that?