Deer Diary

Hello, baby. I saw this book in the store and I thought of you. XOXO Gram

A printing mistake. Cute. The cover of my journal actually says "Deer Diary" on the front. I guess it's an alright little book, title withstanding, with its green floral print and elaborate font. Still.

I CAN'T BELIEVE SHE'D DO THIS TO ME!

OK. You'd think I'd be used to this kind of thing by now, but can you ever really get over it? It's not like I'm oblivious to it. I know, Gram. I notice everyday. I wake up in the morning - boom. I get it.

Guess what, little journal? Your writer has horns. Yeah. And not those curly red demon horns like Hell Boy's that spin out of his skull like a ram's. No. And not a spreading, elaborate rack like a moose. Which, I guess is OK, on second thought since I wouldn't be able to get through many doors with something like that.

No. They're stubby. And white. And pathetic. Like a baby deer's. Except I'm a 17-year-old guy. Great.

When I was little my horns weren't as noticable. I had darkish, curly hair, like most babies, that covered them up. If somebody ran their hands over my head, sure, they'd feel them. But their mind would just block it. Just a funky kind of dandruff. Then they'd stop touching it, in case it was contagious [sure, lots of little bumpy-head babies running around, nowadays] and move on with their  lives. But, what else were they supposed to think?

I don't really know how my parents handled it. By the time my memory kicked in they were well over it, or at least had mastered their disgust. I can only imagine the look on dad's rough face when he first saw me. He probably blanched. Shook his shaggy head. No.

They [mom and dad] had been kind of wild when they were younger. Maybe they thought that explained it. It could happen. Happens all the time in Mexico, right? Kids with webs and gills, bat people, you just don't advertise this kind of thing.

They covered my warped head with fluffy hats, said I had a cold. Pneumonia. Anything to get people to stop staring at the baby wearing a ski cap on the fourth of July.

Fine. Whatever.

The End

5 comments about this story Feed