It is winter in Florida. My phone screen reads 11:47 a.m. After a long night, we are finally on the way to a secret destination. He said it is a surprise, his Christmas gift. The sky is full of clouds this morning, but the forecast claims it won’t rain today. It is one of those moments in which the outcome is almost certain: the heaviness in the air, the dark sky at noon, yet we choose to believe the one source that denies the storm is coming. Remember when you promised me you would always love me even as your voice broke in the middle of the sentence? Even as you knew you would soon be moving away? Yet I choose to believe you, my one source of hope.

Lana Del Rey plays in the background. You say we should listen to something fun. “The weather fills right for this,” I say, admiring the nostalgia in the air– as if mourning the soon to be past. The coffee in my Starbucks cup sways as you swerve.

“There was a dead animal there.” You explain when I stare at you, my lips pressed tightly not to say anything I will regret. Like always, you know the right words to dissolve my anger. My attempt at leaving all of this behind: the sadness, the heartache, the lies.

“What was it?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I couldn’t see.” You argue as a car drives past us. Maybe they will stop to see, I choose to believe.

Once again, we allow the song to fill the silence between us. The poetry inside of me is hot like a gun, she sings. That’s exactly how I feel. The words build inside of me, words I know I am not strong enough to say out loud. Tonight, I will turn us into a poem– that much I know. It has been my escape since you turned from my safety net to a tent by the side of the highway on a stormy day.

This time it is me who sees it. “Stop the car,” I say firmly. He looks at me confused. “I said stop the car.” I grab his hand to let him know I am serious.

Once stopped by the side of the highway, he raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“There’s a hurt deer ahead of us.”

“It’s on the other lane.” You argue as if justifying your lack of compassion. The highway is empty. The pavement is surrounded by trees, forest.

I see the deer moving as it lies on the ground. “Let’s go and see. We need to move him.”

“Or we can just drive on this lane.” You say as if it were the obvious choice.

“Someone may kill him.”

I guess somewhere between my teary eyes and my hand on the door handle, I convinced you. You step out of the car after me. I can hear the sole of your shoes scraping against the cement.  

A look to both sides confirms that no one is driving by us. As I get closer, I can hear the animal crying for help. “Call animal control, call someone.” I say.

“We can just move him.”

“But if we move him, it will just die by the side of the road.”

“It’s already hurt.” You said as if that would justify your carelessness.

For a moment I think of myself as the deer– that’s all I was to you after all. While I sought to help others, you only wanted the hurt out of your way. When you saw me break, you came back to me because I was already hurt. You never questioned if you could heal me because you were never planning on it. You never asked yourself, how much pain could she endure, you just tested it out. And yet, here I am: going on an apology-trip with someone who does not see anything wrong with letting someone hurt by the side of the road on a stormy day.