The white tail of the gutted deer on the roof of the car I’d been riding in slowly receded into the distance toward Swartz Creek, just outside of Flint (where the guys from the band Grand Funk Railroad lived), leaving me standing on I-69 waiting for a ride home, around 25 miles away.
It didn’t take long.
A couple older guys I recognized from the varsity football games I watched every Friday night, picked me up on their way home from working first shift at Fisher Body in Flint.
One of the guys told me he’d been working on the production line for two years putting the rubber on trunk lids but was up for a promotion in six months installing chrome bumpers on the front of the cars.
I immediately visualized myself as a freshman at Michigan State University.
After dropping me off I slipped inside the house not wanting too be seen but on the way upstairs I ran into my dad who told me to go mow the empty lot next to the house.
It felt like every thing that happened was on loop of film that had been sliced off and thrown away … like I hadn’t even been gone.
Maybe I’d get to tell my story at breakfast when I usually tell the entire stories from beginning to end of both movies I’d seen at the Saturday matinee’s downtown. Maybe they’d think I was telling them the story of a movie I had seen.
I had a restless night getting up to look out the upstairs window wondering what the stars and full moon would look like if I was sleeping under the big elm in the middle of the field in back of my house.