Missed Call


Missed Call


Missed Call


Missed Call


The buzzes of my cell phone snapped me awake.  I reached for the makeshift alarm clock, and focused my bleary eyes.

8:45 am.  Woof.  Focusing more, I realized someone wanted to get in touch with me.  Hmmmmm, Tom.  Asking if we’re OK?  Okay.  Are we?

I looked over to my still sleeping bride, who was snoring loudly, head buried under the duvet.  She looked fine-ish, and the dog peeked up at me as if to say, “she’s fine, man.”  Kids are at the in-laws; thankfully.  I did a quick personal survey.  All ten fingers and toes.  No visible blood.  I was all there and my pounding head was proof I was still alive.  Pain don’t hurt, my ass.

Then, it all flooded back.

Charity ball.  Great friends.  Black tie.  Pregame.  Uber there.  Open bar.  Dancing.  Open bar. Silent auction.  Open bar.  Terrible food.  Open bar.  Dancing.  Open bar.  Live auction.  Open bar.  Dancing.  Roadies.  New spot.  Drinks.  Drinks.  Drinks.  Tons of laughs and fun.  Uber home.

We got the Uber there because it’s on the way.  They got the Uber back because it’s on the way.  I just remember it being so damn warm in that car after we dropped them off.  So warm, I could just take a little nap….


The deer’s head careened off the hood of our driver’s sensible sedan.  The quick braking caused the deer to fly forward, miraculously catching itself on its tiny hooves despite the slick pavement, and it bounded off the road into the nearby woods.  Kenneth, which is every Uber driver’s name, course corrected, and regained his composure.

“Fucker came outta nowhere!”  He said, just like every other person who’s ever hit a deer.

“Yup, you creamed that deer, dude,” was all I could muster.

We pulled into our driveway.  Kenneth and I went up front to survey the damage.  I’m not sure if it was antifreeze or deer blood, but something was dripping.  The right headlight looked like C3PO’s eye after that Kowakian lizard-monkey from Return of the Jedi got ahold of it.  The deer’s head left an imprint in the hood.  Kenneth’s car was – in technical terms – no bueno.

“Crap, what am I gonna do?” Kenneth asked no one in particular.

“Not sure.  But you ain’t gonna do it here,” I replied, as I turned on my heel and headed inside. Sorry Kenneth.  Fun’s over.

Snapping back to it, realizing Tom was on his way and I needed to save him a trip, I unlocked my phone and started typing.