The Trail of Ruin We Leave A Reaction to “Deer Hit” by Jon Loomis Everyone has wished, at least once, during their teenage years that their life was a comingof-age movie. Everyone has fantasized about their own Wallflower Charlie or Clueless Cher moment, their own cheeky romance, teenage adventures, and the feeling of cold air on your face during a latenight drive, your new license still burning a hole in your pocket. Everyone has dreamed about that one moment, maybe the last dance of senior prom, getting that first summer paycheck, the heart-wrenching breakup of the first love, or that one last hug after graduation, that one moment when one, for the first time ever, amidst all the joy and tears, stops and ponder on their naive yet vibrant life, and finally realizes that— Wow, I’m growing up. For me, that distinct moment has yet to come. But through the unnamed teenage protagonist of “Deer Hit” as they first confront death, I felt it so intensely as if it was my own. The heartfelt portrayal of the teenage experience of helplessness and desperation for life in “Deer Hit” moved me. In the face of tragedy and accountability, the coming of age moment made me reflect on my own experience and the inevitability of growing up. Written by Jon Loomis, “Deer Hit” evoked strong emotions of regret and melancholy upon the first reading even though it was a short poem. It almost felt like an “imagine” story, speaking directly at me through an interesting second-person perspective narration. I imagined myself, seventeen years old. I had just gotten my license, and decided to make terrible decisions, like all other teenagers. I imagined I was “tunnel-vision drunk” driving home one night, and accidentally hit and almost killed a deer. Dazed and helpless, I made an inexplicable decision: bring the dying deer home. I imagined when confronted by my father, with a mangled creature in my backseat, I said nothing but—that “[I] wanted to fix what [I]’d broken—restore the beautiful body.” You wanted to fix what you’d broken. Ouch. Upon the first reading, I pictured the story in my head like a dramatic car-crash scene in a coming-of-age movie. The “glitter and crunch of broken glass,” “dangling headlight,” “the terrible bleat” of the dying deer, “its shallow and fast breathing behind you,” “deer hair drifting like dust” every vivid detail brought me to that night, as if I was witnessing it firsthand. I at first didn’t understand the character’s decision to bring home the dying deer, until the line “you wanted to fix what you’d broken— restore the beautiful body” hit me. It felt so powerful yet haunting; as a teenager, I understood how witnessing death—especially caused by my own irresponsibility—had probably never been a thing I planned to check off my bucket list before turning eighteen. I understood their sudden realization of accountability, that they now have a responsibility for others. I understood their helplessness in that split moment, so desperately trying to preserve the fragile life they endangered, that they’d do anything. Reading “Deer Hit” the second time brought back bitter memories. Almost like an ironic foreshadowing of my own life. Not long after reading the story in class, my family dog Angel unexpectedly passed away in the middle of the night from a heart attack. The line “[y]ou wanted to fix what you’d broken” spoke to me even more as even though I wasn’t at fault for Angel’s death, many times I had still wondered what went wrong that night or what I could’ve done better to save her. Through every word I was reliving all the pain, confusion, and regret of that night, both mine and the character’s,
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