Deerest

Deerest God,

I'm lonely every day since daddy died. Mommy always goes to work and she leaves me with this woman who thinks she's a teacher. I wish I have a friend.

Love, Austin

I read my son Austin's prayer-letter. Ever since someone taught him how to write letters, he's been writing every night, always starting with "deerest" despite me saying all the time that it's supposed to be "dearest." A stubborn child, my sweet Austin is; he must have gotten it from his father, who I miss dearly.

I remember how Justin smiled, how his eyes crinkled when he laughed, and how he hugged me when I felt bummed out.

Then I remember the phone call—the police officer's voice as she relayed to me what happened, how I rushed to the hospital only to hear the flat line from the monitor, a doctor looking at his watch and declaring the time of death, how I wailed on his bedside for hours, feeling the warmth of his body dissipate.

I sob uncontrollably, clutching the letter to my chest. I never stopped to think about what Austin felt. He had just turned 7 when Justin got into the car crash. I figured he'd be too young to even remember his dad. I was a selfish parent.

When I calmed down, I get up and leave the letter on Austin's bedside table. I kiss him on the forehead, lingering there for a while before leaving the room.

Once I got into my room, I break down even more. I slide to the floor and curl up into a messy, wailing ball. Everything is spinning uncontrollably and I'm in the middle of it. With nowhere else to turn to, I pray. I pray for my son's happiness, though I don't believe in a deity anymore. Why would I? If a god exists, my husband, the kindest man I met, would still be alive, wouldn't he? I then go to bed and cry myself to sleep.

In the morning, after a long and tedious phone call with my manager, I open the stove to make some breakfast for the two of us. Austin sits groggily on the kitchen table, trying his hardest to stay awake. I asked to have a day off so I can spend time with my son. They agreed as long as I work extra hours tomorrow. Not that I mind. I'm sure my son will appreciate having me as a company.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings.

Austin leaps out of his seat, ignoring the stack of pancakes I just set on the table. Odd. I've never seen Austin this excited to get the door before. I follow him into the living room, still holding the pan. Then, our mysterious guest runs to my son, holding him tightly. I lift the pan, ready to thwack the creature. But I relax when I see Austin's smiling brighter than before.

"Austin! It's so nice to meet you!" The doe-like creature cries. My heartbeat quickens. Something about her voice made me anxious. "Thank you for writing all those letters to me! It's been so long since the Usales got obli—oh!" She giggles. "Never mind that." Austin hugs her tighter.

"Ahem," I cough to get their attention. They both look at me, the doe's large brown eyes piercing through mine. I look away, nervous to look at them again. "Austin, would you mind telling me who your friend is?"
"She's my deer friend! I write letters to her every day!"
"It's true," she responds. She lets go of Austin and walks up to me, her hoof-like hand held out. "My name is Rusalia." Hesitantly, I take it. The hoof's fingers are smooth and cold, while her palm has a bit of silky fur.
"I'm Abbey." I avoid her eyes and turn to Austin instead. "You should finish your breakfast, young man. Mrs. Sinclair will be here soon. You wouldn't her to get mad, would you?"
"But I thought we'll spend time together today?" Austin whines, crossing his arms and pouting.
"Yes, it's important for you to study! Besides, I already paid her for this week."
"Hmph," he grumbles. "I wish Mrs. Sinclair would disappear."