He watched the yellow dashes shoot out from under his car and disappear into the distance, melding into a single, thin line. His chest hitched a little and his nose was running. Well, there was nothing he could do about it, really. He'd tried, after all. Just go back home, get the car fixed. Hope he didn't get pulled over for a busted headlight.

The tears were trickling down his face, resting on his nose before dripping off. God. God. Paul hoped it hadn't hurt too much. He hoped it had been quick. And it was quick, so fast. Nothing he could have done. The tears rolled freely down his cheeks, snot collected on his upper lip. Nothing he could have done, nothing he could have done. His vision was blurry and he wiped away at his face with the back of his hand, onto his shirt. Jesus. Not fair, Jesus. The car slowly decelerated in the twilight night.

Paul slowed his car, rolling his back wheels down onto the shoulder and then the fronts. He looked behind him to make sure the lane was clear, then turned the car off and got out. Slowly, one foot setting back and dragging into the grass beside the road, he walked into the ditch, emotion pressing hard inside his chest, tears choking his throat. Oh God.

Finally he gave up. He searched frantically through the bushes, amidst the trees. Maybe it was on the road-side of the fence after all. He hopped back over it, into some apathetic stretch of field and forest. By the light of the moon he could just make out a deer trail. That hurt. He stumbled blind through the brush, searching for signs, blood or broken twigs. What was he going to do if he found it, anyway? He couldn't nurse it. They'd probably congratulate him, telling where to get it slaughtered. Maybe take it to a vet?

Horror on his face. Shock widening his eyes. This can't be happening. Maybe it's still alive, and hopped over the fence. Paul climbed over it, walking with hurried steps in the cold night through the ditch. It has to be here. Did it run off, further down? Is it dead? Is it dead? Is it dead? Paul searched frantically in the dark grass. Oh my. No.

Paul shot back to his car, jumped into it without bothering to turn off the engine, ripped the door closed. His head jerked back with the onset of momentum, and his tires squeeled for what seemed like for ever. His eyes were huge. Shit!

Oh my god. What the- from nowhere, a form, a deer came out of the night appeared in his lights. His car rocked, and there was a loud thump. The deer darted to the side, off the road. Paul didn't see it coming.

Damn her. That's all there was too it. Damn her. One thing was for sure, that was the last dinner he'd have with her parents. And them pretending to be so nice. How could she say that? How could she reveal such a thing to her parents, of all people, people he didn't even know, really? Did they laugh because they thought it was funny, or because they thought he was funny? Such laughter, his own face in shock. He couldn't believe she'd just blurt it out.

Paul wanted nothing else than to put miles between himself and that house as his car sped back through the lightening night, towards their little town on the highway. He eased his foot off the accelerator, moving back from highway speed to residential speed. His car rolled back over the rise of the entrance ramp, down to the intersection, and turned onto Poplar. Careful, Paul, you'll be on the highway soon enough yet. No need to make your evening worse with a speeding ticket here in Podunkville, he thought.

To heck with her. She can find her own way back. She shouldn't have said that. That. That. She knew what she was. Paul thought about just leaving her like that, storming out. Well, she deserved it. He decided to go on home. Should he just drive around? Damn it! Paul looked in his rearview mirror- she wasn't in the yard coming after him. Paul didn't know whether he wanted her to chase him or not. Shouldn't she be at least sorry? Maybe she didn't think what she did was bad, but couldn't she see how much he thought it was?

Paul came to a halt next to the curb where he had parked, and his car sat for a brief second as his tires spun. He yanked his foot off the gas and turned the key off with a jerk. He snatched the key out of the ignition, fumbling it as he missed the slot a few times. Paul bounced in his seat, and slammed the door open, getting out and stalking around the front of the car through the front yard. A half moon looked down on him, lighting his way, he stepped angrily onto the front porch, maintaining enough dignity to not throw the door open as he burst back inside. He all but ran into the dining room, sitting in his chair with enough force to bring it from it's back on the floor up to his rear, hands clenched around his napkin.

That was it. Her parents looked at him, eyes twinkling as they laughed. Paul was still aghast. She'd actually told them. Sarah looked at him with a smile on her face. Did Paul detect just a hint of smugness? Everyone burst out laughing.

"And then he woke up and said, 'Sarah? Is it raining?'"

You wouldn't dare, Paul thought, staring at her.

"Finally, he kind of, you know, trickled off, and it was everywhere, on his clothes, on the blanket, all over the picnic basket.

Paul wanted to hang his head, but didn't want them looking at him. How could she.

"It went on, and on, and on... and on!"

"That's enough, Sarah,"

"He couldn't stop! I've never seen somebody pee so much!"

"Sarah."

"Yes! He peed all over. It just shot straight up. I would have been disgusted if I wasn't laughing so hard."

Mr. and Mrs. Wilson's eyes were wide open, laughing. "No!"

"Sarah, stop it."

"So there he was, sleeping like a kitten, snuggled into the blanket with his head on his record, and I guess he was just a little too comfortable, because he just started peeing his pants!

"Sarah, please don't."

"After a while, Paul kind of drifted off, snoring a little, while I read my book. It was very tranquil and peaceful."

She wouldn't dare, Paul thought. She wouldn't.

"So Paul laid back, and I got out my book, you know how I like to read Judith Krantz after a meal like that.

Paul couldn't believe she was telling them this story. And they looked on, her proud parents, with eager eyes.

"And he said, 'Oh, I'll go after a little nap'"

Paul shook his head, his grin gone.

"I said, well, go over to that tree over there, then, just don't do it here."

Paul's smile was fading.

"And he said something like, 'Jeez, I musta drank four gallons of beer today."

Paul rolled his eyes.

"Then he yawned in that cute way he does when he's had too much to eat.

Don't tell this story, Paul thought to himself. Don't you dare.

"Another swig from the mug, and the last bite of the potato salad."

Paul shook his head. Ya think ya know someone...

"We finished up the last of it, and Paul just kept putting away the beer, but it was warm outside and I was driving anyway."

No, not this story.

"Well, were out there on the Johnson land, you know, kind of near where that forest meets that field, having a little picnic, you know, my potato salad and some sandwiches and Paul had about, how many beers did you have, honey? Fifteen?"

"No, what time?"

Sarah smiled. "Well, you remember that time, it was a few months ago."

"I don't think so."

"Hasn't anything like that ever happened to you?" Mr. Wilson asked him, giggling.

Mr. Wilson finished his story, looking at Paul with those weird eyes, just like Sarah's, while Mrs. Wilson cleared the table. Sarah helped her. They walked back into the dining room and sat down, sighing contentedly. Mr. Wilson continued with his story. Uh-oh. Sarah warned him that her father's stories could sometimes get a bit long. Something about fishing in a stream with a bunch of other old men, not being able to find a bathroom or a tree fat enough to hide him. Mr. Wilson juts kept talking.

Paul ate his last mouthful, ready to burst, Honestly, this was the best damn pie he'd ever had. Maybe it wasn't going to be as bad as he'd thought. Paul tried to ignore him and concentrated on the pie. Mr. Wilson started saying, "Well, I was out on the Yukzee, you know, that creek where all the muddies breed..."

After dinner, Paul was certain he wouldn't be able to look at food ever again. Finally he pushed his plate away. No more. He couldn't resists the mashed potatoes, and even the turkey was juicy, a far cry from his own mother's catastrophes. Paul ate it all. There were peas and yams and stuffing and cornbread and dinner rolls and cranberry sauce and green bean casserole. Paul couldn't believe his eyes. He sat down at his seat, amazed.

"Dinner!" Mrs. Wilson finally called them in. Paul thought he was going to drift off in front of the TV, hoping Mr. Wilson wouldn't be too insulted. Paul didn't really like football much, anyway. It was everything he'd feared it would be: boring. He didn't mean to hurt Sarah's feelings, but it hadn't worked anyway. That's why he told her that he thought her parents were such great bores.

This was not going to be a good evening. But he knew he was right. Maybe he shouldn't have called her parents boring old farts. At least Mr. Wilson didn't seem to notice. She sat in her sit, fuming. Paul watched her, slightly miffed himself. Sarah was mad at him. Paul was not enjoying himself.