Nightglow Window

The Deer Hunter

Twenty years ago today I met the girl I will love for the rest of my life.

And it happened by chance.


The summer of 1986 was great. Time on the lake on my parent’s pontoon boat and a lot of wild times with Danny and those crazy Irish lads. But the real significant event didn’t happen until I was driving home from my parent's house in Georgia and back to San Clemente.

I was west of Kerrville, Texas in the early hours, way before dawn, and driving fast. The stars were out and I felt good, knowing that I didn’t have a long day in front of me. I remember bombing up and down the hills and seeing deer on the side of the road, but really didn’t think too much about it.

I should have. In an instant there was this sickening crash and a brown blur flew up and over my windshield. Everything was the same. I was still going 80, the stereo was still blasting, but the engine wasn’t running and the whole front hood was caved in. I coasted to a stop in the center divide, stunned. Deer blood was all over my grill and crushed hood. My radiator was gone. I remember saying to myself that something good was going to come of this, but the truth was I was 100 miles from the nearest town (the pit of Fort Stockton) and my car was wrecked.

I hitched into town and got a tow truck to drag my car back. I ended up being stranded in Fort Stockton for four days while parts for my car were bused in on the Greyhound. The hotel was across the street from the mechanic (who was a nice enough guy). It was a seedy place, with porn and a VCR, but no normal TV signal. (No wonder I wear glasses now). The Highway Patrol said that most fatalities along that stretch of road were from deer trying to jump over oncoming cars and going through the windshield. He said it was lucky I was going as fast as I was.

It was a long, long wait, but that wasn’t the worse part.

I had been on my way to meet this girl named Kristy, someone I had flirted with down at the beach at T-street but never dated. We started to write over the summer and the letters got more and more interesting. She was a camp counselor up near Mammoth. She said that I should come to visit. She said she had a cabin to herself. I got the idea and it sounded just fine to me.

Now that trip wasn’t going to happen. Four days after hitting the deer I slowly pulled out of Fort Stockton and headed home. The car whined and whistled and the allure of the road was gone. But I made it.

The night I got back into town, August 17 1986, I met up with my friends Jason and Joey and we went to the movies in El Toro and saw The Fly. It was a really horrible, grotesque movie. Afterwards we decided that we should get a few beers and decided to head into Laguna. We pulled up in front of Broadway Liquor and grabbed the goods and there was this White Volkswagen Rabbit in front on the yogurt store with three cute girls in it. Joey goes over and lays it on, busting all his moves.

They must have taken pity on us.

We said we were going to Heisler Park and someone, probably the sassy blond, laughed. “Don’t bend over if you drop your wallet!” I guess there had been some gay rapes in the park.

“Hop in!” said the blond. “We’ll show you a place.”

Now I was completely over it at this point, tired and just wanting to get home. But I crammed in and the six of us drove to Top Of The World.

The blond was annoying and the second girl was quiet, but the brown-haired girl caught my eye. She had these amazing brown eyes, curly brown hair, and was beautiful. Jason and Joey and I circled like seagulls around her, each trying to make our move. We were sitting on the metal railing with the entire city of Laguna spread out below us. It was warm.

There was a big drop off down into the scrub. We dangled our feet and talked, being dorks. Then it happened. The brown-haired girl, who I found out was named Christy, lost her sandal. It fell off her foot and down into the bushes. I climbed down and fished it out and put it back on her foot.

She had a beautiful smile.

I climbed back up and we started talking. She had just gotten back from a road trip to Iowa and we had lots to talk about.

I couldn’t see her too clearly. It was dark. But I was intrigued.

She sat on my lap on the way back down the hill to our car and I could tell she was interested too. I asked her where she worked and told her I’d stop by.

“His friends say he’s a total scammer,” the blond told Christy, and she didn’t think she’d see me again. But she did.

The next day I tracked her down and within a week we were dating. A few weeks after that I got a call from camp counselor Kristy and told her I couldn't see her, that I had met someone else and she took my breath away.

Eight years later I married Christy Marie Peterson on the bluff overlooking the San Clemente Pier.

None of that would have ever happened without the deer.