It sounded like a watermelon had been punctured but it was actually an arrow penetrating the rib cage of a sleek mature doe. The animal blazed past my stand on her way down to a dry creek where she disappeared from view. A blunted audible collision followed in the limestone stream bed and it was all over. On the first day of his deer hunting career, my buddy Evan had just killed his first deer after sitting for less than an hour in the tree.
That was a little over a year ago. Tonight, I drove home with the radio off. My throat tight and eyes red, the ambient sounds of my cab interrupted sporadically by an escaping sob. I had just spent the day helping load up Evan and his family’s belongings for their relocation to Iowa. He wasn’t dead or dying, but in some ways, it felt like it. Our families had grown to love each other and Evan and I had become like brothers.
Like Little Joe’s trainer in Mike Tyson’s punch out during the cut scenes, Evan rode his bike alongside me while I trained for a marathon. Eventually as his fitness increased, we both would run. After that, we became addicted to road cycling (yes, with the stupid uniforms). We backpacked together. In the seven years we’d been friends, we easily covered over 2,000 human-powered miles together. To me, Evan was another brother.
As the pile of personal items in the driveway grew smaller, the anxiety of farewell grew. Finally, everything had been packed. There was only parting left. I thought about all the adventures we’d had tracking deer, setting up camp sites in sub-freezing temps, running through lightning storms, being mistaken for “life partners” when he came to help me load up a newly purchased dishwasher. All of it. It would never be the same. No more late night invites to butcher deer or after work runs, or bike rides. Life before the move now seemed like the good old days.
The bond formed between guys may not be as discussed or examined as those of the fairer sex, but it’s just as fierce. Ecclesiastes 4:12 says, “Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” Though we may sometimes look and behave like lone wolves, we are made for the pack. Guys need solid friends.
Tomorrow morning at 5:30 am this pack is parting ways but not separating. A wolf’s howl can be understood from over six miles, I know we can span a few hours of driving. I’m excited at the new possibilities for Evan and family, but allowing myself to simultaneously mourn and celebrate our changing friendship.
Tomorrow I’ll be in a deer stand. Part of me wants to shoot nothing. I won’t have my best friend along who finds the pin pricks of blood on a trail that I miss. Perhaps a lone wolf sulk in the forest would be good medicine. Then again, maybe a deer on the ground would be better.