Improv Post Two Week Eight

This is an improv of "The Colonel" by Carolyn Forche'.

What you have heard isn't true. I wasn't in his house. I drove by, stopped at the mailbox, and kept driving. I drove slow, just faster than a deer's walk. Minnesota forests have a lot of deer. White spots and little tails, the antlers that he hoists above the mantle every year after hunting season. Right before Thanksgiving, when deer meat fills every shelf in the garage freezer, he and I grab guns and tromp through the forest. But not this year. I wasn't in his house. I didn't drink or eat anything, and didn't see the Thanksgiving day parade. His wife, my mother, didn't bring me cranberry sauce or deer meat. He didn't hoist antlers on the mantle. Well, he might have, but I wasn't there.