Caribou
The father helped the boy dress in a suit, then held him. He tied the boy’s tie and combed his chest with the perforated bone of a hunter from Texas. He buttoned buttons through the holes in the sleeves, then licked his hoof with spit and pressed it against the boy’s head to make his hair shine—which it did, for a while.
“But what about the rain?” asked the boy.
“You can carry me, if you’d like,” said the father. “I can be your umbrella. I can keep you dry. I can.”
“Okay,” said the boy. “It’s better than nothing, I suppose.”
And they stood there for a while quietly counting the points on one another’s antlers. One not really wanting to go out into the world. The other not really wanting to go back.
—
Adam Moorad
Adam Moorad’s writing has recently appeared or is forthcoming in 3 A.M., elimae, Lamination Colony, Pindeldyboz, and Word Riot. His novella Oikos will be published by nonpress. Adam lives in Brooklyn and works in publishing. Visit his blog at http://adamadamadamadamadam.blogspot.com.