An Oryx in the Night

Have you ever seen an oryx?

Do you even know what an oryx is?

Before you google the word oryx (and we both know that's what you were about to do), let's play a little exercise.

Close your eyes. (Figuratively, not literally. I don't write these things in braille.)

Let your mind drift. And just imagine.

It's night time. You've just eaten dinner and you've sat down to enjoy a nice peaceful evening. You're reading a particularly funny blog at projectmeaning.com (boy, do you love that site) when your friend calls with an unusual opportunity.

He's just bought some land in Timberon, a small town in southern New Mexico. He is heading down there for the weekend to oversee some development on his property and he'd appreciate some company.

It sounds like the trip might be fun, so you agree, but on the sixth hour of the long drive through the desert, you start to second guess yourself.

You're tired. Your eyelids start to get heavy. You notice that your friend is tired too, and you know that driving at night with a sleeping passenger can be difficult, so you fight the urge to close your eyes.

But the fatigue starts to win. The road is too long and the sky is too dark.

You begin to nod off, but before you drift into unconsciousness you hear...

"Holy shit!"

Your friend looks terrified as he pounds on the brakes. The speeding car screeches as the tires churn against the asphalt. Before your life can flash before your eyes, the headlights illuminate the source of your friend's fears, and this flashes before your eyes instead:


Imagine that while in the middle of the New Mexico desert, you almost hit an exotic animal you thought lived only in Africa and in zoos.

Imagine that you discover later that the oryx was introduced to New Mexico to draw big game hunters to the White Sands Missile Range and because of that your trip almost caused an oryx to be hit by a car, with it's battered, broken body soaked in blood, left to die.

Can you see her? I want you to picture that oryx.

Now imagine she's white.


Editor's note: If you haven't seen A Time to Kill, this blog probably made absolutely no sense to you. I'm at peace with that.

You should also know that no oryxes were harmed in the making of this blog, but only because Steve has exceptionally good reaction times while driving.

Tune in tomorrow for more on my trip to Timberon, including another A Time to Kill reference when Steve, upset that I turned the radio station, exclaims, "Yes you deserve to die! And I hope you burn in Hell!"

He has since apologized.