Broadside

Out in the fields, the fog was dense, and the stars were bright. There was no trace of the city leaking into the air, compromising the brightness of the sky or the wetness of the ground. It was just the untouched earth, the natural rolls and dips of the grass, the open sky. My breath spilled out behind the scarf that was suffocating my head, leaving a wet feeling on my warm skin; trapped air with nowhere to go. I was tired, ready to crawl back into my bed and sleep until the scent of coffee made its way into my room. Instead, I was bundled up and moving around before the sun made its way into the sky to start the day. Head to toe, I was covered in prints of bark and leaves, dark green, brown, tan, with a bright orange hat on.

We stomped our way over to the base of the biggest tree we could find, one that was tucked in the corner of the grass, our weight crushing the frost and dried leaves under our clunky boots. He tried to signal to me that we finally made it to our spot for the morning, moving his hands comically, looking like he was landing a plane. I suppressed my laughs and shot him a confused look. He sat down, patting the ground beside him in hopes that I would finally understand and take my seat next to him. I fell to my knees and made myself comfortable. It felt like we sat in silence for hours. Despite my heavy eyes, the quiet kept me awake. The birds weren’t yet chirping, the trees completely still in the freezing breeze. The only thing I could do was think. I didn’t have to watch for moving bushes or spots of brown in the distance. So, I thought. I thought about how cold I was. About how I wanted some water. About how I’m going to make this adventure even by requesting to stop for breakfast on the way home. For minutes on end, I just sat and just thought. The sun started to rise, warming the strip of skin around my eyes that peaked through my hat and scarf.

Suddenly, a tiny white tale leaped from the tree line that grew yards in front of us. A big mother deer made its way peacefully through the grass, stopping to sniff and graze here and there. Four babies followed her lead. The doe looked strong. She looked like she was built to protect her babies, to guide them and keep them safe. The kids wandered and jumped and played. They looked happy. They were happy. A mother and her four kids making the most of their morning. A family whose life looked so beautiful. So free.

I heard a click next to me. My stomach dropped. My body jumped. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the tip rise into the air, aiming out to the mother deer. I didn’t dare to move, but the thought of blood spilling out made my hands shake. My trembling fingers reached up and turned on my noise cancelling headphones, waiting for the inevitable to happen. I no longer wanted to get breakfast on the way home. I no longer wanted coffee. I no longer wanted to go back to sleep. I held my breath and closed my eyes, my hand unconsciously moving to push his hands away from their position—to try to stop his finger from reaching the trigger. A stinging and raging noise made its way to my ears. In two seconds, the mother was dead. She ran and stumbled a few feet before meeting her fate. Her babies were bolting into the trees, fear making their feet move faster. They were young enough that they were not scared of people, too innocent to even know they were prey. They feared the noise, the loud bang that could be heard for miles along the fields. Without thinking, I shot up and sprinted to her. I moved as fast as I could, despite my layers and boots and freezing limbs. Fear making me move faster.

“Hey! Jess!” he called out after me.

I ran to her. She was laying on her side, the ground around her colored red. Her eyes were now forever open. I heard his footsteps approach behind me.

“What are you doing?”

I did not answer.

I wept for her. For Mother Dear. My tears landed on her belly. How could someone ever take the life of something so innocent and beautiful? What about her babies? My ears rang for the rest of the morning, into the afternoon.