Bambi

She remembers the heat of that summer. A sticky, persistent heat that had left her with dried sweat crusted to her skin at the end of each day, and hair that frizzed like a halo on her head. It was the hottest summer of her life at that point, and she remembered complaining about it in tandem with her friends in the last weeks of the school year, although, in secret, she had basked in it. Her junior year of high school feels like a lifetime ago now, but that Summer still remains with her all these years later.

Her friend Angela—maybe they had been best friends, it’s not easy to recall anymore—had been talking about taking them to the beach as soon as school let out, eager to explore freedom with her newly acquired driver’s license. She made good on her promises. Even if she can’t remember the songs they had sung together on the hour-long drive to the coast, she remembers the feeling of misty mountain air buffeting her face from a rolled-down window, and the dry ache in her throat after talking for hours. It had mostly been her, Angela, and Marcy on those trips. Day trips that they would take every couple of weeks, that almost always resulted in at least one of them getting a sunburn; she had tanned more that summer than any since her childhood.

On one of those trips, they had gotten stuck in the woods after Angela had popped a tire. After she had made a couple of frantic phone calls, swearing into the solemn trees at her poor signal, there was nothing for the three of them to do but wait until help came. She remembered thinking that there was no way that Angela was going to leave her car—she had already begun the process of picking her nails raw and peeling away at her cuticles in her growing anxiety.

Marcy on the other hand, seemed to be harboring similar ideas to her own; the smile that she gave her was one full of dimples. It made her slightly giddy with the mischief it contained. “Peach,” she said slyly, “how do you fancy going on a walk while Angie gives herself wrinkles?” Peach isn’t her name, but it’s the only nickname of hers that she’s ever liked.

“I think that’s a splendid idea.” She replied. The two of them waved to Angela before stepping into the forest. By some stroke of luck, they were stranded next to a well-hiked area with large, clear paths of packed dirt. It had only been around noon, but it was already hot, and despite her tank top and shorts sweat began beading at her hairline and at the base of her neck. The harshness of the sun was diminished by the thick canopy of conifers overhead, dappling the trail where it broke through.

She can’t remember whether they had talked or not while they hiked, but most of her recollections involving Marcy had been ones containing laughter, so she assumed that they did. Marcy had pulled out her phone and was taking pictures of the fauna around them, capturing every detail that caught her attention. She hadn’t taken her phone out of her pocket at all—even now she prefers to experience things as they happen instead of through the lens of her camera. Because she knew it wouldn’t bother her friend, she had continued onward instead of stopping with her, slowing her pace to an almost lethargic stroll so as not to lose her entirely.

She had turned a corner, one of the only sharp bends they had encountered on the trail, and that was when she had seen it. Reflexively, her mouth dropped open, but all that came out was a gasping breath of surprise. There, standing approximately four feet in front of her, had been a fawn, still spotted white with youth. It seemed to notice her around the same time she noticed it. It took a step back, startled, but didn’t move any further away. Its doe eyes were large and dark, and there were meager beginnings of antlers budding in the space between its ears. “Hello,” she murmured, unsure what to do, but filled with innocent wonder. The fawn snorted at her in return, the noise a wet-sounding huff in the space between them.

Almost as if she were in a dream she moved closer, trying to keep her footsteps as quiet as possible, afraid to even breathe. The air had been still, like it too was afraid of breaking the moment. One step, then another, then another. Until she was close enough to reach her hand out and touch the soft fur of its face. Unexpectedly, the fawn chose to move closer to her, slightly bow-legged in its approach until its muzzle fit right into the cup of her palm. Even now she remembers the cold, wet touch of its nose against her salty skin.

“Peach? Angie’s calling for us, we should probably go back.” Marcy’s voice broke through the silence like a hammer smashing through glass. She had jumped in surprise, and that was enough to send the fawn darting away from her and back into the thicket of trees around them, gone within seconds.

“Coming!” She responded, feeling dazed. She didn’t tell Marcy nor Angie about her encounter. She can’t remember why precisely except that it had been a connection that was so unexpectedly intimate she wasn’t sure how to voice it.

“Paisley?” A voice much more substantial than the faded quality of memory breaks her out of her reverie. She shakes her head and looks up, seeing that Josh, a coworker of hers, is standing in front of their table, holding a steaming cup of coffee in his outstretched hand.

“Oh, sorry about that. I was just remembering something.” In the second before she feels the heat of the coffee cup against her palm she swears that she can feel a damp nose against her skin.

“Anything important?” He takes his seat across from her again, leaning over the table, eagerness leaking from his posture. Josh is nice, they get along fine at work, hence why they’re even having coffee together in the first place. His hair is brushed neatly, and his teeth are even—perfectly mundane.

“Not really, just got distracted.” Even now, the fawn is precious to her, that deep stare clear in her mind’s eye.

“Happens to all of us.” He laughs good-naturedly. She doesn’t feel bad that it’s a lie. Sitting on the other end of the coffee shop is Angela, talking heatedly on the phone. She doesn’t look seventeen anymore, but that’s hardly surprising—she doesn’t either. She’s dressed in an immaculately pressed gray blazer with a matching pencil skirt, in the ear that is visible to her sits a little purple jewel that contrasts prettily with her strawberry blonde hair. She looks away after that, refocusing her attention back onto Josh’s earnest chatter.

It doesn’t take long for either of them to finish their drinks, and she is not compelled to linger at their table and continue discussing surface-level topics of conversation. As the two of them stand to leave the bustling coffee shop Angela meets her gaze for a moment. They haven’t talked since her freshman year in college, their friendship is a mutually abandoned fragment of a time long past. She’s not sure if recognition sparks in her eyes or not, but it doesn’t matter either way. She turns away as Josh holds the door open for her and smiles lightly at him in thanks. A blast of heat invades the store, and the contrast between the cold, dry air of the coffee shop and the sweltering humidity of the outdoors disorients her slightly.

“Feels like we haven’t had a Summer like this in years; it’s been miserably hot out recently,” Josh remarks, taking off a brown corduroy jacket in the burning wake of the sun and folding it squarely over his arm. For a moment, she hears a snippet of a melody drift past on a non-existent breeze from a playlist long un-played. The childlike pocket deep within her mind almost expects the head of a fawn to peek out from the entrance to a nearby alleyway, even though she’s tens of miles away from the nearest woodlands.

“I don’t know,” she begins, “I’ve always quite liked the heat.”