Laiken

There's a baby deer standing in the field.

It isn't the first time I've seen one—but I could count the number of times I've seen one alone on one hand. “Shh,” my sister cautions me, as if I'd dare to breathe. Kara's lying beside me in the grass, her finger to her chapped, rosy lips. We're shoulder to shoulder. I can see the flecks of green in her blue eyes.

I don't nod, but she knows I've heard her. Both of us stare back out at the clearing. The sky above is gray as dishwater with a single vein of sun running through. It'll rain within the hour, if not sooner. It's warm on the ground but that's changing the longer I hold steady.

The baby deer isn't moving, except for its legs. Those have been trembling since we stumbled on the animal. I expect it's cold, or terrified. Where is its mom? I wonder.

I don't hear her speak, but suddenly, I can tell Kara is debating something. It's easy for me to read her. For all of my twelve years, she's been my companion and my best friend. So of course I recognize the mischief that crinkles the corners of her eyes, the slight uptick at the edge of her mouth. I pull in half a breath, ready to ask her what she's going to do.

Kara jumps forward, tearing through the brush, her arms over her head. “Hey!” she yells, rushing the animal. “Hey, whoo! Hi little deer! Hey!” Her shouts become laughter. The deer has already bolted, too stressed to wait and see if Kara means it any harm.

I should be mad. I'm not. Kara's pink cheeks and giggles are contagious. Without hesitation I kick off the ground, dirt getting under my nails in my hurry to join my sister. Together we squeal, chasing after the deer. We know we can't catch the gangly-legged animal but we do our best anyway. Neither of us are quitters.

Playing in the forest around our cabin has made us both strong. Agile. While we won't catch the deer, we're on its heels. The brush is thick here, clawing at my tanned cheeks, my bare, wiry arms. When I circle around a gigantic oak trunk, the bark catches at my hair. I flinch from the brief spark of pain and keep running.

I'm used to it.

My brunette hair isn't sleek or tidy. It hides twigs. It snags on branches and briars. And when I run, the frayed ends swirl in the air behind me like a tattered cape.

My hair is wild like me - like us.

I love it -

especially because it looks just like hers.

Neither Kara nor I have ever liked getting our hair cut, but that took a new twist when, weeks ago, we'd started practicing braids. I'd been able to get over seven rows in my hair. Kara had only gotten six. In her distress, she'd insisted I trim my hair until we had the exact same length.

“We'll grow it out together,” she'd explained, showing me the scissors. “Then, next summer, we'll see whose is longer.”

I'd agreed. How could I say no?

“Wait up!” I pant, pushing through the sharp, raking branches. Kara has gotten ahead of me; she's reached the river. The deep thrum of the rushing water slides through my ears seconds before I see it.

She's standing on one of the slippery rocks near the closest bank. The deer is scrambling through the water, its head barely above the ripples. It climbs on the stones then slips in again. Suddenly, our fun game seems cruel.

My sister either hasn't sensed the same thing I have, or she's consumed by the chase, because she keeps hopping over the rocks. Each jump she makes, I expect her to fall. “Kara! Be careful!” I cry, sliding down the wet dirt to the riverbed. The river isn't much wider than twelve feet, but its bloated, the current dangerous from the recent rains.

I climb the closest rock; instantly I stumble, my whole right leg soaking through. Gasping, I retreat to the muddy, but solid, shore. Kara glances back, drawn by my panic. “Come on!” she yells, hands cupping around her mouth. “You can do it!”

Except I can't, and we both know it.

Kara doesn't wait for me, she returns to the hunt. The baby deer, for all its struggles, is standing on a stone, shivering, as my sister gets closer. Is it worse for it to fall back in, or for Kara to catch it? Couldn't they both get hurt in the rushing water?

Something bellows. It's a low, insistent sound that demands I lift my eyes and find the source. Standing on the other shore is a large doe. The baby's mom, I realize.

Its mother's arrival gives it strength, and the little deer leaps forward, making it to the far side without anymore problems. It bounces by the doe's hooves; they nuzzle. I'm frozen as I watch the scene. It makes me think about my own mom... and my newborn baby brother.

The full-grown deer looks straight at me. Her brown eyes glisten, unblinking, and I feel strangely judged.

Then they vanish into the surrounding forest.

“Damn,” Kara says, breaking the spell. Blinking, I see that she's made it to the other side. Her hands grab her slim hips, feet spread as she surveys her prey's escape. From behind she looks like a warrior. Her hair blows in the wind, and when she turns to eyeball me, she brushes it from her face. “Are you not going to cross?”

“It's too cold,” I say, shaking my wet foot. “I don't want to fall in. Dad would kill me if pneumonia didn't first.”

“It's August!” she scoffs, making a face. “You won't even catch a sniffle. Come over here!”

I almost do it. Kara made it. So did a baby deer. Surely, I'll be okay. The tip of my damp sneaker touches the first rock again. For a moment, I'm transported back to a winter years ago when I was small and even bolder than I am now, which is saying a lot.

My foot slides back to solid ground.

We stand there, split apart by the hungry river. Two sisters facing each other, not truly parted, but unable to touch. The sadness in me is wicked—I love Kara so fiercely that not doing as she asks, not being at her side, is torture.

But drowning would be worse.

“Sorry,” I say shaking my head. “I'll meet you at the bridge.”

“Hey,” she calls gently. I meet her concerned eyes. “It's fine,” she says, her dark eyebrows furrowing. “I shouldn't bully you like that. It's okay for you to say no.”

Smiling with relief, I nod. “Thanks.”

“It's a dumb river, you cross it all the time when it's calmer, so who cares.” She shrugs and starts to run. “Beat you to the bridge!”

Filled with energy, re-inflated by her understanding, I give chase.

Everything seems greener, brighter, by the water. It gives life to this wonderful forest I call my home - this secret place that no one knows about but my family. I've asked Dad why we're alone out here. He always says it's because no one understands how wonderful it is to live in nature. How can that be? One minute of running over the sun-kissed grass in bare feet, and anyone with a heart could see this is Heaven.

The bridge rises up ahead of me. Through the trees across the water I catch glimpses of Kara. Astoundingly, I'm beating her. Digging deep I demand even more from my young body. My legs are like a colt's, but so are hers. We're the same height. The same build. She's a year older than me but we're nearly twins, full of the inherent competition that only sisters know.

Gasping with effort, I jump onto the first plank of the bridge. Kara hits the wood half a second later.

I won.

“Wow,” she laughs, approaching me with her hands behind her head. “You really wanted to get here first, huh?”

I shrug. “Don't take the power out of my win.”

“Fair, fair.” She claps too loudly, her grin huge and toothy. “Congratulations! You won! Woohoo!”

“Okay, that's enough.” Sticking out my tongue, I lean on the wood railing. Its rough, one of the first structures our father had built out here that wasn't our house. We'd helped him, feeling so pleased that he'd let us chop the thinner logs. It had taken a few days and the hard work had left me blistered. I'd relished in the soreness every night.

Now, my fingertips trace the letters cut into the wood of the railing. My name is carved beside Kara's. We'd done it one after the other, and because she'd gone second, she'd made her name slightly bigger than mine. She'd sworn it was only because my name was longer, so this was fairer.

She puts her elbows on the railing beside me. Together we stare out at the river. “We should get back,” she says.

“You think Dean is awake yet?”

“Probably.”

“Then yeah,” I agree, pushing off the wood. I dust my hands on my dirty shorts. “Mom'll want some help.”

“You just want to hold him again,” she teases, following me to the well-trodden path home.

I flash a shy smile. “So do you.”

She waits a second. “Yeah. I do, actually.”

Together we hurry over the flat ground. At some point I stumble; Kara catches me, her hand tangling with mine. We squeeze our fingers tight, staying like that. Hand in hand. The way we've always been... The way I imagine we'll always be.

I have no idea how wrong I am.