Everyone from the office loved the meadow, except for Myra.

Sharon from accounting—whose desk was littered with stacks of books that she got from the dark romance section of Barnes and Nobles—announced to everyone that it reminded her of a certain scene from Twilight.

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Myra did not connect with the meadow in such a way. It was cold for starters. It seemed everyone else forgot about just how cold it was.

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Annalyn pranced around in the field like a toddler, saying this was her favorite type of weather. Chilly, with a bite of freshness and excitement in the air.

 

Meanwhile Myra hugged her black coat tighter, ice cycles forming under her nose.

 

The ground was also moist and sloshy, ruining her tennis shoes. She would have to bleach them white again as soon as she got home at 5:14 pm that evening.

 

Margaret actually took off her shoes. Myra wanted to vomit at the image now burned in her brain of Margaret's toes in the mud. They looked like little worms wriggling.

 

How could HR force all of them to come out here for a team building exercise when clearly some of them did not want to come. Myra did not need a morale boost, or a break.

 

She missed the warmth of the office, the air-conditioned air, the thin layer of purple-ish fabric that covered the solid stability of a concrete floor. She knew that the thermostat was set to 71 degrees every day. And on days when Beatrice would adjust it to 70 degrees, Myra was always the first to notice. Myra had left her several unsavory emails. But she kept doing it! And now Beatrice was taking off her coat and mittens and running her hands through the flowers.

 

I hope. she. is. happy. Myra thought.

 

Because these were all the people asking for this sort of thing, Myra had to come out here and spend time with the pointless little dead flowers, breathing in the stupid frigid air. She begged and begged HR not to go on these field trips, and despised being treated like some fourth grader who was forced onto the school bus by the teacher. Maybe next time she would just pretend that she was sick, stay home for the day.

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But then she would miss the rest of the day at the office… Or perhaps she could come in later once she said she was feeling better? No, that wouldn't work…

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She missed her computer, the clickety clack of the keys, so satisfying. Compared to the squelching of the wet ground.

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Everyone was all out in the meadow, frolicking about like little fawns. Myra just stood there, watching them play like children. She never participated in these sorts of things, but they couldn't fire her because she was the best at what she did out of everybody. She just stuck to herself, in her little cubby, away from everyone and everything else.

 

Their laughter started to burn her ears. She took a step backward, heading away from them, back to the road, when—

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A cry.

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Myra looked down. A baby deer nestled into the flowers, hiding.

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It was so soft and small, with a little wet black nose. It shivered, its fur rippling and quivering against its skin. Myra could almost see its heart beating against its ribcage as the little deer’s chest expanded and contracted in short, quick spurts.

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The wind paused for a moment, and the wild lilies surrounding the fawn ceased their swaying. They stayed still, shielding the little deer.

 

Myra blinked a few times, and furrowed her sleek black brows. She had read before on the DNR website not to touch them. Do not panic, do not cause them any alarm—the mother will come back later.

 

If any of the other ladies saw the deer, they would absolutely lose their minds. Calling 911, or touching it, or even taking it home with them.

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Myra looked back at the ladies as it began to rain. They danced in the mist, spinning around and around, exclaiming how alive they felt.

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This would usually be the time when Myra would leave, but…

 

She turned her head back to the little fawn and pursed her lips together. Its eyes, wide with fear, glistened black. Its little cubicle of lilies it was nestled into would not be able to protect it against one of the deadliest creatures the world had ever seen—a well-meaning woman.

 

Myra turned back toward the women and crossed her arms in front of her, then planted her white tennis shoes firmly in the squishy, muddy ground. The rain started falling harder, dripping down, getting into Myra’s eyes, blurring her vision as she peered through her foggy glasses. But she could still see the murky image of the women grabbing their things and heading back toward their cars on the other side of the road. They began to run as the rain fell harder and harder.

 

Myra stood in their way. One by one, the other women of the office went around her, keeping their distance from her, like they always had. Myra was also not deaf to several of the whispers that passed by.

 

But the women did not need to know or understand what she was doing. What mattered is that she was doing it.

 

Once all of the ladies had gotten back to the road, Myra turned around and went back to her car too, stepping carefully to the side of the baby deer. As she approached her vehicle, all the other ladies gasped, then shrieked in delight and wonder. They pointed to the forest beyond the meadow across the road, jumping up and down. Myra turned her head back, wondering what all the commotion was this time.

 

By the forest line there was a full-grown doe calling for her baby. The fawn got up on its thin little string legs and darted away, toward its mother.

 

The women marvelled over how cute it was, regretting that they had not noticed the baby in the meadow before. Beatrice wished she could have petted it because it just "looks so darn pettable". Margaret only squealed, no words came out of her mouth; she was still barefooted. Annalyn cried because she miscarried two years ago. Sharon said that in Twilight the deer are prey for the vegan vampires.

 

Myra got in her car and left, glancing for only a moment from the driver window as the mother and baby deer’s snouts nuzzled together.