Reading People (Part 1)
"First I was afraid, I was petrified. Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side."
Cora sang along to the iconic I Will Survive, the tips of her fingers tapping on the steering wheel when the chorus kicked in, head bobbing to the rhythm.
She drove along the familiar, dark, deserted road. The headlights of her Jeep illuminated the dry, cracked pavement in front of her as light flurries of snow sparkled in the light's beam.
She'd driven this route at this time of night almost everyday for the last year. She knew it like the back of her hand.
A whole year. Cora still couldn't believe it'd been that long since she'd started working at the Harmon Family Animal Hospital. After all the time and effort she put into her degree, it was about time she found success in the field she was more than passionate about.
Animals were everything to her. Her family dog, Zippy, was the first time Cora experienced the true meaning of the phrase "man's best friend."
Cora's mom always joked that he was her little barnacle, attached at her hip like a sticky crustacean attached to the side of a ship. The two of them were inseparable. They were so close that, sometimes, Cora could swear she could tell exactly what her furry friend was thinking.
This made it all the more difficult when Zippy got sick and Cora was the first member of her family to realize it. He hid it well, but if anyone was going to see the signs, it was Cora.
She wished so badly that she could do more to help him than notify her parents and have them take Zippy to the vet. So when he was gone, Cora, at only 13 years old, made a vow that she would seek out the knowledge to help other animals in the future.
Zippy didn't deserve the fate he was met with, and neither did any other innocent or helpless creatures, domesticated or otherwise.
In the present, more than a decade after Zippy's passing, Cora was driving towards her favorite bar after her shift at the animal hospital, a sense of contentment washing over her after a long day of clipping cats' nails, administering shots, soothing a skittish bunny rabbit, and being berated by her boss.
Luther Harmon, the hospital's namesake and founder, was a sleazeball of a man. He'd made numerous passes at Cora in the time she'd been employed there, and she'd turned him down everytime. Each time was more straightforward than the last, but the man couldn't seem to take a hint.
Something told Cora that, if his lawfully wedded wife wasn't enough to dissuade him, Harmon wouldn't understand her rejection even if it was plastered in big bold letters on the palm of his own hand. But, then again, Cora had always been better at reading animals than people.
It was clear to all the hospital's staff that Cora's repeated rejection made Harmon bitter. He was blinded by his hurt pride and chose to take it out on Cora by critiquing her veterinary skills at every turn.
Regardless of having to deal with Harmon on a daily basis, Cora found joy in her job. Working with animals was her true calling. Spending hours everyday caring for them and simply being in their presence, Cora felt more in her element than she did in any other setting.
"Go on now, go, walk out the door. Just turn around now, 'cause you’re not welcome anymore!" Cora continued singing on her drive towards the bar, imagining that she was singing this particular line directly at Harmon. She was more than ready to drown the fresh memories of his harsh words and grabby hands in a tall glass of whatever tonight's special was.
Halfway through the next line of the song, Cora was really feeling the music. She reached her gloved hand toward the volume knob intending to crank it up a notch.
Before she could grasp it, Cora was distracted by a quick flash of movement in her peripheral vision. The object, whatever it was, was a bright brown blur as it crossed the road in front of Cora's Jeep, but it did so much too quickly for her to react.
Cora let out a panicked squeal as she attempted to hit the breaks and swerve her wheel hard to the right, but the almost invisible patches of ice on the pavement made the trajectory of the turn unpredictable.
It was too late. The object, which was now close enough for Cora to identify, had already smashed into her windshield and fallen onto the ground in front of her vehicle, unmoving.
The force of her turn had left her car at the edge of the road facing the woods. Whatever she had hit was now laying on the ground in front of the car. The windshield was cracked in two places, but luckily, it hadn’t shattered. Other than the glow of her Jeep's headlights on the evergreens at the edge of the woods, Cora could see nothing but pitch blackness in the surrounding area.
For a moment, she sat completely still, heart pounding, eyes wide, and hands gripping tightly onto the steering wheel in front of her as she tried to process what'd just happened.
After taking a couple shaky, but calming breaths, Cora slowly opened the door of her car and stepped onto the road. The purr of her Jeep's engine and the music still playing softly on the radio filled her ears. The sounds, although low in volume, felt deafening to Cora as her heart continued to beat wildly in her chest. She stepped around the open door of her car, distress and shock marring her features, as the injured, shallowly breathing deer came into view.
"No... oh no, no, no, no. Baby, I'm so sorry," Cora whispered as she quickened her step to approach the animal's side, guilt overwhelming her. She knelt down next to it, the fabric of her jeans now wet from the light layer of snow covering the ground.
Fighting back tears, Cora reached her shaky hands toward the deer's side. It's large, beautiful, black eyes widened and it's breathing quicked even further as she approached. It was evidently unsure of the strange human's intentions.
"Shh, shhh, it's okay. I– It's gonna be okay," Cora whispered, attempting to help the deer, as well as herself, cope with the pain it was clearly enduring. Cora had dealt with enough animals suffering from injuries to know that this wasn't looking too good.
The animal let out a soft groan as Cora’s palm connected with its side. A sharp, warm, tingle shooting from the point of contact, up her arm, through her shoulder, and all the way to the base of her neck had Cora wrenching her hand away in an instant. The animal made eye contact with her at the sudden sensation. A sense of panic, terror even, washed over Cora, blanching her usually caramel-colored skin.
Her heart was racing and a white hot pressure built between her ears, blurring her vision considerably.
Slowly, Cora reached for the deer once again, trying her best to think clearly through the blinding fear that had unexpectedly overcome her. She replaced her palm on the surface of the deer's fur, willing herself to feel calm and silently trying to convey that sense of calm to the animal as well.
As if melting under her touch, the deer's breathing began to come out steadily rather than in hard, ragged bursts. It's eyes, rather than remaining large and terror-filled, now blinked at Cora, slowly and with an apparent air of contentment. The animal was suddenly acting as though it was sipping water from a secluded, lush stream on a sunny spring day, not laying on an icy road in unimaginable pain, moments from death.
"It's alright. I'm so sorry, it's gonna be alright," Cora heard herself speak as she ran her gloved hand over the deer's side in a soothing motion. She now felt overcome by a sense of peace, one similar to what the deer appeared to be feeling. The animal blinked at her and breathed slowly, until it stilled entirely.
It was dead.
After stroking the deer's side one final time, Cora let out a shaky breath. No tears fell from her eyes as she stood from her crouched position on the road.
She felt numb as she reached into her back pocket to retrieve her phone. It took everything for Cora to rip her gaze away from the deer's body, but she needed to. She typed in the number for emergency services and pressed the phone to her ear while backing towards her Jeep's open door. She would wait inside the car for emergency services to arrive and remove the poor animal from the road.
After notifying the operator of her location and hanging up the call, Cora turned off the radio and sat in the silence of the night, still reeling from the unexpected turn of events.
She had witnessed and cared for hundreds of sick or injured beings, but this was the first time Cora had inflicted pain on an animal. The first time she had killed one.
She had killed the deer. And then she'd been forced to helplessly watch as its fatal injuries stole the light from its eyes forever.
That was her doing, and nothing could change that. Nothing could bring the deer back.
These thoughts broke through the dam holding back Cora's emotions. A stream of endless tears silently flowed from her eyes as she continued to reflect on the crash. On how she might have been able to prevent it if she had just paid more attention to the road ahead of her instead of on the stupid radio.
If only.
It seemed as if an eternity passed before a wash of red and blue lit up the road behind Cora's Jeep. The authorities had arrived.
They'd told her on the phone that she didn't have to sit and wait for them to get there, but Cora couldn't, in good conscience, allow herself to drive off while the body of that innocent animal remained strewn across the pavement completely alone in the dead of night. Her emotional capacity was being tested by what had happened, as was her ability to make clear judgments, but her moral compass was still somewhat intact. Albiet, hanging by a thread.
Cora hopped out of her car to speak to the authorities and to ensure the deer could be properly brought to rest.
