A Night of Silence

Putting things into perspective was always so much easier from up here, hence why he liked coming here as often as he did. Away from the humdrum and endless bustle of the city below; a much welcome reprieve from the steady monotony that seemed to dictate his every waking moment. From up here, things didn’t seem so pressing -- so urgent, and he wasn’t expected at one place or another. Sitting here overlooking the sprawling metropolis below, he was able to finally take a step back and process the day’s events. A sense of calm washed over him, and he heard himself exhaling the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. Next came his shoulders. Ever so slowly, he felt his shoulders start their mechanical descent from their elevated positioning. How long had he been holding that tension? Bollocks if he knew, the better question being, when hadn’t he? He suppressed the urge to sigh. There he was going off on it again, the missus was right; he was going through a midlife crisis. Or was it an existential one? He couldn’t remember the exact phrasing she’d used during his most recent bout with melancholia, but the pairing of the words ‘existential’ and ‘crisis’ certainly rang truer than the feelings brought on simply by entering midlife. This time he did sigh. He really was becoming like his old man. The thought caught he completely off-guard. Momentarily taken aback, he felt his mood sour. His mind just had to go there, didn’t it? Even way up here on the ridge, he still couldn’t put enough distance between himself and his subconscious.

He’d never understood his father when he was young. He’d never understood how someone as once as proud and boisterous as his father, could have become so far withdrawn within himself that he’d become unrecognizable to those who knew him. But like all things in this life, and like has been the case for countless generations of sons and their fathers, he too had come to understand his father’s decline. In time, he too had learned what it was like to turn cynical by what he saw in the world and to grow steadily more and more despondent towards everyday life. Much to his chagrin, he too had learned what it was like to work diligently day after day, and yet seem to get no further ahead. It was by this exact same mixture of broken dreams, disappointment, and sacrifice in the name of survival, that had caused his father’s premature death, and now it was doing the same to him. It was a wonder he hadn’t understood it at the time, but that’s just how it goes.

During his father’s turmoil, he’d remained completely unaware, and had instead enjoyed the luxury of looking at the world from beneath the blissful veil of childhood. While his father had been battling his darkest demons, his son -- completely oblivious to the cruel realities of the world beyond his childhood home -- had been unsympathetic and indifferent towards his father’s suffering. He’d been too preoccupied with the thrills of his youth and all its idealisms to recognize the suffering of an older soul. How cliché. But wish as he might, he knew there was no going back to repair the damage that he’d inflicted during his naiveté, and his father had gone to his grave without proper reconciliation from his son. He shook his head in an effort to clear the thoughts that haunted him even here, where he was so far removed from it all. There was only one way this train of thought ever ended, and he couldn’t spend another night sleepless and shrouded in grief. And really, what would it do?

Almost predictably, his thoughts then shifted to her. He’d once found it unnerving how effortlessly his mind would wander from his darkest thoughts to the one thing that always brought him back to the present moment. They’d been together since their youth, and together they’d journeyed through life’s many stages. Through thick and thin, she’d stayed by his side, and over the years he’d come to rely heavily upon the gentle presence she occupied in his life. In truth, he’d become so reliant upon her, that whenever asked, he found himself hard-pressed to describe what his life had been like before she’d stumbled into it. That’s what made his spells of moroseness so insufferable to her.

In her mind, he had every reason to be happy, and by all other accounts he did. He had her, their bonny children, and a place to call their own, but sadly, no amount of gratitude for these wondrous blessings was ever enough to permanently lift his spirits. He loved her and his children; there was no doubt about it. Even just the thought of his little family tucked away safely in their beds brought nothing by the most heartfelt love and adoration to his mind, and he was suddenly reminded just how far removed he was from them in that moment. No, his feelings of displeasure had absolutely nothing to do with them; they were his heart and soul, and he would gladly move heaven and earth, if it meant securing their happiness. No, the sinking feeling in his heart, the one that seemed a near bottomless pit in his mind, was one of deep loss and regret.

The more he thought of it, the more certain of it he became. Yes, what he felt was a profound sadness for the loss of his appetite for life. He was no longer thrilled by the prospect of the days ahead of him as he had been in his youth. Truthfully, he no longer saw the world as a place filled with promise and opportunity, but rather as one overrun with dashed hopes and tragedy. He missed the romanticism of his younger years and wished for a way to rekindle the joy that had once abounded in his soul.

He had no sooner thought the phrase than when he noticed the sun peeking its way over the horizon. Startled by the time, he felt the sudden rush he always felt when watching the sun start its journey. All misgivings aside, he couldn’t deny that he still felt glimmers of hope every so often. As strange as it sounded, he couldn’t help but find courage in the sun’s persistence. Day after day, it made the same journey towards its zenith, and yet it never once failed in its duties. Even when it rained one day – there it would be the next, just as radiant as it’d been before, and just as true to its course. The sun’s steady persistence was one of the few things, asides from his family, that still inspired hope and longing in his heart. It was enough to rouse him from his stupor, and he found himself pushing himself off from the hood of his car. He took one more long drag from the cigarette he didn’t even remember lighting, and then turned to leave. No, there were still jobs to be done, bills to be paid, and people that needed him. If the sun could still find the will to mount yet another trek to its summit; if she could still find it within herself to love a man such as him, then he too could surmount the days ahead of him. He smirked, when had he become so goddamn poetic. He moved to snuff out his cigarette and froze.

Not ten feet away from him sat a barn owl, intensely observing him. Again, caught off-guard, he found himself returning his avian guest’s intense gaze. How hadn’t he noticed the creature’s presence before? Had he really been so lost in thought that he’d become completely unaware of his surroundings? As if the creature had heard him, the owl titled its head. No, he must have imagined it. Still, the owl continued its scrutiny of him.

‘How strange I must look,’ he thought, ‘silently conversing with a creature of the night’.

‘I don’t think so,’ came the silent reply.

The owl’s stare was unrelenting and carried with it the weight of an existence familiar with observing the grievances of man. He dropped his gaze to the ground. He must be tired. The owl let out its trademarked call, and he startled to see it stretch out its wings and make to leave. He stood transfixed at the sight. Like a whisper on the breeze, his company took to the sky. A new day was upon them, and the night’s shadows were quickly retreating. He watched the owl until it disappeared from his sight -- bound for its home. With that, he turned to his car.

His nocturnal pilgrimage had come to an end, and he was needed elsewhere. He wasn’t a superstitious man, far from it. No, practicality had always dictated his every move, and yet, perhaps his visitor had been prognostic. He knew such sightings were usually considered as omens, but seeing the creature so unexpectedly seemed too hopeful to be foretelling of some misfortune to come. Rather, the encounter had left him feeling almost cheerful. ‘To the day ahead’, he mused, and he smiled as drove away.

-Rachel Maurice