Bleak December

Weak and Weary

Trembling and weak, I pushed the door open and stood in the doorway. A simple step and I’d be inside, out of the cold, bleak December air. Yet, it was a step I didn’t want to take. There was a finality to walking into the two-story apartment I didn’t want to accept.

It wasn’t my first time walking through the door since the crash, but it was my first time walking through the door alone. My family had flown away and my friends were back in their own homes. The comfort they’d provided when I’d entered before was there no more. I was on my own. For all I knew, I’d be on my own for the rest of my life. That simple possibility was true whether or not I stepped inside. I told myself I was being foolish, steeled my nerves, and took the step.

After the flip of a switch and the slam of the door, I took one more step into the home and froze. All at once, the enormity of the situation engulfed me. Evidence of her life stared at me from all over. A coat she’d left over a chair, a makeup case on a shelf by the door, and post it notes all around to remind me of trivial tasks. The scent of her favorite candle still permeated the air.

The entire apartment was crushing me alive. Every instinct told me to run back out before I drowned, but my legs didn’t work. My whole body was too numb to move.

There, on the wall, was a picture of the two of us together—hugging, smiling, happy. Not a hint of the knockdown, drag out fight we’d had moments before the picture was taken over my failure to book the correct studio at the correct time. No, this picture was a happy young couple, madly in love with each other. It was a picture we’d turned into a Christmas card.

My gaze shot to the coffee table, right in front of the ragged, but comfortable couch she’d owned since college. Sitting on the coffee table was a cardboard box full of custom Christmas cards and envelopes. It was such a waste. It had been such a well done Christmas card. She’d been very proud of it and for good reason. I knew I’d have to throw them all out. I certainly couldn’t send them, now could I?

On the wall above the couch was her artwork. The trinkets that happy couples gather were hung on the walls, spread across bookshelves, and placed with love on tables…all watching me—mocking me with the reality of my predicament. They were relics of a glorious world that no longer existed. A part of me wanted to leave the pieces there forever, but I wondered if that would be weird. The other part of me wanted to rip them all down and throw them away—well, no, I could never throw those things away. Maybe I’d just shove it all into the closet under the stairs.

The closet under the stairs…just like where Harry Potter lived at the start of her favorite book series. The entire collection sat in a neat row along the cheap, flimsy bookshelf beside the couch. She’d raved about them and dragged me to see the Chamber of Secrets when it came out. I’d never read them.

Watching as if from afar, I saw myself drift to the bookshelf, retrieve the first in the series, and float onto the couch. As I cracked the cover open and flipped to the first page, I imagined her sitting beside me, comfortable on her favorite couch, maybe even bundled up in a blanket and smiling—happy to finally share this with me. Surely, it was my imagination, but I could’ve sworn I felt something warm against my side.

A few pages in, as much as I loved the opening, I felt my head bobbing and my body telling me to give in to sleep. It had been a long couple weeks and I hadn’t slept much. How do you sleep at a time like that?

I gave in and closed my eyes. For the first time since it had happened, I slept well.

***

Only This And Nothing More

A screech woke me from a wonderful slumber. Rubbing my eyes and rolling my stiff neck, I tried to remember the dream. Had she been in it? I’d felt her presence, but I didn’t think I’d actually seen her. That upset me a little. I was supposed to dream about her, wasn’t I? Couldn’t my dreams, at least, be the one place in my dreary life where I could see her again? If I didn’t see her in my dreams, did it mean that I hadn’t loved her enough? That couldn’t be it—I couldn’t possibly have loved her more.

Another screech drew my attention to the large sliding glass door that led to our humble little patio. My humble little patio, I reminded myself. It was now mine alone. Once upon a time, a happy couple used to sit on that patio in those chairs. They’d drank whiskey, smoked cigars, and dreamed of the future. The things they’d discussed would never be the future…they were hardly even dreams anymore.

A third screech shot through my spine and tensed all of my muscles.

“What in the hell is that?” I shouted to the empty house.

Past the patio, up in the wild olive tree where we’d hung Halloween decorations, was a pale white, full moon face with two dark, obsidian eyes. It was an owl…a hungry barn owl out searching for food. I’d never seen a barn owl in the area before, but seasons were changing and such creatures fly. It was not mine to reason why.

Except, it wasn’t searching. Those empty black eyes were fixated on me. I stared deep into those abysmal, demonic eyes. It stared back.

It screeched once more. This time, in my addled state, I imagined it was saying “Nevermore!”

Ludicrous. Absurd. Owls didn’t speak in a way humans could understand.

Either way, with the infernal bird out there screeching, there was no way I was getting back to sleep. It would only figure such a thing of evil would come to visit on the first night that I’d gotten a decent night’s rest. Perhaps, I mused, I should go out there and chase it away.

A darker thought crept in. If it was an apparition…some poor lost soul come to haunt me, or perhaps a demon sent to torment me, then that simple pane of glass might be the only barrier between me and insanity.

I knew that wasn’t true, but the very thought kept me in my seat. It was just an owl. Soon, it would see something scurrying along the ground and fly off to catch it.

Just a barn owl—nothing more.

To think otherwise really would be crazy.

I cannot say how long we remained staring at each other that night.

***

Fiery Eyes

The next day, I went through the motions of life and feigned cognizance as convincingly as I could. Having forgotten all about my midnight visitor, I muddled along and did my job with a mask of recuperation on my face. No one showed any signs of suspicion that I might not be back to normal. After all, days had passed and they’d all gotten over it, so why shouldn’t I?

That evening, I returned to my haunted house, collapsed onto the couch, and devoured some bland fast food I’d gotten from somewhere. I turned on some show we used to watch together and let myself become entranced.

In a moment of carelessness, I dumped ground beef, diced tomatoes, and shredded cheese onto one of the cushions. I cursed myself, grabbed some napkins, and tried to clean it up without leaving any spots or stains. Sure, the couch was already tarnished and discolored from years use, but those were her scars. I had no right to soil it further. Besides, the dirtier I got it, the more others would encourage me to get rid of it. I didn’t ever want to get rid of it.

I jumped at a screeching sound and accidentally dropped the napkin onto the coffee table.

Out past the patio, perched up on the very same branch as the night before, was that very same barn owl. Memory of the previous night returned to me. Truth be told, I don’t know if I can discern owls well enough to know it was the same one with certainty, but it felt like the same one. It acted like the same one.

“Shouldn’t you be after some mouse or rodent or something?” I shouted through the glass. “Don’t you ever eat? What kind of owl just sits around until it starves?”

Doing my best to calm myself, I examined my pathetic surroundings. Empty fast food wrappers, napkins, disposable cups, and paper bags lay piled up on the table as if I was building a monument to poor health choices. I looked from the table to the owl and frowned.

“Don’t you judge me,” I said. A second later I repeated the command more forcefully.

It tilted its head to the side.

“Why are you there?” I shouted. “Why are you haunting me?”

When it screeched in reply, I shot up and stalked to the glass door, though I was still reluctant to open it.

“Fly away, you foul thing!” Only later would I appreciate the pun I’d made. “Off with you! Go hunt elsewhere! Haunt some other poor soul, far away from here if you must, but leave me alone!”

A dozen yards out, in the grounds of the apartment complex, I saw a shadow move. On inspection, it was a couple of people walking across the grounds. They looked at me with interest and I considered how I must’ve appeared to them—a man alone in his apartment shouting at a tree. I gave them an awkward smile and wave before retreating from sight.

***

Tell Me, I Implore

“It just sits there, all night, staring at me, screeching at me,” I said into the phone. “What does it want? Why is it there? Why does it torment me? I know she’s dead. If it’s purpose is to shove the truth of that in my face, to make me accept it, to force me along the grieving path, then this thing of evil wastes its time on me. I know it! I accept it! I don’t know if I can live with that knowledge, but…that’s for me and me alone to work out. Acceptance isn’t the problem. So, why? Why is it there?”

Silence lingered and I heard a few tentative breaths at the other end of the line.

“Have you considered that maybe it isn’t a thing of evil?” she said.

“What do you mean? Of course it is! What else could it possibly be?”

“Maybe, just maybe,” she said, “it’s an angel sent to watch over you. Has that occurred to you?”

I scoffed and paced, pressing the phone tighter to my ear and chewing on a fingernail.

“Well, if that’s what it is, it’s a horrible way to go about it,” I said. “Why isn’t it something more celestial? A dove or something…I don’t know. If it’s an angel, why can’t it just visit me in my dreams and make itself known? It has to know that in this form, all it’s doing is depleting my sanity. If they meant to send an angel, why couldn’t they have sent her? Surely, she’s an angel…in fact, I imagine she’s leading the armies of heaven by now. It’s just what she’d do.”

“Did you ever think…that maybe it is her?”

My breath caught in my throat and I think my heart might have stopped.

“What do you mean?”

“I only mean, maybe she’s the angel, as you wished. Maybe she was given the opportunity to watch over you for a bit. Maybe that’s the only form she was allowed to take, to avoid upsetting the balance of things. Maybe the screeching that you find so unsettling is her just trying to say hello…trying to tell you to continue on, to live your life. Maybe she’s up there in that tree begging you not to go on like this. Have you thought of that?”

I hadn’t thought about it. I opened my mouth to reply, but it occurred to me that, somewhere in the conversation, I’d lost track of with whom I was speaking. The voice…I recognized the voice. It was very familiar—it was her voice!

My eyes snapped open. In the act of recognizing the impossibility of the conversation, I’d knocked myself out of my dream. When I sucked in a deep breath of air, I caught the scent of her hair, which was still soaked into the pillow. In my dream, she’d been right there on the other end of the line. I desperately wished to close my eyes and settle back into the dream, to continue speaking with her. Perhaps, if I focused, I could dream of her being with me. We could reunite in dreamland, if only I tried hard enough.

I knew it was futile, yet for over an hour I ran through all our finest moments together in furious intent. Eventually finding myself exhausted, I leaned over and opened the blinds to look out the window. My nighttime companion was still sitting perched upon a branch of the wild olive tree.

It was absurd to think her soul might be hiding inside an owl. The idea as bad a cliché as all those people at the funeral who told me she’d always be with me, that she’d always be watching me. Hollow, useless words to try and make me feel better—as if that was possible.

Nonetheless, I had to know.

“Is it true?” I asked. “Is it you, come to watch over me?”

It offered a single shrill in reply. Somehow, it sounded softer than it had before.

“Aren’t you supposed to hoot?” I asked. “To ask me ‘who’?”

I sighed and watched it. Those obsidian eyes seemed less ominous and more inquisitive than before. I was no longer terrified to look upon the bird. Instead, I felt curious.

“Is it you?”

It gave a short shrill—more of a chirp.

“That sounds like a yes. But that’s crazy, isn’t it? It can’t be you.”

For the first time, in all the time I’d observed the owl, it shifted the slightest bit and shuffled its feet along the branch.

“Well, you definitely know I’m talking about you, don’t you?” My body warmed as something occurred to me. “It doesn’t really matter whether it’s you, by some celestial gift, or not, does it? It only matters that I choose to believe it…and I do. Perhaps you are just some odd, impertinent bird who’s taken a fancy to me for whatever reason, but it doesn’t matter. I choose to believe that you’re her and that you’ve come to say hello. You can’t argue with that, can you?”

The owl chirped twice at me.

“That’s right,” I said, “no you can’t.”

***

Melancholy’s Burden

When I awoke the next morning, the sun had not yet risen. With excitement, I checked to see if my love still sat outside my window. She did. I smiled, dressed, and headed downstairs to the kitchen to make myself some coffee and a quick breakfast. It was a weekend, so we’d have two whole days together.

Coffee mug in one hand and microwave breakfast sandwich in the other, I verified once again that my owl still waited for me. That gave me another thought.

Returning to the kitchen, I set my breakfast down and did a quick internet search. I found some chicken thighs in my fridge that hadn’t quite gone bad and diced them into small bites. I put the pieces on a plate, washed my hands, and carried the plate to the patio. Without even thinking about it, I opened the door and set the plate on the table.

“There you go,” I said. “I hope this works for you.”

Smiling, I realized I was standing outside, just a few feet from her. As much as I wanted to linger and enjoy the moment, a great chill drove me back inside. I retrieved my coffee and sandwich, relaxed onto my couch, and decided I’d turn on one of our favorite shows, so we could watch together. I leaned forward to set down my mug. Despair flooded into me as I realized the incredible mess I’d allowed to collect on the table. The only way I could set the mug down was to shove the disgusting detritus out of the way, which knocked a good deal of trash onto the floor.

Embarrassed, I glanced outside. Blood drained out of my face and all warmth drained out of my body. My soul emptied.

“You must be so disappointed in me,” I said. “What a wretch I’ve become.”

The soft glow of sunrise pressed through the leaves and kissed the rooftops of the other buildings.

“I’ve been eating horribly, letting my body go completely. This apartment is a complete disaster.” I waved my hand at the mountain of garbage in front of me. “If you think this is bad, you should see the kitchen. I won’t even get started on the state of my laundry.”

If the owl was her, there was no way she could still love me after witnessing me like that. If it wasn’t, then it was still possible that her spirit was watching me from up in heaven, if that even existed, or Valhalla or the Summerland or wherever her soul might be. Even if she wasn’t watching me, I knew she’d be appalled if she could see me.

Whatever it was that she’d seen in me, whatever it had been that had made her fall in love with me…that was all gone. I was an empty vessel…the worthless remains of a person.

Tears streamed down my cheeks and my hands trembled with despondency. As depression settled over me like a thick, heavy blanket that somehow provided no warmth, I turned my head to see the owl. Outside, I found the wild olive tree’s branches empty.

Just as I’d thought, she’d abandoned me. I deserved it.

***

My Soul From Out That Shadow

Time lost meaning as I remained a lump on the couch. I couldn’t stand—I didn’t have the will. I couldn’t sleep—I didn’t deserve it. The tears continued, until all at once they burst forth from me like a torrential downpour. My failures, my regrets, and my pain flowed out of in a great deluge. All barriers I’d arranged to protect me from this were swept away in the flood.

At first, it only made me feel that much more pathetic. I was a baby bawling away at the unfairness of existence. I wasn’t an adult. I wasn’t a man. Men didn’t let themselves succumb to such raw emotion.

I shook and sobbed and screamed and allowed myself to break on every level and in every aspect.

As it continued, I embraced it. I swam deeper into the depression and allowed myself to experience it all in full. I settled to the bottom as I would in a pool as a child. It was quieter down there, away from all the cares of the world.

It was peaceful.

“Let it out,” she said. “It’s okay.”

I don’t know where she was that I heard her say it, but I did. Maybe the words only appeared in my mind, but it didn’t matter.

“Do you see me?” I implored.

“Of course I do.”

“Do you still love me?”

“With every fiber of my soul, I do.”

“How can you?” I screamed. “Seeing me like this, how can you still love me?”

“Because now, more than ever before, I understand you. All of you. You’re still the wonderful person I fell in love with. I’m sorry I can’t be there anymore, but I will always be with you.”

“But that’s just a stupid cliché,” I said. Blinking, I felt my cheeks drying. I’d run out of tears, at least for the time being. “It’s what everyone says, but from them, it’s just words. True words, I suppose, but impossible to accept. On the other hand…that is what you’d want, isn’t it?”

She wouldn’t want to see me like this, but she understood. She knew how much I loved her and how much I missed her and she understood.

She was gone. I didn’t want her to be gone, but she was. Until I acknowledged it, my life would never resume. As much as I really didn’t want it to, I knew it had to.

She would want me to live, not just exist. She would want me to love. The answers were right there and they were obvious.

As I relaxed and calmed, my thoughts wandered to the good times we’d shared together and depression crept back in. The answers began to drift away.

The more I picked at the scabs of the truth, the more it threatened to overwhelm me again.

I clenched my fists and tensed up all of my muscles. Blood and life returned to me.

Once again, I looked at the monstrosity of trash before me. After a deep sigh, I stood and went to get a trash bag.

If she was watching, I couldn’t leave the place looking like this. I had to start somewhere.

After that day, my owl never returned. I suppose it never needed to.