Ghost Owl

She hates the sound of the beeping machines, the hushed voices of the nurses, the endless weeping and coming and going… can’t it just be done, already?

When he lands on the side of her bed, it’s with a rush of feathers and a wash of air that carries the aroma of outdoors in this antiseptic place. Her nostrils flare at the gift, memories surfacing to embrace the promise in that scent. She reaches for him, one lined hand rising, shaking and weathered with years, veins visible under the thin surface of skin, his soft plumage like silk under her touch.

“You came.” She blinks tears. “You finally came.”

His black eyes stare into hers, the barest rings of amber around the dilated pupils, his beautiful white face shaped like a heart. He leans into her touch, small, white beak clacking as she rubs the side of his face with more strength when his presence buoys her and gives her energy.

“Let’s go then,” she says, pushing aside the blankets, the lovely little barn owl hopping aside to let her rise. Her long, white nightgown falls to her sock feet, knees popping but holding her upright despite the fact she can’t remember the last time she stood. “I’m ready.”

He lifts off, flying out the open window she notices only now, the ledge low enough she can climb out, one skinny leg sliding over as she hikes up her gown with a gleeful grin on her face. She’s already feeling better, strength returning, and by the time she steps out into the grass and wildflowers of the familiar meadow on the other side, she’s laughing.

Inhaling giant breaths of sweet, fresh air, she hops along through the ankle-deep greenery, bending to pluck a purple violet she tucks behind one ear, silver hair now the deep russet it used to be. Gone are the wrinkles on her hands, the heavy weight in her chest that made breathing so difficult. She skips now, heading for the giant oak tree she already knows stands alone at the crest of a short hill, the blue sky and cloudless day making her squint into the sun with one hand rising to shield her from the glare.

The cool shade engulfs her, welcomes her, as she looks up at the owl perching just above her on a branch, barely out of reach.

“I’m here,” she says. “For the last time.”

He hisses at her, but not unkindly. As something flickers in her periphery. She turns to look—

She clutches her doll against her chest, frozen in terror, leaning into the seat that protected her from the accident that’s left the car on its side.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” the firefighter in the giant helmet says to her while she stares at him, not looking at her father in the front seat, or the blood that runs from him to pool on the divider, a thin line of it trickling over to drip to the passenger’s door. “We’re going to get you out of there.”

She blinks, inhales—

The shade of the tree feels cold now, and she longs for the sunlight. “My father died,” she says. “The first time I was here, my father died.” The meadow had looked exactly the same, the tree, the scents of flowers in the air.

Her companion hisses again—

She sits at her mother’s bedside, sullen and lost, not quite a teenager, as the woman she loves breathes her last, leaving her alone—

A cloud passes over the sun, chilling her further. She hugs herself inside her nightgown, sitting slowly at the base of the tree, knowing she has further to go before this is over.

“Very well then,” she says. “Carry on.”

The owl flutters down to her side, looking up at her with his intense eyes and heart for a face. And nods—

She draws a sharp breath as her boyfriend slips the needle into her arm and presses the plunger.

“Trust me,” he says. “Meth’s a trip.”

It certainly is and she falls into its arms willingly and with hope she won’t wake up—

She hates therapy and though she sits in Group with the other losers, she’s already planning to run away from the facility that night because her boyfriend is waiting outside with enough meth for them to have a real party—

The cuffs are cold and tight on her wrists, but she can barely feel them, colors and light and the world warping around her making her giggle at the police officer who tells her she has the right to remain silent—

“The second time I was here,” she says to the owl when she returns to the meadow. “I overdosed.” He hops into her lap this time, letting her smooth his feathers with both hands, her gentle attention keeping him occupied. “I didn’t want to leave.”

He blinks at her—

“You’re welcome here,” the woman said, her kind smile and gentle hug surprising, if not entirely welcome yet. That would change, but it would take time and love and tears and rebellion. And yet... change came—

He’s tall and handsome and holds out her chair for her and when he laughs, she can’t bear it—

“Please,” she whispers to the owl, weeping not. “Not this part.”

But he is relentless—

She cradles the small, cold bundle that should have been their baby, feeling as lifeless as the stillborn, while he turns his back on her and leaves the room for the last time—

To the bite of the needle next to the empty bottle where white pills once lived and the embrace of the drugs and the end—

“Only it wasn’t the end,” she says to the owl. “That was my third time.”

He fluffs his feathers and leans into her—

She’s clean and sober and a counselor at a facility like the one she’d been sent to, surrounded by those she understands better than one who’d never faced what they’d faced—

The stage intimidates at first, but she’s grown accustomed to speaking about her life and what took her down this road she’s on and the crowd, past the glow of the lights, is always welcoming—

He’s not so tall, but he’s beautiful to her and his kids adore her like she’s their real mother—

She smiles from the side of a balcony in a far-off land, her husband at her side, their future unfolding before them, free and happy at last—

She pushes off from the ground, leaving the shade of the tree for a moment. Her heart is full and yet it breaks, because she knows what comes next. When she turns back to the owl, he’s once again flown up to land in the branches, staring at her, as patient as ever.

“I looked you up, the third time,” she says. “Barn owls have a reputation, you know.” He doesn’t respond, though she doesn’t expect him to. “Ghost owls, they call you. Demons. The embodiment of witches.” She giggles at the idea. “Who knew the ghost part was right?”

He shakes, spreading his wings, letting out a screech that has her covering her ears.

“Very well,” she says. “Let’s finish this.”

The owl falls silent, dark eyes blinking—

She stands over his casket, her beloved. They had years together, a lifetime she never expected to get. And yet, she wants more, so much more—

Tears trickle down her cheeks as she shakes a finger at the owl. “There. Are you happy?” The shoulder of her nightgown serves to clear away the moisture, and despite herself she’s feeling better than she thought she would. “I’m not going back this time.”

He flies down and lands on her outstretched hand, pecking at her gently with his beak. When he looks up, she feels everything shifting, and, before she knows it, he’s no longer small, but slightly bigger than her, standing in front of her, giant eyes waiting and watchful.

She knows what she’ll find when she looks down, the feathers on her breast soft and pale, tipped in gold and brown, her claws digging into the dirt, wings fluttering as she tests them.

Hisses at him that she understands as the sound of beeping in the vast distance turns to a long wail of warning she no longer needs to worry about.

She lifts off, flying away from the tree, the breeze her companion, carrying her into the blue sky.

Freedom. She had no idea what that meant until now.

How far she would have gone she doesn’t know. Because something catches her eye, draws her back. And she’s swooping instinctually down to the young man standing in the meadow, looking around in surprise as she lands at his feet.

He needs her, she can see it in his face, in his confusion and hurt.

There’s more for her to do, after all.