Going Back Home

Maggie angrily slammed the door shut behind her with all her might, storming out of her parents’ rickety farmhouse. Dust cascaded down around her in a cloud as the screen door banged behind her. She sneezed and futilely waved the dust from her face. Stomping down the steps, she pulled her winter coat tight around her to keep the cold at bay. Her anger radiated off her and she fumed at what had just happened.

For the umpteenth time over the last week, Maggie’s mom Kathy had done something dangerous, claiming it was how she had always done it and condemning Maggie for questioning her judgment. However, Maggie knew her mom was full of it, otherwise, Kathy would have been dead several hundred times over.

For breakfast, Kathy insisted on making coffee, which should have been fine in theory. However, she insisted on making coffee by filling a metal pitcher full of coffee grounds with a little bit of water then nuking it on full power in the microwave. Honestly, the ratio of coffee grounds to water did not concern Maggie as much as metal in the microwave did.

Maggie had never seen a microwave light up like a roman candle before. Before conscious thought entered her head, Maggie sprang into action. She moved faster than she ever had before, hit the power button on the microwave, and unplugged the power cord. As quickly as the pitcher had started sparking in the microwave, it stopped, leaving Maggie breathless and looking at Kathy with wide eyes.

Preparing for damage control, Maggie took a deep breath to calm her frayed nerves. She did her best to remain even-keeled while explaining to Kathy why microwaving metal was not a good idea. She probably came off as exceedingly condescending, but she did her best, especially considering that was a conversation she never anticipated having with her mother.

Kathy’s eyes grew petulant; her jaw set stubbornly and then she gave Maggie a piece of her mind. Kathy knew exactly what she was doing! Furthermore, she’d been making coffee this way since she was three years old! How dare she not trust her mother to make coffee in her own home! Maggie rolled her eyes and clenched her fists at the memory.

But that wasn’t what set her off. No, it was the driving that set her off. Whether Kathy should be allowed to keep driving had been a big point of contention between Maggie and her parents for the last two years. Every time Maggie came to visit, it became more and more apparent that Kathy’s time behind the wheel was coming to an end. Maggie had talked with her dad Harold about this, but he was worried that taking away Kathy’s keys would exacerbate her mental decline. This had all come to a head today when they were driving back from the store.

To be more precise, it had come to a head when Kathy drove around the railroad crossing gates while a train was coming – while an actual train was coming! It was maybe 300 yards away at most! If the old, unreliable truck had stalled on the tracks, they would have been in serious trouble! The train blew its horn at them in warning, but they cleared the tracks with seconds to spare. Maggie asked Kathy as calmly as she could to pull over so she could finish driving them home, but that set Kathy off. Kathy yelled and was filled with righteous anger. She snarled at Maggie that she had been driving since she was three years old – why was she always three years old when she first learned to do all these things!? – and increased her speed. She even ran a red light and then drove the wrong way down a one-way road.

Maggie gripped the “oh shit” handle above the passenger door with white knuckles, praying to every god in the history of humankind that they make it home safely. Kathy was furious as she brought the car to a grinding halt in front of the house before slamming the truck door shut and disappearing inside. Maggie was left reeling. As much as she did not want to do it, she knew it was time to have “the talk” with her parents.

“The talk” went just as she feared it would. Harold came down on Kathy’s side. Of course, he did. He was adamant Kathy was still capable of driving and he would not take her keys away. He had the gall to forbid Maggie from bringing this topic up again or doing anything to interfere with her mother’s driving! Maggie was thirty-eight years old, and he thought he could tell her what to do? Especially when her mother was a safety hazard to everyone on the road?

Oh, the nerve of him! The nerve of them both! Maggie paced in front of the farmhouse. It sat in the middle of a dark field and its porchlight seemed to glare right back at her. She kicked a rock at the house; it ricocheted against the wood fence and settled in the weeds. Raised voices emanated from an open window. Part of her wanted to go back in and apologize, but the thought of going back in at that moment made her clench her fists even tighter. Anger ate away from her; no, she wasn’t ready to go back in. Knowing she needed to cool off, she pivoted, turned away from the dilapidated farmhouse, and speed-walked as fast as she could down the gravel driveway, kicking dirt up behind her.

Maggie’s anger was just as righteous as Kathy’s, but it was tinged with an undercurrent of nagging guilt. Kathy had dementia. It was an illness. She couldn’t help what she said or did. Somehow, Maggie was supposed to be the “adult” in the relationship. These things shouldn’t get to her, but she would be lying if she said they didn’t.

Maggie let out an angry sigh and picked up her pace. Even though it was dusk, and the remaining light was fading fast, she could find her way around these country roads with her eyes closed. The rage burned hot in her belly and kept her from turning back towards her parents’ home, so she pushed onwards, hoping the anger would eventually burn away.

It was a cloudy night. Occasionally the stars peeked out, glittering for a moment before disappearing behind the clouds again. She kept to the middle of the gravel roads, enjoying the frigid breeze that made the knee-high grass dance on either side of her. It was a quiet night, occasionally punctuated by coyotes yipping in the distance. The coyotes were far enough away they didn’t cause her any concern.

As she turned a corner, there was a loud rustling sound in the tall grass. It happened so abruptly, it startled her; her heart was in her throat. Then she shook off that sudden upwelling of fear of the unknown. It was probably just a rodent or something, nothing to fear. The rustling turned into thrashing and her curiosity was piqued. Realizing it was probably stupid to look blindly for the source of the noise in the grass, she pulled out her phone and turned on its flashlight as if somehow the faint light would protect her.

“Hello?” she asked tentatively then chuckled at herself, feeling mildly ridiculous.

The thrashing stopped as soon as she spoke, but she zeroed in on its location. She knew this was foolish, but she had to know what it was. Looking around, she found a branch on the side of the road. Shaking her head at her recklessness, she picked it up and parted the grass where the sound had come from.

Big, black eyes peered out at her from a white, heart-shaped face. Maggie blinked back at it, never imagining the ruckus came from a barn owl hidden away in the grass. Was it hunting? Why didn’t it fly away? She peered closer at it, murmuring in soothing tones. “Hi, owl friend. What are you doing out here?”

It panted, its beak agape, obviously stressed, and looked away from the light. “Oh, sorry,” she turned the phone away so the light was no longer shining directly in its eyes, but she could still see it. Something wasn’t right with this owl. Maggie continued to crane her head, trying to discern what the issue was when she caught sight of blood on its speckled cream-brown feathers. And there wasn’t just a little bit of blood; there was a lot. Its wing hung limply to one side, and it was hunched over. It didn’t have any strength to stand upright. Looking around, she found a clump of bloody feathers and a trail of blood leading from the road to where the owl was now. There were bloody tire prints. Who knows how many people had driven by after this magnificent creature had been hit, none the wiser?

“Crap,” she straightened up, massaging her temple. What was she supposed to do? Just leave it out here to die alone? Nearby, a coyote yipped. The coyotes hadn’t bothered her when they were farther away, but now, next to the wounded owl, the sound made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. What was she supposed to do?

Then the owl looked at her and blinked. Something about that owl and its vulnerability reached into her chest and grabbed her heart with a death grip. Welp, that settled that. She was not going to leave it to be picked off by coyotes or to die alone. She had to do something. No, strike that; she was going to do something. Maybe there was a nearby vet or raptor sanctuary that could help?

She pulled out her cell, did a quick search, and made two calls. The only facility that could help in the immediate vicinity was a vet clinic that happened to be open this late because they got called in for another emergency. The vet tech who answered the phone informed her they didn’t have the staff to meet her on-site. They could ask a sheriff’s deputy to pick up the owl, but it would probably be a while.

Maggie had already made up her mind. The owl was on its way out. If it was going to survive this, it needed to get to the vet’s now. The vet tech gave the customary disclaimer, caution her against the dangers of handling wildlife, and gave her tips on how to safely pick up the owl. Maggie thanked the vet tech for her assistance and tucked the phone in her back pocket.

The owl still hadn’t moved from the position she found it in, hunched and panting, keeping her within its line of sight. She knew it was fading fast and if she was going to wrangle the owl, she had to do it now. “Okay, buddy, I don’t think you are going to like this, but I want to help,” she said in what she hoped would be soothing tones to an owl.

She stripped her winter jacket, grateful it was so large and bulky. The night was now freezing – her breath came out in puffs – but she didn’t even notice. Her focus was entirely on the owl. She held out her coat in front of her like a matador trying to lure a bull with a red cape and slowly approached the owl.

The owl didn’t move; she doubted whether it even could at this point. "Alright, buddy, here we go." Carefully, she lowered her coat over the owl. The coat enveloped the owl completely; she gingerly picked it up and tucked the coat around it, taking extra care to make sure the wings and talons were restrained.

The owl squirmed once she stood with it cradled in her arms, but it didn’t struggle in earnest. She set off at a fast pace, doing her best not to jostle the wounded owl more than necessary. When its eyes closed, she panicked, “Okay, buddy, hey owl friend, can you hear me?” It opened its eyes before closing them again. When she saw the lights of her parents’ house flickering in the night, she increased her pace.

“Just a little while longer, okay? I’m going to try and get you some help. You hang in there,” she said as she opened the passenger seat door. Thankfully, she had a box full of bottles and cans for recycling. It would be the perfect size for the owl. Maggie unceremoniously emptied the box into the back seat then carefully placed the bundled-up owl inside it. The owl looked at her as she loosely folded the box's tops down, placed a hand on the top in case the owl decided to make a break for it, and stepped on the gas. This is how she drove to the vet clinic: one hand on the steering wheel and the other hand holding the box in place, hyperaware of her special cargo.

She felt a pressing urgency to get this owl the help it needed as quickly as possible. When she arrived at the emergency vet clinic, the vet tech met her at the front of the clinic to let Maggie in and introduced herself as Laura.

Maggie followed Laura in and wrinkled her nose at the strong smell of disinfectant. Laura immediately took the owl to the back while Maggie stayed in the front and filled out paperwork. Maggie heard low, murmurs from the exam room and chewed on her lip. Her stomach was in knots. She knew it was a long shot, but she so desperately wanted that owl to survive.

A few minutes later, Laura returned, her face contrite. “I’m sorry, ma’am. The owl didn’t make it,” Laura awkwardly held Maggie’s coat in her hands. Some dried blood flaked off and fell to the shiny, linoleum floor.

Maggie’s face crumpled and she nodded, trying to blink back the rapidly forming tears that threatened to pour down her face.

Laura shifted uncomfortably. “I am really sorry. She was a goner as soon as she was hit by the car. Internal bleeding. There wasn’t anything we could do for her.”

Still nodding her head, blind with unshed tears, Maggie cleared her throat, stifling sobs that wanted to rip from her. “Do I owe you anything?” It wasn’t an it; it was a her.

The vet tech shook her head, “No, we just tried to make her comfortable. You did everything you could. Thanks for bringing her in. You are good to go.”

Maggie nodded her head dumbly and crossed the short distance to the door. Just as she pushed it open and the bell rang, the vet tech called out, “Wait,” the vet tech called, “do you want your coat?”

Maggie froze in the open doorway. Did she want her coat? What was the right answer? She couldn’t think at that moment. The vet tech held the coat out to her. It was covered in blood – the owl’s blood. Wordlessly, she shook her head and exited. Her throat was too tight to speak. The bell clanged behind her as the door closed and she made her way to her car.

Slumping into the driver’s seat, she pressed her forehead against the steering wheel and released the torrent of tears she had been holding in. Deep, shuddering sobs wracked her frame. In her grief, she pressed her head against the horn. It beeped, Maggie didn’t even care or react. Instead, she kept crying. Raw emotion and grief overpowered her: the owl, her mother, her father, all of it. It was all too much. Everything in her life she had been shoving down ripped from her with violence. She felt rage, betrayal, fear, loss, and grief as she wept. Slowly, her crying lessened until it became intermittent, sobbing hiccups. Finally, it stopped altogether.

Maggie looked up. The car windows were fogged over. Suddenly, she realized how cold she was. She turned the heater on full blast and frantically rubbed her arms. Maggie was exhausted. Leaning back, she pressed her head against the headrest and let out a deep, tremulous breath. She stayed in that position for several minutes, preparing herself for the drive back home. Right as she shifted her car into drive, her cellphone rang. The caller’s name flashed across the console in her car. It was Harold.

She shifted the car back into park. Taking one more fortifying breath, she answered the phone. “Hey, Dad,” her voice shaking. She swallowed more sobs that suddenly threatened to rip from her throat.

“Hey, Mags. Listen. I’ve been thinking about what you said and I…I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s time for Kathy to stop driving. I’m just scared about what this means for your mom and how she’s going to take it.” Harold sounded as tired as she felt.

“Me, too, dad,” Maggie whispered as tears poured from her eyes. She blinked them away in irritation. How she still had any tears left after all the crying she had done earlier, she did not know. Clearing her throat, she repeated what she had said louder so he could hear her. “Me, too, Dad.”

Harold coughed awkwardly. Maggie could picture him running his hands over his face. “Well. Come on back home when you’re ready. We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Okay, Dad. I love you. Mom, too.”

“We love you, too, Mags.”

Maggie ended the call and pulled out of the clinic’s parking lot. It was time to go back home.