Inner Light

The owl has a contradictory character in human history and Myth. Seen as evil, a harbinger of death and yet also a wise protector. Owls were the Goddess Athena's favorite bird. She believed they contained an inner light, which granted them sight, in the darkest of nights.

My husband's eyes were sad as he looked at me. So much had been said that there was no need for a goodbye. He loved me, even still and if my heart was still capable of beating, I knew his love would be returned. But my heart was dead. Not broken, not shredded, but completely destroyed. A tear slipped down his cheek as he picked up his last bag and left. The door shut behind him, so quiet, so loud, so final. I wondered if I would ever see him again.

I watched him drive away and then turned towards my empty house. The animals had left as well. The cats went to a friend who would love them. The dog had left with my husband. I wasn't a monster, I would miss them. But my dog's big brown eyes were too gentle. Too loving. They were all better off without me and I did not deserve their love.

I made myself a cup of tea and stared at the empty frame next to the fridge. A hint of light glinted on the frame. The only indication that it had once held a mirror. Images of smashed mirrors and jagged glass lying on the floor ghosted across my mind before quickly fading. I made my tea; habit, not conscious thought guiding my actions. I carried the cup to my chair and sat on the same worn cushions that I had spent months sitting on.

My hand shook a little as I lifted the cup and I dispassionately looked at my frail wrist. It was thinner than it used to be. I gripped the cup and the thought that I hadn't eaten in a while, almost pierced my foggy brain. I let the thought fade. Content in my numbness.

I stared out the large picture window at the expanse of pure white snow that rolled into distant evergreen trees. It was beautiful and utterly unforgiving. It suited me. This cabin high in the mountains was once a place to visit, when my heart still beat, when the Sun still had warmth. Now, it was my home. I deserved the harsh cold and the beautiful snow that only suffered the strong to live.

Only the strong. Not the sweet, the innocent, the pure. I sipped my tea and its warmth flowed down my throat, a stark contrast to the below-freezing temperature outside. I took another sip and the warmth made me close my eyes. A hint of sunshine, blue sky, a glimpse of yellow flowers and white cloth, and my eyes flew open. I simultaneously reached for the memory and shoved it away.

It faded, just wisps of colored smoke drifting through my fingers and turning into the steam from my mug. I put the tea down, a mix of disgust, anger, and sorrow rising in me. I stood abruptly. Impulse taking over I reached for the cup, prepared to hurl it against the wall, where it could join its compatriots from the cupboard in shards on the floor.

Yet my finger only brushed the handle when I heard it. My head whipped up, my eyes searching for the source of that faint and distinct, achingly familiar sound. There! A flash of gold amongst the snow white. A color better suited for a different season. A warm season. I shook my head, my inner voice surfacing from it's months long hibernation. It's impossible, you know this Atty! But logic and my brain could go to hell, because my long silent heart thumped.

I clutched my chest as the tinkling sound came again and my heart beat a response. I was at the backdoor with my snow pants on, faster than most people could turn their head. Thick socks, snow boots, a flannel over my thin shirt, followed by a sweater, jacket, scarf, hat and gloves. Mere seconds had ticked by as the clothes landed on me, as if by magic, before the backdoor was flung open.

The cold hit my face and the brief sting of reality hit me, but faded as my skin grew numb. I closed the door and then plowed through the snow for the first time in months cursing my weak body. Why had I stopped eating and let myself get so frail? The answer was there but I did not acknowledge it, furious that in this moment of need my stamina was already flagging.

I crested a hill, the snow up to my thighs and paused. I looked around me, in two directions the ground and sky were nearly indistinguishable. Low white clouds, tinted blue, kissed the pristine hills of white, that echoed the same pale blue. Behind me was the same, except for the brown of my cabin and faint tire tracks which marked the gravel road. The sound came again as cold seeped into my legs.

I turned back towards the distant trees. Snow covered, their green needles looked black compared to the soft white powder. I pushed on as the wind picked up. Some part of me whispered this was madness and that all I would find was my own cold death. I didn't care.

I walked down a hill, then up, my ears focused, the wind forcing my eyes downward to avoid being blinded. It swirled around me. Like a giant hand loosely circled around my form. Holding me and guiding me. I climbed another hill, steep and my feet slid out from under me. I fell forward, closing my eyes before my face hit the snow. My arms shot forward to stop my fall, as my body was enveloped by the crystal grains.

I carried the stuffed owl down the hall and paused outside the closed door. I held the small barn owl up and examined him. He was perfect. 10 tries, so much cloth and effort but it was worth the cost. I stroked the band around the owl's foot. Bubo, it said, in golden letters. I took a deep breath and reached for the handle.

No! I fought my way to my knees and then back to standing. A sob escaped me and my heart thumped twice. I grabbed my head and squeezed it hard. Trying to keep the images in their cage. A tinkling sound reached me. Metal and wood. So unique. I heaved myself towards the top of the hill. My legs shook as I reached the top and my lungs were burning.

Before me, not 10 feet away, stood the edge of the forest. The trees whispered as the wind passed through them. The cold seeped into my whole body, as I tried to process this mystery. Had I really covered such a distance? I turned to look behind me and the wind gusted, throwing snow in my face. I closed my eyes quickly, turned, coughed and grabbed my scarf to wipe my face.

If I stand here in this wind, I'll freeze. Logic won. I couldn't hear the sound and my heart was quiet. But I would never find it if I just stood here. The trees would offer some insulation from the wind. Every step was exhausting. I was being crushed under the weight of my own body. Yet I reached the shelter of the trees. The wind died down to just a faint sighing and I looked at the silent sentinels around me. The ground was slightly tilted and heavy branches dipped down, coated in sparkling globs of white. Yet I could feel the hard ground beneath my feet. And the snow for once, did not reach past my thick boots.

I stood for a second, catching my breath and then it came again. The sound of bells made of metal and wood. It called and my heart answered, beating once, twice and then I was moving again. Adrenaline surged through me and my fatigue faded. I moved quickly into the darkened trees, up slightly and then down. I skirted the bottom of a cliff, striations of rich brown and vibrant rusty red, dotted with pure white.

I turned a corner, the sound so close. And came to a small clearing. A fallen tree lay in the center. I walked forward, stopping feet from the tree. Something made me pause, a feeling. A feeling that I was not alone in this place. I spun around. Looking behind me, then turned in a slow circle. When my gaze fell again on the fallen tree, I gasped and stumbled back, tripping over my own feet, I landed on my back in the snow and quickly sat up.

It wasn't real. It couldn't be.

"Clash of the Titans again?" I asked. A giggle followed my words. I sat on the couch, Summer snuggled up to me and started the old movie, Summer hated the new versions. Only the 1981 version would do. Why?

"Bubo!" Summer clapped as Athena appeared on the screen, her small barn owl resting on her shoulder. I smiled down at her. Golden hair, blue eyes and dimples identical to my own. "Mommy, why doesn't Athena look like you?" She asked and I laughed.

No… the memory changed.

I tucked the owl behind my back with one hand, as the other opened the door to the hospital room. "Mommy," Summer called. Her voice was tired but her smile was pure sunshine. Her blue eyes sparkled as she struggled to sit up in bed. Jim reached forward to help her. I looked at my husband and he nodded. He reached down and we stood together at the end of her bed. We smiled as he whipped out my latest creation. A music box. It was in the shape of a cake, strawberries and whipped cream, her favorite, which she could no longer eat. On top were 7 candle holders with candles already lit.

"Happy Birthday to you," we belted out and Summer laughed and clapped as we dramatically sang to her. Jim set the music box on a food tray on a stand and swung it before her as we ended with a flourish and "to yooooou."

"Make a wish sweetie," I said. She smiled and looked at her candles, leaning forward. She closed her eyes and her smile faltered. One dainty hand, so thin and fragile, reached up to the cap covering her bald head. My heart clenched and I felt Jim squeeze my hand. Reminding me not to cry. I squeezed it back and blinked away the wetness in my eyes. Summer blew the candles out and we clapped. She bounced, happy again, as Jim handed her a wrapped present. The bells around her wrist jingled as she tore the wrapping paper.

Made of driftwood we had gathered at the beach one summer and a melted down silver dollar with my birth year, the bells were one of a kind. I'd crafted them when she was a baby. She had been colicky as an infant and the bells had always soothed her. Their metal tinkled as the wood gave a deeper, gentler sound, much like soft puffs on a wooden flute. "Mommy?" Summers' questioning voice broke my thoughts. She looked at me expectantly, as did Jim. I had no talent with cloth but I had reached out to my crafting friends. It had taken months and the work of 8 adults before I was satisfied. Still, I felt nervous.

I pulled my hand around my back and my daughter's gaze landed on the life-sized stuffed owl. Her eyes widened and she reached for the bird. I held him out to her and she gently took him. "Bubo.." she whispered, stroking the soft wings. She held the owl to her chest and looked at me. Tears leaked out of her eyes as she grinned. "I knew you always had him, I knew he was real," she said. I sat on the bed and hugged her. Her thin arms wrapped around me.

"And now he's yours Summer. For ever and ever."

No more…

She looked so peaceful. Her favorite Summer dress and delicate slippers. Bright and cheerful. Her lashes had grown back and fanned out against her cheeks. Pale, so pale. I missed her golden hair but had adamantly refused a wig. I clutched the owl to me. Hearing the soft tinkle of the bells wrapped around its neck. I laid the owl in the coffin, gently pressed against her side. I stood back as the lid was closed and my heart beat for the last time.

"No more!" I screamed. My eyes were open, the memories peeling away from my vision. My heart thundered as my scream echoed and the bird, the impossible bird took flight, the bells around its neck chiming with the beat of its wings. I was crazy, I must be. I let out a laugh that turned into a sob. I cried, all of the pain of loss, of losing the most vital, beautiful and innocent being in my life, welled up and crashed into me. My grief had never ended, it had built, like water filling on the other side of a dam.

Eventually the tears stopped. I felt exhaustion sweep over me. But the crying didn't stop. My tired mind contemplated giving up. But the crying didn't stop. Wait...I lifted my head. My mouth was shut. My tears were gone. I got to my feet, almost falling as feeling returned to my legs. I moved forward, guided by whimpers and sniffling. I rounded the fallen tree and there on the ground, was a small girl. I blinked, rubbed my eyes. Still she was there. Small knees pulled up to her chest. Face buried in the arms that rested on their tops. Her winter jacket was dirty, her hair beneath her cap was long and brown.

"Hello?" I called.

The small girl continued to cry. I couldn't tell how old she was, perhaps 5 or 6. She was so alone. I moved a step closer.

"Hello? Please don't be scared, I won't hurt you," I said as I inched closer and closer. The girl stayed where she was and I crouched down and reached out a hand to gently touch her arm.

Her head snapped up and she jerked away from me, making a scared sound.

She had wide brown eyes and light brown skin. There was a scrape on her chin and tear tracks over cheeks dusted with dirt and red from the cold.

I held my hands out in front of me, palms up.

"It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you," I said. She looked at me scared and I smiled. It felt a little unnatural after so many months of not smiling but the girl's brow furrowed and the fear left as she looked in my eyes. She stood up and I held my hand out to her. She looked at me a second longer than took my hand.

"What's your name?" I asked. Her eyes drifted down from my eyes to my mouth. She put her hand on her face, pointer finger near her mouth, then on her jaw below her ear, then near her mouth again. She's deaf, I realized.

"Deaf?" I asked as she stared at my lips. She nodded. I wondered how she was out here, in the middle of nowhere. If she had been alone, if someone was looking for her. I stood up and looked around. I considered yelling for help but the wind chose that moment to howl through the trees. The cold pierced through me and I looked at the girl. She huddled into herself, teeth chattering. The wind would be worse beyond the trees, it was getting dark and the temperature would likely drop below zero tonight. Stay or Go?

A loud snap made me jump as an overburdened tree branch hit the ground barely 10 feet away. My indecision vanished. I bent slightly in front of the girl.

"Go to my home," I said as she watched my mouth. I pointed at me, then her, then the direction I had come. "Home." I repeated. "Call," I made a telephone with my hand and placed it to my ear. "Your Mom." I said. I realized that my hand gesture was outdated as phones were now flat. Yet the girl seemed to understand and nodded her head slowly. I smiled encouragingly before standing straight.

Thank goodness the wind isn't strong enough to erase my footprints, I thought.

She walked beside me, gripping my gloved hand with her own as I followed my footprints. It was getting dark. I checked my pockets, confirming that my phone was not in them and neither was a flashlight. Fear nibbled at me but determination held it at bay. I would get this little girl to safety.

We approached the tree line and the air burst from my lungs as if I'd been punched in the gut. Snow flew around and the setting sun was so obscured it was almost black. The snow before us was gray and looked like a wall of smoke and shadow. I felt her small hand tighten in mine. No. I squeezed my eyes shut. I had to save her. I needed to save her. I can't let another little girl die.

Please, I begged. Who I was speaking to, I do not know. Not God. I'd discarded him the day my daughter was diagnosed with stage 4, inoperable cancer. And yet, I begged someone to please let me save this small girl, the way I couldn't save my own child. A blast of cold air made me cough. I pulled my scarf up around my mouth. It was dangerous just breathing such frigid air. I turned to the girl and saw her little bare face. Her jacket zipped up but not far enough. I ripped my scarf off and knelt before her. I wrapped it around her loosely a few times, then carefully wrapped it once around her nose and throat. The weave was loose. She could easily breathe. I looked in her eyes, thinking she might need reassurance, it could be scary having your nose and mouth covered. I saw only unwavering, innocent, trust.

The tinkling of bells pierced the steady droning of the storm. I followed the sound and there he was. The owl perched on a branch near the tree line. He was so bright, so clear. I looked into the bird's dark eyes feeling something I couldn't explain. The owl spread his wings with a grace only wild things possess. Fast and elegant he dropped off the branch, falling down and arcing up. My head turned to follow his path out into the storm, and when he hit that wall of gray, it seemed to part.

I was following, pulling the girl with me, before I made the decision to do so. Hope and determination surged within me. My lungs burned as the air within them partially froze. Yet I walked on. My grip solid on the small hand in mine, my gaze riveted on the bird just ahead. So bright in the darkness. Up a hill then almost tumbling down the other side, yet still the bird remained visible. My legs ached as we half crawled up another hill. I felt a frantic tug on my hand and turned my gaze from the bird. The child's head was below the snow. She had tripped and the snow was too deep.

"Hang on," I shouted without sound, the wind stealing my words. I grabbed her and hauled her up. Terrified she latched onto me. Small arms around my neck. Legs wrapped around my torso. I stumbled but held on. Planting my feet I could hear her sobbing into my neck. I took two deep breaths, then forced my legs to move. Each step was a battle. Pushing through the thigh deep snow. Making sure one foot felt secure, then taking the next step. I couldn't see anything except the snow inches around me.

I felt the ground level out and looked around. Darkness, moving black and gray in every direction. The bird was nowhere to be seen. My heart was racing and hurting. I turned carefully in a circle, shivering and waiting. It’s gone, I realized. I felt this small life in my arms and my newly functioning heart was on the verge of breaking again. Not again. Don't let me fail again. The snow was not as deep at the top, but still shockingly cold as the wind knocked me to my knees. I clutched the girl closer and squeezed my eyes shut. I fought a sob.

I can't give up… I won't!

My eyes flew open and I sucked in a breath. Three feet away was the owl. His wings were out and his feet were buried. He was beautiful. Luminescent. He flapped his wings and I stood. Strength surged within me and I quickly descended the hill. Like a ship cresting waves and falling into troughs, I conquered each hill and like a lighthouse, the owl guided me.

When golden light edged the owls wings, it suddenly let out a haunting hooting call before ascending quickly. The storm claimed it and I stopped walking, stunned. I looked up at where it had vanished before my brain latched onto what else I had seen. My chin dropped and there, 40 feet away, was a golden rectangle of light. My picture window.

I hurried towards my back door and fumbled to open it with one numb hand, the other holding the child up. I wasn't even sure she was awake. But then the door opened and a blast of heat hit us both, making her turn her head. I stepped inside, pushing the door shut with my back as I lowered her to the ground.

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I handed the girl a cup of hot chocolate. Her wet clothes were in the dryer and she was wearing some old pajamas of Summer's. They had owls on them, of course, but the girl had chosen them over pajamas with hearts. She seemed to like owls. I decided she could keep them. It was 10:00pm. It was both astonishing that I had been outside for nearly 12 hours and also somewhat disappointing. It felt like too short a time for an experience that had accomplished what months of therapy had failed to do.

A knock at the door drew my attention. The sheriff had immediately given my information to the girl's frantic mother. I opened the door and smiled. It no longer felt unnatural. My lips curved exactly the way they had done for most of my life. Effortlessly. The woman before me was an older version of the young girl, the resemblance uncanny. Her worried eyes met mine.

“Please come in,” I said, stepping to the side. The woman said a soft thank you, her eyes already moving past me and into the room. When they touched the girl at the table, they filled with tears and she rushed to the little girl, who had her arms out. I shut the door, looking away from the family reunion. My heart was warm but I couldn’t help the sadness. I would never again hold my daughter.

“Thank you Mrs. Riley,” the woman said in a charming Indian accent. “My name is Adya and this is my daughter Nimai.”

The woman opened her mouth to say more when Nimai began tugging on her mother’s arm and then rapidly signed to her as soon as she had her attention. I watched fascinated as they communicated back and forth. Sign language is rather beautiful, I thought. I looked at the girl’s face and smiled, some things needed no words and the little girl's look was pure stubbornness. The woman spoke out loud in another language as she signed, appearing to argue with the girl.

“Is something wrong?” I asked. What could they be arguing about? Perhaps this has to do with how the girl ended up lost in the woods. The Sheriff had briefly explained that they were visiting family near Winterpine street. It was less than 2 miles away and there was a steep hill nearby that was well known for gaining an ice-lip. Many had accidentally crashed through and tumbled to the bottom. The girl had done so and then wandered off in search of a way back.

Adya sighed, appearing to have lost the argument. “My daughter is convinced that your owl saved her.”

Seeing my surprised look, she apologized, misinterpreting. I had been convinced that the owl was a product of my own mind and could not have been real.

“I apologize. My daughter was told a story when my husband was in the hospital…”

What? “What story?” I blurted out, interrupting her. She blinked at me, her only indication that I had caught her off guard. She regarded me for a second, her eyes narrowed slightly as they swiftly moved over my face. Before I could ask again, she began speaking.

“Eighteen months ago my husband was admitted to Great Pine General,” she said and I noticed her daughter was watching my face, oblivious to her Mother’s words. It seemed intentional that Adya faced me so her daughter could not read her lips. I could guess why. The Sheriff did not mention a husband.

“My husband and daughter were very close. He was born deaf, just as she was and was her friend and guide. He worked hard and was so smart, but ignored his own health. Always so focused on his family. He collapsed at work, a blood vessel in his brain burst. They placed him in a coma and we visited him often. Nimai had a tendency to wander off as a child and always my husband found her. He told her that she could never truly be lost because he would always find her. When the doctors told me that he would never wake up, they did so in front of Nimai, not realizing she could read their lips. She ran away.... She ran away so he could find her.” Adya’s voice is briefly overcome with emotion. She looks at her daughter and places her hand upon her head gently. Still the girl looks at me, as if waiting.

“I found her in a hospital room, in the children’s wing of the hospital. She was sitting on a chair looking at a little girl. How she made it past the Nurses station I do not know but they let me in the room to collect her. The girl smiled at me when I entered the room, she was a lovely little girl, and we talked. She was very sweet and listened as I explained that Nimai was just scared to lose her father. She was afraid she would be lost without him. She listened and at some point, I told her what Nimai’s name means. Then she laughed.” Adya smiles, oblivious to the tears in my eyes. Caught in her memory.

“She asked me to translate for her, as she wanted to tell Nimai something. A story. She said that the Goddess Athena loved owls more than any other bird, because she believed they carried an inner light. My daughter’s name means, filled with inner light,” she explained. “Because of this inner light, owls can guide anyone to safety, even through the darkest night. She said that Athena would always send an owl to guide her home, because Athena was her Mom. She held up a stuffed owl and said that it was her Mom’s favorite owl and she had given it to her. She told my daughter, Nimai watched her lips and understood without me translating, that if Nimai was ever lost, she would send her owl to guide her home.” Adya shook her head. “Whoever she was, she was an amazing little girl.” She looked up then, at my face wet with tears. A look of understanding crossed her face.

“Mrs. Riley, are you… did you…”she didn’t seem to know how to ask.

I looked at her daughter. I knew what she was waiting for now. I smiled, my heart full of pain but also love.

“You can call me Atty, it’s short for Athena,” I said.