On Holiday

I am wrapped by four white walls around me. A sliding door leads into a small bathroom with non-slip flooring and a big shower curtain hanging from a sleek silver rod fixed to the ceiling. My bathroom at home doesn’t look like that.

Oh, that’s right, I am on holiday.

It’s quiet outside; a nice, safe street. I always holiday in small seaside towns. Usually, I would get to a motel by the beach. I should open my window. I twist the small crank handle and the window pops open a few centimetres. A cool breeze squeezes through the gaps, breathing new life, but lacking the salty taste of a sea breeze.

A sharp pain shoots up my hand from the cranking and I rub the pain away, staring down at my sun-spotted skin stretched over my twisted bony fingers and wrinkling at my knuckles. I didn't think old age was like this.

A hoo-hoo noise drifts through the window, a soft cooing sound. An owl. I look outside for it, but it’s nestled into the shadows. Disappointment blooms in my chest and drills down to create a pit in my stomach. A certain dread weighs on me, but I don’t remember why.

My glasses sit on the nightstand next to the paper. I was about to read it. I had better put my glasses on. They sit on the bridge of my nose, the most familiar feeling in the world. I have had glasses since I was sixteen, so I don’t feel like me without them.

I look around for somewhere to sit. It’s dark. Why is it dark? Oh, night has fallen. I shuffle over to the door, finding an oversized light switch. It floods the room with a bright cool-white light. I blink the strain from my tired eyes. It must be late.

As I turn, I hesitate. Four white walls surround me. Only a plain clock breaks the flatness of the walls. My bedroom doesn’t look like this; I have a painting of a bouquet of flowers framed on my wall by my pink ensuite. 

Oh, that’s right, I am on holiday.

A chill sets into my weary bones and I push my feet into my slippers before moving to close the window. Strange that I would forget to close the window at night; it’s such a chilly wind pushing through! I always turn the heater on at 6pm every Winter night, so it is warm and cozy for me and my cat. Oh yes, I am on holiday. I forgot to turn on the heating before I left for dinner.

An owl hoots from a nearby tree outside, startling me out of my stupor by the window. I peer into the darkness, but it is well hidden. It reminds me of the owl that used to live in the barn at the farm where I grew up. Throughout my childhood I would hear its hoots from my bedroom window, teasing me, for I could never find it perched in there during the day. 

I searched through the entire barn, crawled up the loft and looked thoroughly through all the stables and overheard beams, but never could find it. Father used to laugh at me, telling me it was a ghost. For a time, I believed him.

The wind bites at my exposed skin and I reach for the handle to crank the window shut, but a horrible ache has set in to my fingers. I need my ointment. Where did I leave it?

The nightstand is empty, so I go into the bathroom and freeze in disbelief. I’m looking at a withered shell of a person, hair thin against my skull, skin sagging beneath my eyes and chin, pulling my expression down into a permanent scowl. 

Oh dear, I need to book an appointment to get my hair done. I will have to organise it tomorrow.

I switch off the bathroom light and head back to bed. My glasses are nestled lightly at the top of my nose and the newspaper is waiting for me on my pillow. Reading is the perfect cure for a busy mind. I used to always have trouble falling to sleep. Reading a newspaper was my cure. My husband used to think I was particularly interested in current events, but truthfully, I read it before bed because it bored me to sleep.

Halfway through the first paragraph, I hear the hoot of a night owl calling out to me. It sounds like the owl that used to live in the barn when I was a child. I used to search for it, but never saw it until I finally conceded and pulled my boots on to trek outside in the dark. The gas lamp was only just bright enough to illuminate the elegant bird and throw its faint shadow against the roof of the barn. I’m sure it noticed me, but it never looked at me. It just sat there, crooking its head back and forth, hooting, looking for mice scurrying through the straw. 

A sadness floods through me, accompanied by a yearning for my youth, for tales of ghosts and days of discovery and years of growth. My house feels empty now, since my children have grown up. My bed is empty now, since my husband passed away. But I am still here, and so is this newspaper. 

I read and flick through the pages before reading some more, but the news isn’t enough to quell the ache in my heart or silence my disquieted mind. Time passes, and a knock at my door breaks the silence. 

“Good morning Hazel. How are you feeling? Oh,” the nurse blinks a moment before striding further into the room. “Always the early bird, I see. It is freezing in here! Let’s close that window for you and open the curtains up more.”

She does so, and switches off the ceiling light before coming back to my bedside with a warm, wide smile.

“Much better. How are you feeling today?”

“Oh, fine. I didn’t sleep well,” my voice sounds unfamiliar in my ears.

“That’s no good to hear. You were probably too cold. Let’s get that heater on.”

A shadow swooping by the window follows a faint sound of an owl hooting outside.

“Wow, did you see that? That was an owl. You are very lucky to have a beautiful view of the yard, Hazel.” 

“An owl?”

“Yes,” she smiles pleasantly.

“Oh, I haven’t seen an owl in a long time.”

“If you are lucky, you might see it tonight.”

The nurse picks out some clothes from my dresser and places them at the end of the bed. As if by habit, I get out of bed, take my glasses off and she helps me change.

“I have a bad hand,” I explain as she does up the top two buttons of my shirt. “I hurt it when I was younger.”

“Did you? How did you do that?”

“I fell from a ladder in a barn and broke my hand. My father didn’t take me to a doctor, so I haven’t been able to use my fingers properly since. I don’t think the bones are set properly. Oh well. I have learned to live with it. I was looking for an owl in the barn.”

“Oh, like the owl by your window!”

“There was an owl by my window?” I don’t remember that. A small frown pulls at my brow.

“Yes, there was an owl in the backyard, your new neighbour. Come now Hazel, it is time for breakfast.”  

I slide my glasses onto my nose, the delicate arms tuck behind my ears, and I feel at ease with the familiar weight, comfortable in my skin again.