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The story of Thea Nightwood

Thea Nightwood and her barn owl

By Britt Blomster Published 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 12 min read
26
The story of Thea Nightwood
Photo by Michael Campos on Unsplash

Distant lightning forked the sky as Thea Nightwood sat on her porch. Thunder jolted her old, tired bones as she sipped tea and rocked. She thought lovingly of her husband, Martin, who had designed and built this home for her many years before. At 93, Thea wanted to walk into the embrace of death. Her children had successful lives, and her grandchildren were all adults. As a barn owl swooped past her and landed in one rafter of her porch, Thea could feel the pain fleeing her body as she closed her eyes.

Wings flapped, and the white oak tree next to the Owl Barn emerged in her vision as clear as a photo. A teenage girl crept out of the barn, carrying a tiny bundle. The wind whistled through the trees, and she shivered in this chilly spring night. After bending to kiss the baby, the girl crept into the darkness disappearing from the moon’s path. One owl, taking several swoops around the tree, caught the attention of the farmer’s wife, who sent her husband outside to investigate. To her amazement, he returned with a baby in her arms.

“We better call Sarah Nightwood,” the farmer’s wife said, wearing a broad smile as she placed a call to the town’s doctor.

A flash of lightning and a faded memory became bright. Thea was three years old with braided pigtails and clutching her beloved Ella bunny, a stuffed animal that had been awaiting her last Easter morning. Her mother, Sarah, was applying lipstick in the mirror while her father, John, was downstairs reading the morning paper.

Knock. Knock.

John opened the door and asked the visitor to leave. Sarah stood at the top of the staircase, her hands on Thea’s shoulders calling down, asking John who was at the door at this hour on a Sunday morning. Her heels clicked down the stairs, a soothing sound; Thea always loved hearing.

“Kelly Murphy! What can we help you with this morning?” Mrs. Nightwood asked with a warm smile but puzzled eyes.

“My daughter,” Kelly said, stony-faced with dark circles under her eyes.

“Your daughter?” Mrs. Nightwood said, confused, but behind her, Mr. Nightwood swore under his breath and muttered he was going to check on Thea.

“Yes, the one you are raising as your own, not knowing she carries the DNA of your picture-perfect husband.”

Mrs. Nightwood gripped the door to keep from fainting. Kelly shouted into the house.

“John! Tell her the truth, you yellow-bellied coward. Tell her what happened when you called me to the principal’s office.”

After hours of crying, Sarah chugging a bottle of merlot, went into the garage to start her car. She picked up Thea, clutching her Ella bunny, and put her into the car with her. Her sobs were losing steam as the distressed woman whispered to Thea that everything would be all right as soon as they fell asleep. Thea was confused about how sleeping in the car would make everything better, but she plugged her thumb in her mouth and squeezed Ella bunny. An ear-splitting scream ruined the forever sleep Sarah Nightwood wanted as a barn owl spread its wings, landing on the hood of the car. Thea had been drifting off to sleep and stared into the dark eyes of the owl, which tilted its head, observing the car’s occupants. Mrs. Nightwood turned off the car and ran inside the house with Thea locking her in the bedroom. They both fell asleep to Mrs. Nightwood’s sobs of I’m sorry.

A peal of thunder pushed Thea into her next memory. It was her sophomore year, and she was 15. The origin of her birth followed her like a stench she couldn’t wash away. It was lonely, hearing stories of weekend adventures during homeroom or being tormented by Wendy as she walked the halls. Wendy was the ringleader of the bullies. In eighth grade, she put a wad of gum in her hair, and earlier this year, she had filled her lockers with tampons, and now everyone had been calling her Tampon Thea. Thea was walking up the main staircase when Wendy and her boyfriend, Donald, snickered from the landing. Grover High’s linebacker was a young man lacking common sense, but not pounds had his arm looped around Wendy, mouth aggressively chewing gum. Wendy whispered in his ear, and Thea averted her eyes when suddenly the linebacker threw his bookbag. As Donald guffawed out an insincere “Oops,” the book bag slammed into Thea’s legs, propelling her down the steps, landing with her skirt pulled up and revealing her pink underpants to everyone. As she scrambled to pull her skirt down, Wendy came down a few steps to be closer to her and menacingly said: “Are you flashing my boyfriend?”

Thea felt mortification pouring from her as she yanked her skirt down, wishing she could snap her fingers and be home. Heart rattling loud, she was sure each student in the school could hear it as she scrambled backward, putting her bookbag in front of her as a defense.

“No one wants you, Tampon Thea,” her tormentor snarled. The principal came around the corner and surveyed the gathering crowd with hands on his hips.

“What is the meaning of this, students?” He said, stepping towards Thea on the ground, offering her a hand. As she stood up on wobbly legs, Wendy said, “Watch out, this one likes principals.”

The principal’s face reddened as the gathered students erupted into laughter. The heavyweight of hopelessness settled on Thea’s shoulders as she glanced from one laughing face to the other, wondering why her life must be this way. Tears dammed behind her eyes, and she worried she couldn’t hold the flood gate down any longer. The last fuel she needed to give these idiots was the joy of seeing her weep and knowing their target hit the mark.

The barn owl's scream echoed through the corridor, scattering the students like leaves in the wind. The owl’s outspread wings blew through Thea’s hair, and it was like a curtain closed around her shielding her from the others. Comfort and peace coursed through her as she gathered her things and dipped into the bathroom to settle her nerves before returning to class.

A bolt flashed, and Thea found herself lonely in her childhood home, days after the hallway catastrophe. Her mother, hours earlier, dashing off to a medical emergency, promised Thea they would do something together tomorrow. Home alone, silence followed her from room to room, suffocating her with the reminder she was alone. Thea tried to deal with her plague of loneliness, attempting to read, but her mind couldn’t grasp the words. Mixing ingredients for a blueberry pie didn’t dull her sorrow in the kitchen. When she wandered into her mother’s office, she thought of one thing that could drown the silence out. She found the drawer her mother stored medication in and found the morphine. With shaking hands, she opened a syringe and placed it in the morphine bottle, filling it and injecting it; she shivered from the chill that coursed through her veins. Thea returned to her bedroom, lying on the bed, watching the shadows spread across her ceiling as evening skipped into town. As her breathing became shallow and her eyes blurred, she remembered with a vague detachment the memory of her mother telling her everything would be ok once they were asleep. Sleep tugged her eyelids close as her heartbeat slowed to a murmur. Memories of being called names and ignored during recess faded, leaving a dull sense of peace as she closed her eyes, welcoming the serenity.

Luckily for Thea Nightwood, her mother arrived home in time after pushing her foot on the gas as an owl followed her car, giving her an eerie sense of impending death. With the medical supplies in the home, she could save her daughter, and she vowed they would move from this small, close-minded town.

Thunder clapped overhead and resounded in a rumble of memories shooting through Thea’s mind. Memories of graduating high school and tossing her cap towards a vast, blue sky and her college days, skipping to class with a bagel between her teeth and a coffee cup in hand. The gold and sapphire owl earrings her mother gave her as a graduation gift glistened in her ears as she worked at the cafe on her campus.

The bright flash of lightning pushes Thea into her favorite memory. She’s carrying a carafe of coffee to the man with unruly curls who sits in her section. He smiles while avoiding eye contact as she approaches, and his glasses slide down his nose. Each morning, he would be waiting for her to grab his order of eggs, bacon, and toast. One day, Martin invites her to attend a music festival with them. After swaying to music under the sun, she finds herself in his arms under the moon. With the full moon shining brightly overhead, they have their first kiss and become inseparable from that day forward.

The crash of thunder pushes her into the sweetest memory. The beach at sunset and Martin on bended knee proposing to Thea. Joy made her float down the aisle of Martin’s childhood church and dance afterward in a restored barn decorated with roses and tea lights. The post-wedding surprise of property and plans for a colonial he wanted to build for them. He recently joined his first architecture firm and wanted his wife to have a porch to watch the sunsets after her long nursing shifts. When she visited the land and saw that it had a white oak tree, she knew it had to be fate, throwing her arms around his neck, and he held her close as she cried tears of joy.

Thea sees the day her daughter was born. Her heart grew double as she and Martin celebrated the life they had created. It melts into the warm memory of the day the twins were born. She and Martin, admiring the two little boys, miniature versions of her husband for her to hold and cherish. Now, she had three hearts living outside of her chest.

Thunder roars and Thea views herself as an exhausted mother with newborn twins and a three-year-old. As the toddler spills cheerios on the kitchen floor, one newborn awakes, needing to feed as she shoves laundry into her dryer. After turning on a toddler-friendly movie and nursing the twins, Thea falls asleep and awakens as owl pecks in her neck in her dream. Startled, she sees smoking curling from the laundry room as she makes a mad dash to grab her babies. Under the white oak tree, she watches the fire department arrive as she marvels at the owl watching with its dark eyes from a branch in broad daylight.

The thunderstorm crashes above her as she remembers her mother dying from cancer on a spring morning with the rain tapping on the windows. Before a heart attack claimed Kelly’s life, she had her only visit with the woman who gave her life. They drank tea in a room filled with porcelain figurines and a ticking clock as she forgave Kelly for abandoning her. The letter from John Nightwood before he drank himself to death, sharing his life’s biggest regret, that when he divorced Sarah, he left her behind without a second thought. Her last memory of her father is him throwing a suitcase in his trunk and driving away without a second thought. The letter numbed an aching spot in her chest.

As the thunder bellows above, she’s propelled into her worst memory. At 57, with the twins in college and her eldest in medical school, she and Martin could take the road trip they had planned for years. They packed their car and headed for the open road one October morning. They traveled through small towns, tasting local cuisine and staying at bed and breakfasts. At red lights, they kissed, grateful for the other’s company and the years of happiness behind them. During long stretches of road, Thea turned up the radio, belting out tunes as Martin drove with his arm out the window. Oh, how she laughed when he removed his shirt, and she saw his window arm was tanner. This magic of the trip died as they headed back home. A light inside of Thea would diminish.

It was snowing in the mountains, and the roads were slick, but Thea felt secure with Martin’s steady driving. As they rounded a corner, she didn’t notice the barn owl in the tree as black ice spun the car out of control. Her heart in her throat, as they turned, the fear in Martin’s eyes as his glasses slid down his face and he threw his arm out shielding her face from the airbag, his last gift to her before they collided with the guardrail, and the vehicle tipped into the trees. The last thing Thea remembered before she passed out was the blood trickling from Martin’s mouth and that he didn’t turn to check on her.

When Thea awoke, she was in a hospital bed surrounded by her weeping children, and she knew her world would be colorless from this day forward. She had dreamed of the owl flying circles over her car, alerting a passing motorist. Bitterly, she wished the owl had saved Martin as well. Her children would later remark mom became half-alive without the other half of her heart living.

The flickers of lightning become distant, and the thunder rolls towards the hills as Thea feels her heart slowing. She flies through her beloved recollections of her children returning home to share engagements, grandchildren on the way, and new jobs with her. Memories of holding her grandchildren while rocking on the porch of the home her husband had lovingly designed for her. Snow fell on her white oak tree as she took a phone call from her granddaughter telling her she would be attending the same college where she and grandfather had attended. Multi-colored leaves swirled across her backyard as her sons repaired her white picket fence. Rain splattered her beloved oak tree as Martin’s children and grandchildren flooded the house for her 90th birthday party.

Thea’s heart had been aching for days, her bones grinding together uncomfortably and her breath growing shallow. She opens her eyes and locks eyes with the barn owl.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Thea said to the one who has protected her since birth. In response, the owl spreads its buff wings and lands on the arm of her rocking chair. “I’m prepared to go now. I’m ready to see Martin again.”

Tears spilled as Thea Nightwood closed her eyes, greeting death like an old friend. The owl spreads its wings, taking her soul with him as he flies into the sky as the storm clears, and the moon becomes visible.

Short Story
26

About the Creator

Britt Blomster

I'm a writer, poet, storyteller and dreamer. I'm inspired by the world around me and channel that into my writing.

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Outstanding

Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

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  1. Compelling and original writing

    Creative use of language & vocab

  2. Easy to read and follow

    Well-structured & engaging content

  3. Excellent storytelling

    Original narrative & well developed characters

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    The story invoked strong personal emotions

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