The Uncle, An Owl, and The Lunatic Child

Before I turned twelve years old my parents were in the throes of what may indeed go down as the messiest divorce in history. It was chaos and it would last for some years before the blitz finally ended. Like most warzones though even as the buildings were rebuilt and life moved on the scars on the ground remain. To this day occasionally I’ll be doing something and the disruption of those years will surface. Not as bad now of course and when a memory like that pops in I treat it much like a tour guide would when leading people about London or some such historic battlefield. A point of mild interest or curiosity but with a background of gravitas that cannot go unfelt.

“If you’ll just follow me for a moment you can see over here we have a fascinating memory of how all you wanted to do was spend one final good Christmas together but your mother threw all the presents on the front lawn on Christmas Eve and left them there all night then your father used an electric chainsaw to chop down the Christmas tree right in the living room.”

That actually happened. We just left it there with the lights still blinking. Like a downed space ship made of pine needles. Sometimes when I’m alone in the house around Christmas time I’ll tip over the tree for a bit. I never tell my wife but I find it sort of comforting. Just sitting there in front of the fire sipping bourbon with a beautiful Christmas tree lying at my feet. Nostalgia is a strange thing.

For those wondering, the presents got a bit frozen but thankfully neither parent decided to get me a puppy that year so we avoided any major tragedy. The only thing that died was a piece of my childhood. Having said that, It is kind of fun to wake up Christmas morning, put on your winter coat and boots and run out onto the lawn to unwrap presents in the snow. Very freeing. We had half a dozen white Christmases as a kid and of course one of them had to be that year. Nothing quite like a wet He-Man action figure to celebrate the holidays.

Living in that house then I’d have to say the constant not knowing was the hardest part. That and when they stopped fighting altogether. I never thought I’d miss them screaming at each other but when all goes silent you long for the sound of an argument only those who have ever been in love can have. That all stopped towards the very end. My mom even stopped throwing things at him. That’s when you know the relationship is in trouble.

Not only was the world my physical body was living in then turning into absolute bedlam but so too the world inside me began to collapse.

Looking back on that time, more than thirty years ago now, I can see the beginnings of what would be a lifetime partnership with mental illness. I call it a partnership because it hasn’t all been bad. My particular sort of crazy can let me get a remarkable amount done. If you ever need to paint a house I suggest a bout of mania. You’ll be done in no time just make sure you pick a happy colour because the drop off is a big one and you don’t wanna be sitting in a beige room when it comes.

It’s generally accepted now that mental illness is a real problem. Except maybe amongst the Scientology set. Tell them you’re sad and don’t know why and they’ll just make you grab some tin cans hooked up to a radio or something while watching a Tom Cruise movie.

At that time though, all those years ago, the idea that you may be sick in the head and not just being “difficult” or “going through a phase” was nearly unheard of. At least that was the case in my house.

There I was then, put off a sinking ship to swim against the waves all alone. Except for He-Man. He was soggy but still there for me. I’m sure a puppy would have long since run away by then so they made the right choice.

The summer after the Christmas of the fallen fur tree the end was very clearly near. If any of the three of us were honest about it the time had long since passed where anything could have been salvaged. If I had been old enough I would have left them to their deathmatch but even though being raised in relative poverty and household unrest matures you quickly I still wasn’t chronologically old enough to sign a lease on an apartment or join the merchant Marines.

I was twelve after all and had only just mastered doing my own laundry. Getting a nine to five and moving to the city may have been a bit hopeful, even for me. I was also, as I have mentioned, quite bonkers. Well, I still am but I’m a grown up now and I have a beard so people just call me “eccentric”.

By mid June the house had become too toxic for me to stay and my parents had realized this despite their initial denial. Also by then they may have figured out that “phase” I was going through might go a bit South on them and I’m sure they were looking out just in case I started bringing home squirrels and taking them apart in my room.

That’s not for me. It’s too hard to be a serial killer when you’re bi polar. Oh sure, it’s a great idea when you’re manic. You’re all excited to go to the hardware store and get the rope and the tape and all the fun stuff. Then you load the car and start picking out victims. That’s fine when you’ve got lots of energy but by the time you dip the whole “actually doing it part” kind seems like a lot of work. Also, I should imagine it’s hard to be a psychotic killer when you’re sad. I probably wouldn’t be any good at it anyway. I’m terrible at small talk and even if someone is in the trunk, there’s going to be a need to break the silence eventually.

“So, crazy weather hey?

“MMMMM! MMMMMM! MMMMMM!”

“Oh yeah, I think we may get a thunderstorm, you’re right.”

I may not have been Hannibal Lecter but they could tell something wasn’t right and despite their best attempts to deal with it they had too much going on. I was so broken at the time. The idea that I wasn’t worth my parent’s effort really crushed me. That’s how I took them sending me away at least. Probably it was more just they needed time to sift through the fallen towers of their marriage without looking out for how their crazy kid may be doing. Maybe they were really trying to protect me but that opportunity had long passed. To this day it hurts still that the people who brought me into being, the people who were the biggest part of me, just let go one day and watched me drown. I don’t blame them. I’m older now and understand so I don’t blame them but not blaming someone and forgiving them are very different things.

The farm house was older but well kept. The color was quite similar to that wonderful French yellow from Van Gogh’s “Yellow House in Arles”. Still my favorite painting of his. I love his work and that piece in particular because it is, to my eye, perfect serenity painted by a madman. A view on what could be, a peace that could exist, brought to you by a syphilitic, lead paint licking, one eared maniac.

I could relate. I still have both ears and never had syphilis but I have tasted paint. It’s not bad but I don’t recommend it.

The land was wide and flat as far as you could see and bordered a dark thick wood to the West. I’d never really met my Uncle Chris before. Not that I would remember at least. When my father was only twenty four he moved from the rural farm lands of his upbringing to the bright lights of the city on the sea. There his life would be forever changed by a red headed college student with a penchant for marijuana, hard rock and mathematics. Soon enough, they had grabbed each other by the heart. It’s probably more accurate to say they squeezed each other’s hearts until they could barely beat under the pressure of the death grip but let’s not split hairs.

Love is complicated and I suppose a farm boy and a math nerd aren’t always the match you’d imagine they would be. After a few years and a boring job working at a liquor store dad began to get high on his supply as the phrase goes. I’m pretty sure they just started paying him in vodka at one point. My mother never got the job at Nasa. At IBM. Teaching. Nothing. She ended up running numbers day in and day out at a small accounting firm in a strip mall. I only went in to the office once but it smelled like when you first open a bag of cauliflower and it had the general feel of a less fun and upbeat funeral home. The crush of that must have been unbearable. At least dad had booze, she just had me to yell at and I had TV to watch. The perfect nuclear family. In that it was a complete bomb.

Uncle Chris was very much the opposite of dad. He was shorter and more stout, had short blonde hair, a beard and a permanent smile. His cheeks were always impossibly rosy but not from booze. They were shining because they were chaffed from the weather and kissed by the sun. Or it could have been a heart condition, either way it looked good on him.

I love my uncle Chris. Not right then but soon and forever after. I didn’t know him then but he was so familiar. From the minute he bounded out onto the porch of the old yellow house my world changed. A shift in the breeze from cold to warm. By the time dad turned off the engine uncle Chris was practically bear hugging the old station wagon. Dad got out first. Chris hugged him even though he encountered a little resistance. Dad didn’t like to be touched much. Maybe it’s because mom threw things at. Maybe his shoddy liver made his skin hurt. Maybe he was on the spectrum. Well, he was for sure on the spectrum. Dad’s grasp on emotion consisted of him hugging me once because he read in a book it might be a good idea. If detachment parenting needed a celebrity endorsement he would have been a great fit for their brand.

I sat there with the windows up not quite sure what to make of this strange man.

“Oh my god, you’re so big now! I haven’t seen you since you were a little guy!”

Even though there was safety glass between us I felt him through the window. I liked this guy and instantly felt like I knew him and he knew me. He tried the handle to get at me but I had locked the door in my panic and I just looked straight ahead. He laughed like six hyenas in a sack and then popped up to talk to dad.

“He’s a shy one hey?”

Dad shrugged.

“Ok!” Chris had turned to yell at me through the windshield.

“You take your time. Go look around if you want. Don’t play with anything sharp and try not to fall in the well.”

He waved enthusiastically and he and Dad went inside. I was still taken aback but despite myself I already felt better than I had in ages. Maybe it was just the thought of something new, or the idea that I would be free of the twenty four hour cage match I had been living in, at least for a while. Not sure but I knew as soon as the coast was clear I was going to look around.

My aunt, Chris’s wife, had died a little over three years prior in a car accident. I don’t remember much and sure as hell Dad never talked about it but I do remember him sitting there after he put the phone down. He was the quietest I’d ever seen him. He just sat staring in to the middle distance never without a cigarette in his mouth. I watched from the doorway of my bedroom and waited for my mother to come home. Someone had to say something to him. Even though he’s mostly robot I could see him hurting. The funny thing is he never turned to booze. He was already well into his “alcohol solves all problems” phase of life by then and I had seen it many times. I knew what was coming, particularly if he had been given bad news, and yet it never came. He just sat there. Eventually I went to bed and I never brought it up but I wanted to reach out to him. Love is more powerful than most anything and I needed him to feel that I loved him. I hope he knew in the end. Years of that may be what made him do what he did. Just being disconnected for so long. He abandoned me for sure but he abandoned himself long before that.

It was hot enough to be noticeable and with the sea being nearly five hours away there was no breeze like there was at home. I wasn’t sure what uncle Chris was a farmer of and from what I had seen it appeared to be mostly just dirt. Dirt and rusting equipment. The grass near the house was brown and what was once a garden in the front yard was now long gone. Some dead shrubs and a few rocks roughly formed into the shape of flowerbeds remained but it was clear the garden had been neglected. If I had to guess I’d say it hadn’t been seen to for about three years. I could relate. I felt like I’d been left to suffer the elements alone too. Sorry garden I know how you feel but at least your caretaker didn’t abandon you on purpose.

A short walk from the front yard and towards the back of the property, just off a dusty patch that had some semblance of a road, were a few out buildings. A shed with a sad tractor missing a wheel sitting in the front. A loose structure with firewood under a slowly crumbling roof and a barn. That was the what interested me the most. The barn. I’d never been in one before. Not a lot of those downtown you see. The door was open and I stuck my head in. He had said to look around after all. I don’t know what smell I expected but it wasn’t that. It was sweet if not a bit musty. I opened the door more and walked in. I just drank it up. As my eyes adjusted I saw a mostly empty space with some hay on the floor and in the loft and so many webs I may have stumbled into a resort destination for all spiders within a two hundred mile radius.

I was only about three steps from the door when I heard our car start. Running back as fast as I could I saw the sun glint off the chrome as dad left. All there was now was my suitcase where the car once was. He didn’t even say goodbye. I thought I’d get a goodbye at least. God knows I knew not to expect a hug. I got one though. I guess I must have been crying because out of nowhere these incredibly strong arms were around me like they were squeezing the sad right out of me. It was a shock but not unwelcome. I had no idea how much I needed to have that contact.

“Sorry he didn’t say goodbye. He thought it would be easier for you.” He said half lying. That last part was made up for sure.

I looked up all small and empty as I was. He looked down. He knew.

“Your dad…. Well… he’s never been good at the feelings part.”

I stopped crying and nodded and he let me go.

“Sorry for hugging you like that. I should have asked. I’m very huggy. Just kind of looked like you needed one. I know I would. Sorry.”

“It’s ok. Thank you. I did need it.” I smiled a bit.

“I went in the barn if that’s alright.”

“The barn is my favourite!” He beamed. He seemed genuinely happy to share it with someone again.

For the next few hours he took me all around the farm like he was a kid at show and tell. You know what, I was genuinely interested. I couldn’t remember ever meeting an adult who had the same excitement as a kid. As I used to have. It brought that out in me for the first time in as long as I could remember.

After dinner the two of us sat out on the porch and watched the sun go down.

“So you’re ok staying here for a while? I know they probably didn’t ask you, seemed like it was an abduction more than a decision on your behalf.”

“I guess. I mean, I’m kind of glad to be somewhere else for a little bit.”

“I know. I didn’t know what was going on fully because well, my brother isn’t the best at communicating as you know. I knew it was rough though.”

“They’re going to get divorced.” I had never said the word outloud before.

He nodded sadly.

“Looks like that.” We sat in the quiet for a while.

“Your parents…” he shifted in his seat trying to find courage.

“Your parents said you’ve been having some trouble. They think it may be because of their fighting. Are you doing alright? Do you want to talk about anything?”

I froze. He sensed he had over stepped.

“Sorry, I know we just sort of met really. You don’t have to answer that. I’m just trying to help because I have sort of the same sort of… you know…. I get sad sometimes and stuff.”

The weather vane shifter in the wind. I wasn’t upset he brought it up it was just that nobody had ever asked before.

“It’s ok. I, yeah, I have… I think I may be a crazy person.”

He shook his head.

“Nah. You’re not crazy. There’s only one crazy person I’ve ever met and that’s Mr. Halford. He lives about three farms over and if you ever see him bring a handful of hay because he thinks he’s a cow.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure. Just don’t try to milk him.”

We both laughed so hard we propped each other up. It was like plunging a blocked sink. The sense of relief. We talked for a while longer. I explained how I was feeling and he told me what he went through and how it wasn’t that dissimilar to my situation. The sun went down but I wasn’t tired. We kept talking. I opened up. Just all the things I had needed to say forever long came out. I told him how upset I was with my parents. He told me childhood stories of my father which was like finding pieces to a jigsaw you didn’t even know existed. He told me stories about my parents when they were young and about my aunt Catherine and her love of gardening and music. I didn’t know Chris that well yet but I knew instinctively that he would have never left his son standing in a drive way as he disappeared.

“I guess I’m most scared because I’m weird. I’m too different.”

“Why should fitting in matter? Who cares about being the same?”

He could see this was bouncing off me. It did matter. It mattered the most.

“Come with me!”

He jumped up and waved at me to follow him towards the barn.

“Where are we going?”

“I want you to meet someone!”

I followed even though I was a little trepidatious. As I caught up to him he slowed down and motioned me to shush. The barn doors were open and the light from the pole beside the house touched all we could see. Above though it was dark. As we stood just inside the door he pointed up.

“That’s who I wanted you to meet. That’s Elvis Costello.” He whispered as he pointed to a huge barn owl sitting up on a roof timber were earlier in the day there had been nothing but webs.

I didn’t understand. He could tell.

“Elvis Costello. I named him that after the musician.” He raised his eyebrows like this should be obvious.

The what now? I must have looked even more confused because he tried another tactic.

“Owlison…I know this world is killing you.. oh Owlison…..” He was whisper singing.

It would be eight months before I understood this when one day the song came on a classic rock station my mom was listening to and I nearly jumped off the couch. Eventually he gave up.

“I wanted you to meet him because he’s a friend of mine. The thing about him is he’s up when everyone else is asleep. He works best in a different world than everyone else. Just because he’s different doesn’t mean he isn’t so important and wonderful.”

I kind of got it.

“You know, the world isn’t just what we’re told. The world is what we make it and what works best for us. If you want to do things during the day Elvis here isn’t going to be much good to you but at night, that’s when he shines. He’s the best there is. He just needs to be in the right place at the right time.”

Elvis looked down at us, his ears must have been burning. I got it.

“Maybe nobody has ever told you this before but if the world isn’t right for you, you can just change it. We all have things to deal with but Cath often said, you only have the one choice: stop or keep going. Your parents love you but they can’t show it right now. You may feel a bit jumbled because you just haven’t figured out how to handle how your mind works yet but you will. Everything takes work but it’s the work that makes it…. Work”

He stumbled over the last part. Train left the track a bit but I got the message. As if to signal the end of his life lesson Elvis took flight, dropped into the light and then away. The wind from his wings moved my hair and I had never felt so small and big at the same time. Chris laughed.

“There he goes! Have a good day at work Elvis!” We watched until long after Elvis had gone and then went to bed. For the next few weeks we would see Elvis here and there and it was always just as special. Chris helped me handle the harder times and we even went to talk to a doctor or two.There wasn’t going to be a quick fix but just being seen was already making me feel better.

Chris was there for everything. Mom visited a few times. The decision was made that I would stay longer still and I couldn’t have been happier. My mother didn’t tell me what was going on and the few times I talked to her or my dad on the phone they seemed further away than ever. They didn’t just divorce each other, that summer all three of us got divorced. It was over.

Dad killed himself about a month after I first went to stay with uncle Chris. It was a lot of things over a lot of time and I think he just gave up. Stop or keep going and he chose stop. I’ll never really understand but I do think he may have a had a little of my crazy in him too. I’d be lying if I said I’d never been there over the years but knowing how it hurt me when he did it may have stopped me from following through. So I guess I owe him for that. What a strange gift to give.

You know what though. Chris’s younger brother had just died in the worst way. He lost his only brother and all he did was comfort me. He got the call because mom couldn’t make it out to tell me, so he gave me the news. She didn’t even want to tell me that. He got that call and instead of detaching and staring into nothingness he sat with me as I cried and he cried and he plucked me out of the water. The waves were big but I wasn’t swimming against them alone and that meant everything. We swam together and we got to land. Exhausted but we made it.

I stayed a few more weeks after that and we fixed up the garden in front of the house. We got rid of some of the old equipment that littered the farm like rusty landmines and we even managed to get a new coat of paint on the house. Thanks mania!

I visited Chris every summer and he visited us every Christmas. Elvis moved on one day to parts unknown which was a shame but owls can be like that. Maybe he got tired of our visiting him all the time. Mom found someone new and he was a good man and she was happy which made me happy but he was not really much to me, I was grown by then.

When Chris got sick I told my wife I needed to go and stay with him as long as he needed. She was so supportive and did everything she could to help. They say your parents show you the kind of relationships you’ll end up in but that couldn’t be more wrong in my case. From what I’ve gathered, I have much more what Chris and aunty Cath had than mom and dad. I’m so grateful for my wife and son and more grateful still that he’ll never find familiarity in a tipped over Christmas tree.

Chris died peacefully in his sleep. Not young surely but not enough time. It would never have been enough. I’m not a religious man but I’ll make an exception in hoping an afterlife exists just so he can still be laughing.

He left me the farmhouse and everything else. He was not a wealthy man but he certainly made me more than rich. We keep it much as he left it and the garden is always perfect when we’re there. I had thoughts of renting it out but it just didn’t seem right so instead we spend our summers there and I’m more inspired and have written my best works by far in that place.

Two months ago an owl moved into the old barn.

“Do you see”

My son looked up.

“That’s Owlton John!”

Six years old isn’t really old enough to get the reference I suppose but he hugged me anyway. We hug a lot. Thank you Chris and thank you too Elvis.