Waiting for the Owl

My dad used to tell me that whenever I could hear an owl outside my window it meant that he was thinking of me. I used to strain my ears until I could hear an owl almost every night. Now I know that there must have been a nest nearby and that there is no magic in the sounds of the owls outside at night. They never meant my dad was thinking of me, but I understand why he said so. He didn't want me to hate him for leaving all the time so he found magic everywhere he could. He even used to bring me a stuffed owl when he came home from his business trips.

I remember waking up in the middle of the night one of the last times I saw him. My curtains were billowing in the wind and it was the chill that woke me. I never left my window open, so I jumped out of bed to close it, terrified that a ghost or an intruder had broken into my room as I slept. That is, until I saw the stuffed barn owl fall from the window sill. I bent over to pick it up and realized my dad had to have been there. I can still feel the way my chest erupted with all the joy and the grief I had felt while missing him over the last few weeks. Tears poured out of my eyes and onto the toy owl. I kept silent as I tip-toed down the stairs, afraid that if I moved too quickly it would all have been a dream. When I got to the bottom of the stairs I could hear him in the next room flipping the pages of the newspaper. I remember standing there for a few moments memorizing that sound. The sound that meant my dad was home, comfortable and safe in his chair reading the paper.

He always made me feel like a million bucks. His eyes would light up and his grin would stretch from ear to ear just seeing me turn around the corner to greet him. I remember sitting in his lap in the rocking chair until we would get hungry for breakfast, then watching him in the kitchen as he scrambled my eggs and burned my bacon. My nanny, Nadia, tried to make my breakfast like my dad did while he was away but she could never quite get it right. Not that she did anything wrong, the breakfast always tasted the same. The difference was the joy of watching my dad cook as he talked to me about how much he missed me and how someday he wouldn't have to leave so much. He would paint such grand pictures in my mind of another life we could have someday where he didn't ever have to leave.

I remember waiting being the hardest part for me. It still is. I would pass the time by imagining that he was out saving lives. He never talked much about what he was doing when he left, just that it was important business. I imagined he was like a superhero, and that was why he couldn't be at home with me. I told myself I couldn't be selfish with my time with him, because there were people who needed saving out there. That was how I coped with the loneliness and the anxiety that came when he went away. He was gone sometimes for weeks. He missed birthdays and holidays and all I could do was wait for the next time I would find an owl in my window. When I missed him most I would listen as hard as I could to try to hear the owls outside to know he was thinking of me. He always ensured I would have everything I needed and wanted by sending Nadia big checks to use as we pleased, but I used to imagine how it would be if he wasn't rich. I imagined we would be poor. Our house wouldn't be so big and my toys wouldn't be so shiny, but my dad would be home. He could have a normal dad job and spend more time with me. I dreamed that would have been pretty okay with me, and worth it to have him home more.

As I have grown up I have stopped waiting for my super hero dad to come home. Over time I have lost the anxiety I had over him being gone and have gotten used to the groove Nadia and I have gotten into. It really is just us most of the time now. Dad comes home less and less and the collection of owls from my dad sits in the back of my closet. He still comes home with one, and I know he wishes he could do better, but my whole life he has been gone for all the things a dad should be around for. Dance recitals, tee ball games, spelling bees. He should have been here and every time he missed an event my heart grew colder and colder towards him. I stopped combing the crowds to see if he was there, which was the only way the sadness would stop. I had to assume he wasn’t there, and then I wouldn’t be disappointed.

Today is another birthday that I don't expect him to attend. It's my sweet sixteen and all of my friends are coming over to celebrate with us. We have an outdoor pool, so we will be taking advantage of the nice weather and enjoying a day outside. My dad has been gone for almost two months this time, which is close to his record. It would be nice to see him today, but it is easier to plan without him. Nadia made sure to decorate the backyard with purple streamers hanging from the trees, purple table cloths on the picnic benches, and party favors filled with travel sized Victoria's Secret body sprays and lotions for the guests. Every birthday was themed, but this year I just wanted to do something a bit more simple. I kept myself as busy as I could with helping to decorate and organize for the party. It’s much easier not to miss my dad when I am too busy to realize he’s gone.

Guests begin to arrive sometime around two-o-clock in the afternoon. I put on my birthday tiara and met my guests at the gate to the back yard. I was good by now at putting on a show, at pretending I was having a good time when really I was just waiting for everyone to leave so I could cocoon myself back under my blankets for the rest of the day. Presents were piled on the tables and before long the sounds of laughter and water splashing filled the air. I stayed with my guests in the pool for what felt like hours before Nadia came with towels and coaxed us out of the pool for dinner. I went inside to change into my birthday dress. As we all sat down at the table, servers brought us our food. Nadia always catered for my birthdays. This year was Chinese. Big bowls of rice, noodles, appetizers, and every kind of saucy chicken you could think of were splayed out on the table. Nadia sat by me, directing most of the conversation knowing that no matter how much I loved and appreciated my friends for coming, birthdays are hard and that makes faking interest in conversations that much harder as well. I tried my best to be present and laugh when laughter was warranted and gasp in utter shock when the next piece of gossip floated by on the table.

I was saved by further conversation when a car pulled up into the driveway. My heart leapt and I jumped from my seat, wondering if it really could be my dad. Could he finally show up for something important to me? He would be here for my birthday. I stood up and Nadia followed, but I barely felt her there as my heart thrummed loudly in my chest. I turned towards my guests and noted the shocked look on their faces. This is probably the most animated I've been about anything all day.

"That could be my dad," I explained to them and turned to run up the hill towards the gate to the backyard so he would know where we were. Nadia followed, but I was much faster. My purple dress dragged through the mud from the pool as I ran past it and finally made my way to the driveway. It hadn’t been my father's car that pulled in, but an official looking one with a stamp on the side. I stopped in my tracks, my elated excitement quickly fizzing from disappointment to anger. I ran to the suited men coming out of their cars.

"Are you Emmy Coswell?" one of them asked me. I looked behind me to where Nadia was making her way towards me and wondered if I should wait for her before answering any questions. I looked back to the men and could tell they knew I was waiting for the fair skinned woman behind me to catch up.

"What is this about?" Nadia asked. I will always appreciate her taking the lead on things. Never letting me feel stuck in social situations. I especially appreciate her now, because I know in my gut this is not a social visit and they are here for something that will definitely ruin my birthday.

"We found who we believe to be Johnathon Coswell. He was found in the middle of an alley near the bar called Yesterdays, unconscious. He died this morning," the official looking man said. I stared at him for a long moment, disbelieving. I had so many questions. A bar? Why was he there? Why would he be so close to home and not let me know? I knew Nadia was beside me but I couldn't bring myself to look at her. I felt my head shake as if denying what the officers were telling me.

"Yes, we will follow you there," I hear Nadia say. I feel her guide me towards the door. Everything was moving in slow motion. Should I be angry with him? Should I hate him? Should I cry? Am I supposed to be crying? He is my dad after all and now he is dead. My world won't change much though, if I think about it. He was already gone a long time ago. I didn't know how I was supposed to feel. I felt guilt for the relief that coursed through me when I realized I didn't have to wait and worry anymore. When all this was over I would go back to my room and nothing would really have changed, except for the heaviness of waiting that would be lifted.

In a daze I followed Nadia to a small room in a hospital. The curtains were closed and I knew this was where they were going to show my father's body. I stood on one side of the cold glass and waited for them to part the veil. I didn't know what to do with my hands, I kept rubbing the palm of one hand with the thumb of my other, then placing both hands at my sides. Then, I heard the curtains pull apart and my gaze snapped to the body on the table. My hand covered my mouth, muffling the sob that escaped. I closed my eyes tightly as tears burned through my eyes, but once closed all my brain could conjure was the sound of a newspaper flipping and the grin that spread ear to ear. That was my dad on the table, but he would never give me that smile again. Nadia pulled me into her arms and I felt her crying too. My body shook and hers trembled as we turned away from the window and sat in the chairs away from the scene. I glanced up in time to see the officers looking down to the floor, giving us our space. I could see the sorrow in their eyes, their pity for us. My chest ached, but somehow I found a way to stand up and wipe away my tears.

"Do you know what happened to him?" I asked. The officer held my eyes and I wasn't sure what he saw there. A small girl who was waiting for her dad to come home and bring her an owl, or a teenager who grieved the loss of her dad even though he had already been gone for her a long time ago? I wasn't sure which one I was, I felt so small.

"Your dad was conscious when we got to him. He told us his name was Pan. Do you know why he would give us a fake name?" the official asked. I looked back in confusion. I tried to think of any reason at all that my father would lie to the officers trying to save him. I shook my head as my mind came up blank. I looked to Nadia to see if she knew the answer and she wouldn't meet my eyes. I turned to face her.

"Nadia, do you know something about this? Do you know why he called himself Pan, or why he was in town for my birthday and didn't come home? Why he was in such a shady part of town?" I asked, nearly frantic with emotion. I just wanted the truth, I always just wanted the truth. Why wasn't my dad there for my birthday? Nadia finally met my gaze and sighed, knowing I wouldn’t give this up until I knew everything.

"Sit down, Emmy. We need to talk," she said and patted the seat next to her. I sat in it, and watched Nadia's dark eyes well with emotion. I reached for her hand and she took it, her grip tight.

"Your dad went on a lot of business trips. You know that. You know he was always working. We never told you what his job was," Nadia said. I looked between her and the officers and knew they both knew something that I didn't. I always thought it was weird that I didn't know what my dad's job was, but I preferred the stories I came up with anyway. Now, I wonder if I should have demanded more answers.

"What was dad's job?" I asked. I brushed my hair out of my face and tried to refrain from pulling it out from the roots to keep myself from losing control. The anxiety that coursed through my body was too much to tolerate. I felt like I was going to throw up, my vision was unfocused and I didn't trust my voice not to betray me.

"Your dad was trafficking drugs. We've been tailing him for a while. That's why he didn't want us to know who he really was. He made a fake name so his enemies wouldn't be able to link you to him. He killed a man at this bar, though we believe he didn't have a choice," the officer chimed in. So, that's why he was gone all the time. He wasn't a superhero or a spy. He wasn't saving lives, he was dooming them. My dad was not the hero I always hoped he was, my dad was the villain.

"All this time," I whispered. Nadia touched my cheek, forcing me to look at her.

"Your dad loved you so much. He had no choice in this, and he hated what he did. He had to answer to his boss or his boss threatened to burn the house down with you and I inside of it. He had to, or they would have killed us," Nadia explained, her voice giving away the pain she was feeling. I took a long few moments to process everything they were telling me. It was an odd feeling. My dad and I had grown so far apart, and I had always wondered if one day he would just never come back. I knew my dad loved me, and it warmed my heart just a little to know that while he was the villain in his own story, he was never the villain in mine. He was always a fairy tale, gone by morning.

"Can we go home?" I asked. I didn't want to be here anymore, with nothing but glass separating me from all that was left of my dad. I was ready to go home and re-evaluate the man I’d spent my whole life waiting for and accept that with growing up comes truths and lies that I would have been better off not knowing. After today, I would never be the same. The lines between hero and villain forever blurred.