Day Dreaming

A barn owl glides over a pond I can see from my bedroom window. As a child I would tell my mother, there is lady that lives in that pond. Her hair is black from the murky water with streaks of green algae, framing her face that has a winter pale glow. I continued to tell my mother how concerned I was for this lady and how I felt she needed me to visit her lonely soul. It would scare my mother. Although she knew that she wasn’t real, she had forbidden me from going near the pond, afraid I would jump in to see the lady and drown. I don’t have memories of my own of her, just what I built from my mother’s story. Which I only think of now since my mothers passing last week. I think of the barn owl flying freely. I think of the lady in the pond stuck here. Like I feel now, here in this house with my father and sister.

"Sally." My sister calls my name.

I hate my name, such a weak name. I feel weak when she calls at me. I move my shoulders forward, hunched over my artwork on the table. Tabby shoves at my back. My hand draws a dark black line over a light, dull prairie landscape.

“Tabby!” I scream at her.

She is two years older than me, making her a young adult but she still behaves like a child.

“Sally, father has been calling for you. I’m sure he wants you to start dinner.”

I have somehow taken on the role as caregiver this past week. Something I dread doing but feel inclined to or else the two of them would starve.

I put my pencil down in defeat and stare out the window a little longer. The wind blows snow into gradual larger drifts under a faint blur of sunlight in the grey sky. Everything that lives here is hiding at home. Apart from the coyote, the intense cold doesn’t seem to affect him. With his nose down, his thin body glides along drifts. I see him stop at a piece of wood I had stuck in the ground to mark a grave. Snow flies up as he kicks it underneath him until he paws onto solid ground. I watch, amazed that he can smell the rabbit I buried five months ago. Found dead in the long grass after getting pummelled in a hail storm the evening before. Now his grave is pawed at as he rests, but the coyote eventually gives up. He is hardened for the winter but the earth is harder. He trots off out of sight from the window frame. I get up and tend to my chores. Its all I can occupy myself with until the evening.

I wake to the chilling wails of a coyote. He is signalling to the pack that he has caught something. I never get used to that sound or the answers that follow from the pack. The haunting sound of their excitement for brutality echoes along the desolate prairie. It penetrates the walls of our old farm house and rattles me until I sit up in bed. The moon illuminates my bedroom. I walk the few steps to my window. I can’t help but look down towards the pond. My eyes follow a barn owl gliding above it. I quickly turn back to my bed and throw my body down onto the mattress. In a panic, I pull the covers over my head in anticipation of what is suppose to happen next. I wait, but there is nothing. How silly of me to think there would be.

A month has passed now since her death and my father, so overwhelmed with grief, is ignoring everything around him. It is too cold outside for me to do anything else but take care of the home anyway. I make small attempts to remove the snow on the walkway during the day. The sun is bright and my clothes are warm, but the harsh winds still cut through me until I give in. Back into the house. Make a meal, clean the kitchen, wash the laundry, repeat. Until I can brave the cold again.

I reminisce of when I would enjoy the weather beating me back into the house. My face gently wind burned and lips cracked. Tabby’s toes numb from not wearing appropriate winter socks. Our home felt like a warm refuge from the cold winter months. Our mother would help us with our jackets and hats, hanging them to dry as we stayed on the matts to remove our wet boots. She would then start on tea and get some cookies out. Tabby and I would sit together to warm up as my father stoked the fire. The winter is different this year. Its just about as cold in here as it is outside.

Another month goes by. My sister wakes me with drawers opening and closing. I sit up and glare at her.

She responds to my angry eyes, "I’m looking for my yellow sweater."

"Do you seriously NEED it now?" I ask in a coarse cracking voice through my dry morning throat.

"Yes, I leave today." Tabby snaps back in a sharp tone accompanied by a hand on her hip.

"Leave? Leave to where?" I feel stupid asking this. As stupid as when she calls my name. Although I shouldn’t, I really don’t know.

Tabby, annoyed, rolls her eyes as she turns towards me again after shutting another drawer. "I'm moving into town, with Amy. We got an apartment in the city. Father didn’t tell you?"

“He didn’t. Maybe he thought that would be something you would tell me." But it wasn’t something she would feel obligated to tell me. That is not the person she is, she’s not like me.

I pull up the covers and turn away, pretending to go back to sleep. As out of words for now as she always is.

Mid afternoon some man drives up with who I assume was Amy. They both greet Tabby at the door and help her with her bags. We say goodbye, very simple and short. I think of telling her not to worry about us and that I will take care of father, but she wouldn’t care. I’m finding it so hard to care too.

That night, I don’t know what wakes me. I get out of bed and walk the few steps to the window. The sky isn’t as bright tonight but I can still see the pond. I call out to the lady with my heart. I want to see her.

Nothing.

I turn back to bed and I pull the covers over myself. The duvet has gotten so cold already. So cold it feels wet against my back. I reach my hand behind me to touch it. It is wet. A cold hand gently holds mine from behind my back. I quickly turn my body towards it. A black curtain of hair drapes down the sides of my face, blocking the moons light. But as dark as it is her pale skin still glows. I smell the algae and dirt. I feel the cold water rushing through my veins.

I wake to the warm sunlight beaming through my window. I take a minute to realize how much I must have slept in. I recall what had happened last night as my hands run over the duvet. Its dry. But yes, obviously it was a dream. A very vivid, seemingly real, but very much just a dream.

I don’t want this idea of her connected to my mother. Why did she ever recreate this memory in my head? I ask myself as I turn my shovel, letting go of a heap of snow. It’s getting warmer out. Not warm enough to fully melt the snow, just enough to make it heavy. My arms are so weak they are on fire. I decide to give them a rest. It’s nice enough to stay outside. I walk down the drive, past the fence and towards the pond. This hole in my heart that my mother has left is now filled with these scary thoughts. Maybe if I just go over there, I will see she does not exist and she can leave my heart and my mind to mourn. There is some resistance from the snow but as I pack it down, each step takes a perfect mold of my boots.

The pond is still frozen. I walk with haste along the ice. I bend down and place my hand on the snow and clear it away. The ice is not as thick as I would expect. I feel anxious looking down through the ice into water. I hear the ice begin to break. Frozen in place on all fours, I continue to stare at the ice. There are no cracks in the ice I cleared. I tense my legs in preparation to launch myself away. But I am not quick enough and that little extra pressure is all the pond needed to consume me. My gloves run along the ice trying to desperately grab on as my legs plunge into the water.

I am fully submerged but quickly surface for air. I cough as I struggle to get the water I swallowed out so I can breathe again. I reach my hands up to grasp the ice. My forearms press against the thick snow covered top. But soon that too breaks sending me plunging back into the water.

I feel the piercing cold penetrate my legs first then up my jacket onto my torso. I begin to really panic and swim a little to try grabbing onto a different ledge of ice. I’m still fighting for life, but can’t help but think that I may not make it out alive. My arms are shaking they are so weak. Once again, my forearms are on the ice. I dig as deep as I can for the energy to lift my lower body out of the water. I manage to get my torso up and crawl on my forearms a bit, lifting my hips out now. I can feel a shift towards hope as my forearm inches me a bit further. I can visualize my escape, getting back home to my father. The look of relief on his face when I tell him what happened. That I made it out.

Crack!

The ice breaks again sending me deeper. I can see my fathers face sad and lonely, moving more distant until my feet touch the bottom of the pond and he is gone. Its not that deep but just deep enough that the water is still a few feet above me.

I don’t have much of anything left in me but my body forces me up for air. I struggle to tread water. I open my eyes to a barn owl soaring above me, taunting me with his wings. My limbs can’t keep me up here any longer.

I helplessly sink holding my air in. I touch the bottom again. I feel a forehead press against mine. I open my eyes but can’t see anything, it is too dark. I can still feel someone pressing against me. It becomes strangely comforting. A barrage of thoughts race through my mind, so fast I can’t hold onto any and there is no point anyway. They will all be gone soon. The intense pain of not being able to breathe consumes me. My body naturally reacts and my mouth opens in a useless attempt to get a breath of air underwater.

I let her in.