Chapter 13 Snowy Owl
“Hi, Mama, hi Papa,” I call out. “I’m here.”
My mother is stirring a pot at the stove, and my father is dozing in his chair.
Mama gives me a wan smile. My father opens his eyes, and he tilts his head in my direction.
I didn’t know what I was expecting, but I can’t help feeling a little deflated.
But then I remember the dinner on Saturday night and how tense and miserable it was making this seem so much better.
Walking over to my mother, I take the ladle from her hand, “Sit, I will stir the soup and can serve it tonight. You go put your feet up.”
She pats my shoulder as she passes the spoon to me and sits down heavily at the kitchen table.
I stir, and the warmth of the soup works to dispel my little bit of hurt and discontent.
Yes, the silence here feels different from the silence I often share at Vee’s.
A little cold and unfeeling but not intentionally mean or bad.
As Vee has been telling me, a lot of my worry and anxiety is in my head and I’m in control of it.
I’m still not sure that is true, but it helps me shake off the voice in my head that wants to stamp my foot and yell, pay attention to me, please.
I remember coming home from school one day when I was in fourth or fifth grade, when the girls had been particularly mean.
I told my mother how Dolores had taken the leaf I had found for an art project.
I was crying and hiccupping as I recounted the story of ending up with a broken leaf that I had use for the project.
Mama listened as she stirred a pot on the stove and finally said, “All this over a leaf, Emma. There are people dying in this world. One can cry over that, perhaps, but not over a leaf.”
Reaching over with the spoon, she stated, “Keeping busy is the best thing to take your mind off your troubles. You know what they say about idle hands.”
I certainly did, and I grabbed the spoon and poured all my anger into my task turning the soup into a fine puree which my father did not enjoy one bit.
Now I turn toward my parents as I stir and say quietly, “The job is going well. I get to do some interesting things. I schedule meetings for Veronica—so more than just cooking.”
My mother replies encouragingly, “How nice. One should always keep busy.”
I can’t help but smile. I keep expecting something more from them, and I need to stop being disappointed. A special leaf or a little life, they don’t understand what I want or what I need. I must find it for myself, or if Vee and yoga is to be believed, I need to find it within me.
After serving everyone their bowls of soup, I clean up and leave quietly, walking back to Vee’s with a spring in my step.
I stop on the path through the park and stare down at my legs, remembering the limp months ago.
I shoot up a prayer of thanks for my current strong legs and arms. Vee has told me to be thankful for the little things.
Although, as the picture of my mother sitting wearily in her chair flashes through my mind, I know that working legs and arms is not a little thing.
Vee and I are curled up on her couch. It’s close to 8:00 p.m. I’m reading a new book I picked up at the library after leaving my parents’ apartment. Vee is flipping through one of her many magazines.
Vee’s phone buzzes: she picks it up. “Hi, Jake.” After a pause, she leans toward me, holding out the phone. “He wants to talk to you. If only you would get a cell phone, I wouldn’t need to play secretary.”
She is joking, but she is getting aggravated about the situation, so I think I’m going to have to cave soon.
I hate spending money on such a contraption and I’m afraid I won’t know how to answer it, but Vee assures me I just need to google stuff like that, and I will be able to find the answers to all my questions.
She lets me use her computer in her apartment, but I tend to google bird sightings in Central Park and not how to use an iPhone.
Focusing on the phone in Vee’s hand, I take it and tentatively say, “Hello.”
“Hello, Emma, I was wondering if you want to come see the snowy owl. It’s been spotted on top of a barn by the large, open grassy area, and I have it on good authority it is there right now.”
“Oh my gosh.” My eyes widen. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
“Okay, okay, I’ll be over in twenty minutes.”
I quickly change out of my old sweats, pull on a pair of hand-me-down leggings from Vee, and put on a big sweater I recently bought on clearance from Barneys. I already have my coat on when Jake rings the buzzer, and I bound out the door and down the stairs.
Vee calls out, “Well bye to you too.”
My bursting from the apartment building startles Jake, who clearly expected to have to come up to the top floor to get me.
“I’m ready,” I announce enthusiastically.
Grinning, Jake does an about face and we head out into the dark towards the park.
This is only the second time I’ve been in the park at night, and again just like the night with Jessica, I notice how at night everything feels so different, as if the moon above has replaced the bright sun’s cheerful mood with a deep, somber magic.
I practically skip along beside Jake, babbling, “I don’t have any owl sightings on my life list and John Foster writes that owls are a different species from most birds as one must experience them on their terms: in the dark, when the world doesn’t belong to humans as much as the daylight world does. ”
I realize too late I’m talking about John Foster, but Jake doesn’t seem to mind it and even smiles slightly, as if he agrees with the sentiment.
When we arrive at the edge of a field, we see the barn in clear view before us. There are a few other people with binoculars standing around in loose groups. They must be here for the owl as well. I suddenly feel a part of the birders around me as if we are part of our own special gang.
Jake pulls out a pair of binoculars from a backpack he has slung over his shoulder and puts it up to his eyes. He aims where the couple closest to us are pointing their binoculars, and he plays around with a few nobs and moves his head in a tight circle.
“Ah, got him. Here you go. Just aim at the barn, he’s perched on the very peak of the roof.”
I take the glasses and follow his instructions.
My path to the bird is rather herky-jerky, but after the second try, I spot him.
He is gorgeous and so large, his disk-like face is staring directly at me.
His yellow cat eyes look molten and they burn a path straight into my heart.
It is almost too much, and I take the glasses down, spotting him with my naked eye where he can’t see into my soul so easily.
He is sitting thirty feet off the ground, unperturbed by us humans down below.
I turn to Jake and gush, “Oh my gosh, he is so big. Just beautiful.”
The owl’s white feathers are radiant with fine black barring on the front and sides.
Suddenly the low murmur of voices rises, and Jake whispers, “He’s taking off. Look.”
I turn back to the spot; the owl has swooped off the barn and is heading towards us. On silent wings that absorb all sound, he crosses directly overhead, and I grab Jake’s arm. Magnificent. I watch the owl fly until night swallows his shimmering white body.
I whisper, “I’ve never seen anything like that. Thank you so much. It was magical.”
Jake grins. “Good thing you made us bolt out of Vee’s, or else we would’ve missed it.”
Still clutching his forearm, I feel the color rise in my cheeks, and I pull my hand back, thankful for the dark.
Jake swings his arm around my shoulders in what I imagine a brother might do to a sister and gives me a quick squeeze.
My embarrassment evaporates, but I can’t stop thinking about how his corded arm felt under my fingers, smooth and strong.
Jake pulls away, but I still feel the length of him imprinted along my side. I shiver as I feel cold without him close. I need to stop this or else I might do something stupid like imagine What would it be like to kiss him?
We wander back towards Vee’s place. Jake asks a few questions about how Vee is doing, and I ask how his teaching and thesis are going. Both are big stressors for him. Jake responds lightly to my inquiries, and we walk on with silences
interspersed between our conversation.
“I can’t believe I’ve lived here for all these years and never knew something so majestic and beautiful lived right next door.” I muse.
“Oh no, this is a special year for snowy owls—an irruptive year,” he says. “Normally they don’t come down this far south.”
Intrigued, I ask, “An irruptive year?”
“It means for some reason birds of a certain species or group move far from their normal range. Lack of food or some other unknown factor might cause these winter irruptions, but we are unsure. Most of the snowys that come down are juveniles like the one we saw tonight. Did you see the fine black bars on it?”
I nod; he gives me a smile of approval.
“Either way, it’s a pretty rare and special event. Snowys haven’t been here for years.”
“Oh! That’s why John Foster doesn’t talk about snowys in my book. I couldn’t figure that out, but now this explains it. He talks about other owls, like the northern saw-whet and barred, but not snowys.”
I smile to myself at my mimicry of Jake’s use of the term snowys, but he frowns and looks uncomfortable.
“Maybe we better try to find John Foster to tell him the news so he can update the bird bible.”
I can hear the disdain in Jake’s voice, but I’m able to ignore it as I’m still marveling at what I just experienced. Again, I picture the glowing owl flying directly over our heads.
When we’re on the front steps of Vee’s apartment building, I ask Jake if he wants to come up. He demurs politely. I suddenly feel he is farther away than just the three feet of space separating us.
He’s already started walking away when he spins back around and calls out, “Oh hey, I almost forgot. These are for you.” He strides back over to me, the pair of fancy binoculars in his hand.
I clap my hands against my cheeks in astonishment. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“So, you can see more birds.”
I laugh, “Yes, I know that—but why?”
Jake looks at me sternly and replies with pauses between each word, “So—you—can—see—more—birds.”
I reach for them and look into his eyes. “Thank you. I was going to buy a pair, as I can finally afford them, but this is so unexpected and nice.”
When our hands touch, Jake leans toward me and I think he may be going to kiss me, and I falter. Jake catches himself, folding my hand around the binoculars and says brusquely, “Enjoy.”
He turns and marches away. I stand for a minute, watching him walk, confused, then glance at my very own Nikon binoculars.