It Was Just a Dream

I slumped down on the nearest barstool and rested my head on my arms as I waited for the bartender to acknowledge me. I didn’t care that it was only 2:00pm on a Wednesday, or that this tiny, rundown, hole in the wall bar probably had more germs on its countertops than in its questionable bathrooms. I was at the end of my rope with no ideas on where to go next in my life and if anything called for a drink, I’d say that was it. Thankfully, the bar was empty for all but a couple of retired guys. The perfect place to contemplate my life in solitude and find solace in the bottom of a glass.

“Girl, do you need a drink or a confessional?” the bartender joked conversationally as she made her way over. I looked up gave her a quick onceover. Tall and lean, she had the look of a woman who could handle herself if needed, although presently she had a warm smile on her face. She was older than me, but definitely younger than 30. Her black hair was pulled back in a bun and her dark eyes assessed me with practiced ease. Her cheek bones and bronzed complexion suggested a mixed heritage which added to her allure. She had a tiny diamond stud in her right nostril, but no other piercings that I could see. There was something familiar about her features, but I couldn’t put my finger on what.

“Just a drink, please. Can I get double bourbon, neat?” I responded, pointedly ignoring her quip about the confessional.

“That kind of day, huh? Sure thing, hon. Can I just see some ID?” she requested politely. I slipped my travel backpack off and swung it around to rest on my lap, digging in it for my wallet. I handed her my ID and she glanced over it quickly.

“Kansas? You’re a long way from home Dorothy. No wonder you look like someone chewed you up and spit you out. So, what tempted you to follow the yellow brick road leading to our good old City of Angels?” she asked good humoredly.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. And my name’s not Dorothy, it’s Grace.” I responded with decidedly less grace than my name implied.

“I know, I’m teasing. You looked like you could use either a good laugh or a shoulder to cry on, I haven’t decided which yet. My name is Sage. Here, first round is on me.” She told me while sliding what was definitely more than a double shot my way. My hand snaked out and I nursed it to me with all the fervor of a newborn clutching their favorite stuff animal. “And for the record,” she continued, “there is nothing you could tell me I haven’t heard before. People come to L.A. to follow their dreams and end up finding a whole lot of insanity instead.”

I snorted at the irony of her words but nodded my head in appreciation just the same. My eyes glazed over as I thought back to the series of events that brought me here. My mind’s eye replayed the scenario over and over in my head. Sitting up late in my dorm room studying, receiving that phone call a little after 1:00am. The police telling me there had been an accident, and everything going fuzzy as I struggled to listen to the officer’s words.

My parents never made it out of the car crash alive. Apparently, my dad was killed on impact and my mom died before they finished with the jaws of life to pull her out. It still seemed surreal even now a year later. They had gone out for their anniversary dinner; it had been 23 years of marriage – only two years older than I was. I had just talked to my mom, who everyone jokingly called Barbie since her real name was Barbara, earlier that day to wish them a happy anniversary. There wasn’t even anyone for me to blame. It wasn’t a drunk driver or a teenage texter, it was just a patch of ice. A damn patch of ice was all it took to send them skidding off the road and out of my life.

Everything in the weeks that followed was a blur. I planned the funeral myself with the help of their estate lawyer. I was the only child of two only children, so there were no siblings, aunts, uncles, or cousins to help me. Both sets of my grandparents had passed when I was kid. I had friends and my parent’s friends were a major support network in offering comfort, but once their affairs were settled and the well-wishers had died down, I realized how alone I felt.

I fell down a hole that I didn’t think I’d ever crawl out of. I was pre-law, only six months away from graduating, and I walked away from it. What was the point? I was going to law school so I could join my father’s firm. I didn’t sink into substances like some people do, I sort of just sunk into nothing. I moved back to Topeka, got a minimum wage job at a fast-food place and a crappy apartment and buried my mind in the machinations of functioning for the mere sake of it. It wasn’t until a moment of either clarity or insanity (I’m still not sure which) hit that I woke up.

I was walking home from work one morning after getting off the night shift when I spotted a feather lying on the ground. It was a generic, grey feather and entirely unremarkable in nature; yet it stopped me in my tracks. I stared at it, and then finally turned to see what shop I was in front of. It was a psychic shop. I walked in without a second thought and paid an obscene amount of money to a middle-aged woman who had a lit cigarette hanging out of her lips the entire time (we won’t get into the public smoking laws she was clearly violating). She gave me a bunch of generic garbage about my life and loved ones. I knew she was a fraud when she said I needed to bond with my sibling over our parent’s death. As I stood up to leave with disappoint bitter in my mouth, the woman grabbed my arm.

“My dear, your mother is telling me to remind you to follow your dreams,” she exclaimed earnestly. I nodded my head and muttered a thank you, all while quietly kicking myself for wasting my money. But that night, the dreams began.

In the dream I was walking down a road in a city I didn’t recognize, when suddenly a barn owl flew directly over my head. It was broad daylight, and I was so shocked to see an owl that I instinctively ran to follow it. It twisted and turned up and down random streets until it finally landed on a city sign. It turned to look at me unblinkingly as I came to a breathless halt and read the sign. City of Houston. Then the owl launched off the sign and flew to me, its wings outstretched like a picture-perfect painting.

Over and over, I had this dream. Every night for a month I chased the owl through the city of Houston. It began to occupy my waking thoughts and all I could think about was following it. It called to me like the sweet, haunting lure of a siren’s call. Finally, one day, I answered. I quit my crappy job, packed up my few belongings and made the 10-hour drive to Houston, Texas. I found a cheap motel and checked myself in.

That first night, the owl led me to a Denny’s restaurant. I found one the next day and went to it as some insane hope bubbled inside of me that I’d find my mom waiting there. Which of course, I didn’t. My heart broke all over again as I ate some lukewarm pancakes and left. The second night, I was in a different city chasing the owl. It was leading me up and down the unmistakable streets of Los Angeles with the Hollywood sign in the background. I woke up wanting to cry in frustration. Los Angeles was an almost 24-hour drive from Houston. It was insanity to even consider it, but what else did I have to lose at this point? I didn’t even have the mundane steadiness of a job or apartment to hold me steadfast anymore.

So, I drove to Los Angeles with equal amounts dread and hope fighting for my attention with the owl escorting me the whole way. When I finally arrived though, the dreams suddenly stopped. I wandered around for two days straight hoping something would trigger a realization. I was out of money and had nowhere else to go, and I could feel that blackhole of desperation starting to settle in. That’s when I decided I’d drown my sorrows and ended up here in this god forsaken bar. Unexpectedly finding myself back in the present, I shook myself out of my reverie and looked up to see Sage eyeing me.

“I’m sorry,” I said somewhat stupidly. “Did you say something?” To her credit, she laughed and shrugged her shoulders, clearly unoffended by my rude inattention.

“I asked if you have family out here or something,” she repeated herself. The word family hit a crack in my defensive wall and before I knew it, a little nugget of truth slipped out.

“I have no family. My parents are dead.” I answered bluntly. Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t bat an eye at my abrupt response.

“Damn, I’m sorry. There’s no pain like losing a parent. I lost my mom to cancer a few years back, and my dad hasn’t been the same since. Well, my adoptive mom I should say. Never knew my real parents,” Sage confided. “That’s why I moved out here. I’m a Texas girl, but everything in Houston reminded me of my mom and I had to leave. So, I thought I’d come give being a famous singer a shot, and now here I am.”

She did a little twirl to demonstrate her point, and my heart stopped. On the back of her right shoulder blade was a beautifully detailed tattoo of a barn owl midflight with its wings spread. I knew I was staring at her like an idiot when she turned back around, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Sage, this is a crazy question, but did you ever go to Denny’s in Houston?” I asked as calmly as I could. She looked genuinely startled at my question.

“Yeah, it was my job through college. How did you know that?” She asked suspiciously. I couldn’t bring myself to answer her. Instead, I said the only other question that came to mind.

“Did you ever learn anything about your birth parents?” I asked quietly. If she thought I was crazy at the subject jump she didn’t let on. Instead, she leaned on the bar in front of me and became lost in thought as she answered.

“Nah, not really. It was a closed adoption, so the records were sealed. My mom said she met my birth mom in the hospital though. Said she looked no older than 18 and was beautiful and terrified. The only information my mom got from her was that her name was Barbara.” Sage cut off suddenly as the glass I had been bringing to my lips dropped to the counter.

I took in every detail of her face all over again. I could suddenly see it in the arch of her nose, and the shape of her mouth. My mother, subtly showing in every inch of her features. I had found my owl, but I didn’t know if that meant my journey was at its end, or at its beginning.