All That Needed to be Said

His little black tux was already neatly folded and hung back on the rental clothes hanger. Dried tears covered not only his rosy cheeks, but the hotel sheets and pillowcases as well. Silence was his only companion, while his father struggled in his own way – in and out of the room all night to talk with loved ones who had flown in to pay their respects. The only words the little boy could make out from his dad’s brief phone calls before he ran out of the door wiping at his face were “cancer” and “I know it was sudden.” It may seem easy to fixate and ponder the meaning of these words, but the boy was preoccupied with the folded, tear-soaked note in his left hand.

“… I know this is all probably very confusing to you right now, but I don’t want you to focus on that. Your first day as a middle schooler is coming up, and it’s just another ‘first’ for you on a long road ahead. I love you so much. And maybe once you’re older you’ll understand how just writing those words on this piece of paper will never fully explain my love for you. Please love on Barny for me. Hold him tight. And maybe you’ll discover just how special he can be for you. Before you know it, I’ll see you again. Whether in your dreams, in your heart, or through Barny. I’ll love you always. – Love, Mom”

His mom was right. He was very confused. Not many boys his age can – or should even try to – understand how six short months ago his mom was with him, walking around, reading to him every night, and now she’s gone. He had cried himself tearless and his brain was exhausted from thinking. He couldn’t even muster the energy to flip through his favorite book that he brought with him – The Adventures of Simon Spurring. All he could do tonight, was sleep and try to forget.

A gentle nudge on the shoulder woke him.

“Come on, son. I’ve already taken your bags to the car. It’s time to leave soon.”

Without any words, the boy acknowledged his father by beginning to stir. His arm was still around the raggedy stuffed owl his mother had left him. He had seen Barny on his mother’s bed since the time he could remember. The not-particularly soft plush was never all that appealing to him. However, he felt more connected with it today than ever before, despite the cold metal zipper on its back, which made it relatively uncomfortable to wrap his arms around.

The boy’s father had already left the room to check out. Feeling the sense of urgency (and just flat out not wanting to be alone anymore) the boy got dressed as quickly as he could and did his last walk-through of the room before leaving. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted his favorite book still sitting on the bedside table. He ran to it, and when he picked it up, he was looking around the room desperately hoping his father hadn’t grabbed his backpack. True to his father’s word, it was already stowed away in the car. He then turned to Barny, and in a hurried shuffle towards the door of the hotel room, he unzipped the stuffed owl and shoved his book into the stuffing filled nook, zipped it back up, and ran down the hall looking for his dad.

That night at home, the boy’s mind was still running a thousand miles an hour. The confusion lay heavy on him, and his dad was still distant – trapped in his own grief. The boy wanted anything to stop the tears, anything except exhaustion. In a moment of realization, he reached for Barny and unzipped his back to retrieve his favorite novel that had comforted him so many times before. He daydreamed of being in the place of the heroic young protagonist off on one his adventures, flying over the pyramids in Egypt or sailing on a raft in the Amazon. Anything. Anything to teleport him anyway from the pain and confusion. However, upon reaching into the stuffed owl, he felt nothing. His book was gone. Frantically, the boy explored all of the classic spots a young child looks when they’ve lost something: under his bed, in the deep recesses of his closet, his backpack, his suitcase, the drawer full of toys next to his bed. All hiding spots came up empty. Defeated, the boy felt the familiar exhaustion from the night before that stopped his tears, so he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

The early summer sun peeking through the boy’s curtains landed on his eyes, forcing them awake. His stirring was gradual this morning. A rustle. A turn. And finally, a sit-up. One long drawn-out yawn was the only noise in the room as he twisted his back left and right, working out the night’s stiffening. He rotated his head, cracking his neck until a sight froze his contorted body in place. On his bedside table, lay his favorite book. He didn’t waste his time with thoughts of how or why or where it had been hidden from him. Instead, he grabbed the book eager to open the first page and begin reading. However, a new onset paralysis upon flipping to the first page wasn’t one of joy. But one of supernatural fright. Chills and shakes rattled down his spine and to the ends of all of his fingers and toes. Written in pen was a short and unsettling, yet comforting note:

“I always knew the joy this book gave you. I hope you continue to enjoy it each and every day!”

The words were what comforted the boy, but the signature was what unnerved him. In place of a name or epithet was a sketch of two owl eyes looking back at him.

Slowly, he set the book down and stared at Barny lying on his bed. His memories came back to him as he held the stuffed owl and flipped it over on its back revealing the zipper. Over the next couple of weeks, the boy’s trials and experiments commenced. Each night before bed he chose a different book from his collection and shoved it inside the owl’s compartment. And each morning, the same book was back on his bedside table, a note waiting to be read on the first page. Sometimes short, pertaining to the story. Sometimes a little longer, almost inquiring into the boy’s life. Especially when the boy shoved ‘an adult novel’ from his father’s nightstand, testing the limits of the owl’s commentary. The boy smirked when he read,

“I hope these aren’t the books you’re starting to read! Middle schoolers aren’t that grown up!”

Barny went everywhere with the boy now. Downstairs for each meal, walks in the park, down to the corner store. On all his summer adventures. Even today, as the boy walked up the seemingly endless staircase up to his new school, Barny was in his arms comforting him on his first day of class. The sights and sounds weren’t entirely exotic. Kids were shuffling to different rooms. Parents accompanying some. Teachers greeting by their doors. However, the scale of it all intimidated the young boy. His grip around Barny grew tighter and tighter as he ventured through the school, looking for Ms. Green’s classroom. It was getting closer to the first bell, and he was beginning to worry he’d be late. He shuffled quicker, growing into a trot and then a full-on sprint down the halls. He bolted around a corner and smacked into a large figure. An older boy, freshly adopting his role as the oldest grade in middle school stood in his way. Two of his friends appeared from behind him as all three began to unload on the helpless boy staring up at them.

“Nice owl. I didn’t realize they let kindergarten classes in here!” yelled one.

“You’re on the wrong side of the school, especially with that gross-looking thing!” another bellowed.

“What? Did your daddy and mommy send you here with that? Supposed to hold your hand on the first day?” the last one chastised.

The target of the insults sat dumbfounded on the ground. Tears welled up in his eyes and he went sprinting around the corner he came from towards the other end of the school. He finally found Ms. Green’s class, but not in time for the first bell. He was, however, in time for his entire new class to see the rivers flowing down his rosy, red cheeks.

Horror. The only way he could think to describe his first day as he was talking to Barny, while the stuffed owl sat on his bed looking back at him. He paused mid-conversation. He laid on his bed and in his usual ritualistic manner, unzipped Barny, who awaited another book. Sadness and embarrassment began to engulf the boy as he wondered if he should still be playing with Barny. This owl was the source of the bully’s antagonizing, and they had succeeded in making him feel self-conscious. His contemplations stopped as he fell asleep with Barny on his chest, zipper opened, no book inside.

Darkness began to subside. The boy’s consciousness arose, and he found himself in a grand library. The room was hued in a deep blue with brilliant, yet dull shimmers of stone and jewel accents littering the walls. Almost an air of royalty about the place. Tangible, simultaneous mystery and wonder lurked around each column of shelves. Walnut shelves. Shelves up and across as far as his eyes could see. However, the shelves were empty of books. The boy ran his fingers along the warm wood as he pondered the curiosity of a library without books. He stumbled his way to the first bookshelf he found that actually had something on the shelves. But still no books. Instead, scraps of paper with very little writing on them. To conduct his own examination, the boy picked up the piece of paper farthest to the left on the shelf – the first piece of paper. It read:

July 17th 2021

The Adventures of Simon Spurring

The boy vigorously picked up each piece of paper in line, read it, and placed it back in its spot. Each one had a title of one of his books and a date. One book each day. Deep in thought, a voice coming from behind him broke his concentration.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of taking one of your books from you, so I keep track of what you send me.” Said a gentle, nurturing, familiar voice.

The boy whipped his head around, and again tears began to flow. However, not tears of sadness nor anger. Tears of joy as he dove into his mother and wrapped his arms around her.

“Mom!” he cried.

“I’m so happy to see you,” She answered.

Everything was what he remembered. Her smell, her hug, her voice. They chatted about the last few weeks, about the boy’s father, and as the conversation began to turn to life in general, the boy grew sullen with realization.

“I can’t stay here, can I?” he asked.

His mother smiled, holding tears back, and shook her head side to side.

“And I can’t take you with me?” He followed up.

Same response.

He hung his head slowly. Tears didn’t swell this time. He somehow felt comfort in knowing where she was. Knowing he still had a connection to her. Knowing she still and would always love him. They walked to the other end of the room, where a stone table had a beautiful statue of a barn owl in the center. The boy quickly recognized Barny. He turned to his mother, and they embraced again. Love was tangible in this moment.

“Place your hands on the table and close your eyes. I love you.” She spoke.

Understandingly, the boy placed his hands on the table. Before closing his eyes, he looked at his mom and said all that needed to be said:

“I love you too.”

He closed his eyes, and whiteness filled his view. He awoke in bed with Barny still on his chest. He had a moment of confusion, but all was clear when he found the note on his bedside table that read:

“I will always love you. And don’t forget that I will always be watching over you.” Signed with a pair of owl eyes.