Dark Blue Light

Dark Blue Light

My elongated sip of coffee soothes my posture deeper into the abnormally comfortable, worn and cracked leather booth seating in the corner of the North Pines Diner. For whatever reason, paying extra to have your own coffee brewed outside of home tastes better than the diners, and more exclusive. Nothing against the diner’s coffee, I’m just settling in for a long night of writing a few college papers I’ve procrastinated on, and the strength of my roast is required. Being away from all home distractions, like my bed, TV, video games, etc. makes me precipitously productive. The inevitable yearning for home after hours of work in a public setting makes home even more satisfying. With a window behind me, and one to my left directly in front of my converted to street-safe, black and blue Yamaha dirt-bike, an economical choice I’m loving. I gaze behind me past an open field into a deep green wooded forest. The sun glares just above and in between the highest of treetops, dusk is on the horizon in a about two hours. A few other cars occupy the parking lot, all town folk, two of them sitting at the counter eating, another reading a newspaper and drinking coffee. A middle-aged woman reading a book with a slice of pie, sits in a booth to my right adjacent to the side door of the 24-hour establishment. One of my favorite things this diner does is when the weather too calm and warm to ignore, they’ll prop the side door open for a fresh gust of air throughout the diner, we are privileged with that tonight.

The diner is owned by a couple who inherited it, the wife owner makes pleasant conversations with the two customers sitting in the middle of the counter, the husband works the grill. The sounds of food cooking on a skillet cracking and popping throughout the diner provides a relaxing background noise for working opposed to silence. I’m tasked with reading the newspaper and pick a story to examine and do my own research to expand on the story for a college class. That pandemic is dictating a mask recommendation in all public spaces, not this diner, the owners exhibit a laid-back attitude on masks. They rationalize it by how small a town they are located, how they know everyone in town, and how little they believe in the pandemic. I believe they are tying their reasoning into their personal spirituality too, which I’ve never had in my life and never felt the need for it either. Maybe because I haven’t experienced any situations that would push me into developing a spiritual side, mainly it’s because I wasn’t raised with it nor know many who practice faith. I’ve always felt being nice to everyone and ignoring people I don’t get along with or don’t understand is a healthy way to live, I’ve stayed out of trouble with people by living this way. I live in the city to attend college, but I appreciate the small-town vibes and lack of people to distract me and cause distress. I’ve been driving just over a half hour to this diner from the city to get away from all the city congestion and noise. This town is quiet, engulfed in beautiful green forest, a helpful serene boost, and they have a 24-hour diner to indulge my every food and beverage need into the early morning hours.

I’ve never been a fanatic for reading or watching the news, it just depresses and angers me, reminds me of how evil people can turn out to be, and wasting my time on fake news that is difficult to identify. Every time I open a newspaper, I’m educated whether it’s real or not, and delighted by lighter stories, and then immediately drug down by the heavier stories. The tragic stories that are already catching my eye as I skim over all the headlines; a person dies in fire, bombings in a middle east village killing civilians, local neighborhood robberies, girl stays missing for 2 weeks, local creative arts college closes its doors due to lack of enrollment, stolen animals from a zoo, drunk driver kills pedestrian and crashes into another car killing two and injuring one, homeless woman freezes to death in hometown. Too many stories to choose from, now that I know the headlines, I’ll enjoy the heat of my coffee to help reflect on what strikes me most.

I glance out the window to my left, noticing how the breeze of the day is turning into a still night to come. No clouds or even a twitch from the diner’s American flag perched above the 24-hour sign, no waves of wind raising the fabric to life. A shiny white truck pulls into the parking lot, as it eases into a backend spot, the sun glares exuberantly along the length of the vehicle. My eyes squint and I turn away to the right, I allow my eyes to readjust from the flash of sun and take a sip, feeling the steam warm my nose. I turn back towards the truck to observe the people in its occupancy, when my complete attention is diverted to a mostly white owl with shades of brown, gray, and green covering its wings majestically and brown neck, clutching the top bar of my Yamaha dirt-bike, straight up staring through my eyes. It was a truly stunning moment; I’ve never been so close to such an elusive animal before. I couldn’t look away because this owl wouldn’t look away from me, it put me in a trance of curiosity. Its glossy eyes gave me a magical feeling, it slowly blinked as its eyes stayed glued to me. A blink so slow, it seemed relaxed to be studying me, it wouldn’t look anywhere else. I had to break eye contact just to see if anyone else was witnessing this phenomenon so rare and bizarre, to me anyway. Not one person in the diner were cognizant, they were all too preoccupied with their books, or conversations. I was a regular after all, so they left me alone ninety nine percent of the time, even the local regulars paid me no mind, so I wasn’t surprised but still perplexed by the singular connection I was holding with the owl. I turned back to it to find it still fixating on me, still as can be besides its eyelids tranquilly sliding downward and upward. I feel like I should take a picture but then again, thousands if not millions of pictures already exist catching closer shots than this. Instead, I decide to quickly look up information on an owl with a heart shaped face, maybe I can feed it something or attempt to pet it. I look to my computer screen and click on the web browser, before typing I look back for any changes in demeanor, none, still gazing at me. I begin typing in “heart shaped owl” as I hold serve in eye contact, I hit enter and switch my eyes to the computer screen. I find they are called Barn Owls, so I click on for more in-depth information. I read a few sentences, then glance out the corner of my eye to show it I’m still interested in its presence. I won’t be feeding or petting it anytime soon because I learned they are aggressive unless you’re another owl and even then, there is no guarantee. They are however uncommon to be seen, especially in daytime since they are nocturnal and night hunters. They have a mystical quality to them, and Native Americans associate them with rebirth, death, transformation, and shapeshifting. All of which are peak my interest and initiate more research on that aspect of them. Apparently, they symbolize future and spiritual foretelling, that information stops me in my tracks and forces me to look back to the female owl, which I learned from the brown color of her neck.

The split-second I turn to her; she leaps into flight towards the field behind me and then boomerangs back towards the diner and flies through the side door to land gracefully on the top of the booth seat across from me. I naturally jump out of my skin, from the middle of the booth to the corner of the seat using the table to push myself with instantly perspired hands deeper into the corner against the wall. Making all kinds of noise from my movements and rattles of cups and silver-wear, I draw the attention of everyone in the diner. The owl remaining cool and collected continues her obsession with looking at me, but I’m obligated to look around for some human assistance. The lady to my right drops her book to her lap and her widened eyes judge the situation, everyone else follows suit without interrupting their casual body language too much. The teenage waitress doesn’t even lower her book, but the owner behind the counter walks to its edge closest to me. “You best swat at that owl with the newspaper son. It’ll fly away.” Everyone sneakily looking on, proceeds to ignore the conundrum unphased as if it happens all the time. The owner observes me fold the paper back into form, roll it up, and take a swing at the owl. She keeps her eyes cemented on me and leaps into flight out the side-door, around the diners’ corner and sits back on my dirt-bikes handlebar. For the first time since appearing, she turns her head around looking at the road out of town, then back to my eyes. I peek behind her to see if there’s something she was seeing, I find nothing out of the ordinary. She then bends forward and pokes with her beak, my dirt-bikes front tire cover, and looks back to me. I’m flustered suddenly and can’t help but think she’s signally something to me, I focus on her even more. Swiftly and more emphatically, she executes the same motions in the same order; looks to the road behind her, and pokes at my dirt-bike. I’ve seen enough to know I should at least go out there and find out if that changes her actions. I pack my computer, newspaper and a few books stacked on the table into my black and red backpack. I stand and fling my backpack around my shoulder and slide my opposite arm into the backpack strap. Grabbing the coffee cup I used and digging in my pocket, I walk to the counter and set my coffee cup down along with five bucks to finalize the diners’ services for me. I tell the owner thanks and sorry for the disturbance, turn and walk through the side-door. I turn the corner of the diner facing my bike and tentatively walk forward, eyes locked onto her eyes once again. I slow my walk to almost standing still as I reach out and touch the right-side handlebar. Upon touching my dirt-bike, she jumps off, making me jump back a step, and she flies to the road out of town and rests on the old wooden fence that surrounds the diner parking lot. As I expect to this point, she turns to look at me, I can only think that I should ride my dirt-bike over to her. I hop on enthusiastically and fire up the engine, I handle the white helmet riddled with scuffs from falls of learning and slip it on. The visor is all black shaded and the sun is close to being set, so I flip the visor up. I need to be at my most vigilant if this little curiosity turns into an adventure I could only have dreamt. I back the dirt-bike and turn it to face the parking lot exit, make a glance at her to confirm she’s still there, and she is. I rev the engine and jolt ahead to the exit, look both ways and then effortlessly roll by momentum next to the curb coming within a few feet of her. Before I can halt to a complete stop, she takes off from the fence and flies twenty to thirty feet above my head down the road out of town. She purposely stays over the road so I can see her, she looks back after a few hundred feet to see me in an awe-struck eye, and she circles around toward me, then back around repeating this. Again, my instinct is searing through reality telling me to follow, so with haste, I take my phone out and search for a song that flew to the front of my thoughts. “Flyin’ High (In the Friendly Sky) by Marvin Gaye transcends all worldly sounds. I flip my blinker on, look for clearance, find no cars, and push my petal to the maximum.

The gorgeous owl circles in the air silently, waiting for me to catch up and as I do, she dives down to my height level and soars besides me keeping pace. I don’t know how I’ll ever describe this to someone in a real manner that’ll convince them. She weaves from my left to my right, and over my head while we cruise through patches of forest and wide-open fields. Every mile or two, we’ll pass a driveway leading into a chunk of trees where a house consists, or a house plain as day to see in an open field a half mile from the road. We’re journeying further away from civilization with a trajectory leading to an even lesser town over an hour northwest. None of that bothers me as I submerge myself in this intoxicating moment so surreal, but I know is real. I know of no mental illnesses running my family gene pool, and I don’t use drugs or drink, so I’m lucid and wide awake. The sun plays hide and seek with us as we pass by slews of trees hiding it, then past open fields revealing its burnt orange shine of warm light. The sunlight makes the tops of her wings glisten like mini diamonds embedded in them. While overhead of me, she is pure white underneath until you look to the top of her chest when you see the introduction of brown take over. We are plugging along, and I feel an urge to spread my arms like wings while riding. I situate myself for optimal balance, straighten my direction, and cautiously lift my hands off the handlebars. I let my body’s mass through my hips command the dirt-bike, feeling confident with my hands hovering above the handles. In one seamless motion, I extend my arms and let the wind force them back. I push back against the wind and use my arms to assist in my ill-advised balancing act. The owl is twenty or so feet in front of me just above eyesight, I keep my focus on her. I’m doing it and my adrenaline bolts through my body, and I feel energized and most alive. I close my eyes because it feels right in that instance and my confidence turns to arrogance. With my eyes shut, I envision the words I had read moments earlier, about how Barn Owls in Native American culture are associated heavily with death, future, and spiritual foretelling. My mind wandered to a dark side instantly after shutting my eyes and the dirt-bike hits a pothole and disrupts my dangerous serenity. I open my fearful eyes and grab the handlebars before my eyes can adjust. The dirt-bike steers right and I’m on my way down, but I jerk it left and lean right regaining control. In the moment after finding control again, I realize I blew the mishandling out of proportion and didn’t need to overcompensate so much after hitting the bump. I could have made it worse than it needed to be, regardless, I won’t be entering the world of stunt motorcycling ever. I will admit though, for those seven to ten seconds I drove with no hands, I felt weightless and in flight just like the owl, what a rush. I look up after gaining composure and notice the owl isn’t anywhere in front of me. I look back and about a half mile back, I see her standing in the middle of the road staring back and waiting.

I slow my roll, turn around without a car in sight and speed back to her, the sun is about down so I flip my headlight on. Closing in on her exact location, she crosses to the right and posts herself on a mailbox to the coordinating house deep in a wooded property. A long driveway that curves enough so you can’t see any of the property from the road. The mailbox reads thirty-six and looking into the driveway with the sun now down, very few things are visible. I look to the owl and she’s looking back, then turn her head to the dark driveway and looks back to me. I bend my head to the side slightly and give her a subtle, questionable expression. She hops off the mailbox and flies fifteen feet in and lands on the ground facing the property only to turn her head almost all the way around to look me in the eye again. Clearly, she wants me to follow her into this murky, unknown forest that leads to God only knows. I contemplate by looking around across the road, which is more woods, I look down both directions of the road and see no cars or lights. I look back the owl to find her at my feet looking up, she opens her mouth and bites the looseness of my pants and tugs it twice. She lets go and flies low to the ground about thirty feet in this time, leaving me nothing but her glowing eyes to guide me. I take a deep breath, flip the headlight off and shut down my dirt-bike. I lift myself off and wheel my bike across the road to hide it beyond some trees, too dark for any passer byers to see it. I crack my neck on both sides while crossing the road and entering the darkness with my eyes zoning in on the owl. Thirty feet in and my eyes adjust enough to follow the road without worry. The owl flies above me still leading the way down and around the winding wooded driveway. I see a blue light through the pines radiating a relentless glow turning into a beacon of light illuminating a destination. Coming up on clearing the trees, I see regular white lights highlighting the porch of a house around one hundred feet past the blue. The blue light is an insect trap buzzing an insect to death every ten or fifteen seconds. It hangs next to the left of two oversized barn doors, the right door is open enough for a person to squeeze through. Before I expose my existence in the blue light on this private property, I pace off the driveway to the left for a better look at the house behind the dark red barn. Lights are on within the house, but no one seems to be outside or in view through the windows. At this point I look to the owl for next steps, I see her sitting on the top corner of the barely open right barn door. With her stellar binocular vision, she sees me looking at her, so she helps me with progressing my trespassing, by gliding to the ground and walks to the barn door opening and stops. She turns her head around making eye contact again as she slowly walks into the barn. So that’s it I think to myself, she has something to show me inside this barn. My mind races from possibility to possibility, endless combinations, but at the end of my wandering imagination, I’ve come this far for a reason, right?

I jaunt with determination to the left side of the road to block my excursion to the barn from the houses’ view. I reach the door and survey the space and land around me, can’t be too careful while sneaking around a new landscape owned by a stranger. All is good on the front behind me, I’m left to look in the barn before stepping in. I see the owl sitting on a stable door next to the door, her eyes glimmering at me. She flaps her wings and flies deeper into the barn, so I step in heart pounding making my eardrums thump. It’s pitch-black inside, all I can make out are the owls eyes content on the floor. As I scan the guts of the barn, I notice in the far-left corner, another set of glassy and luminous eyes. I take my phone out and turn on its flashlight feature, why not I think, the barn is blocking from anyone seeing. I point it the corner to discover another white Barn Owl, this one is truly white, neck and all, and it’s caged. An inhabitable environment for any animal, unequivocally for a wild bird. I make my way across the empty barn when I’m stopped halfway by tripping on a handle built into the floor, the floor is a large door to the ground. I set my phone down and grab the handle, before pulling up I glare at the owl looking on, standing off to the side of the floor door. She gives me no signal to stop, so with mighty force I pull upward, no budge at all. I try again, this time looking downward around the handle to see if the door is opening at all, it’s not but I see a square shaped metal cover connected to the door handle. I didn’t see it before because I was stepping on it, the metal covering opens upward like a door. Underneath the metal covering is a padlock, the abyss I’m in is growing gloomier. Without reservations, I decide to look for a shovel or something I can use to break this lock, this is crazy I know, but I’ve never hallucinated before making this as real as it gets. I grab my phone and scramble the barn for a shovel, the last place I look by doors, is where one leans into wall. I position it in both hands ready with intention, look at the owl still sitting patiently off to the side, that means do it. I plunge the pointed front end of the shovel into the padlock missing, just hit bulk of it. No experience in padlock breaking, so I shake it off and take another stab at it, this time on the money. The padlock breaks and I freeze from the sound and listen intently, no way of knowing if anyone heard it. I don’t hear any dogs barking or a ruckus of any kind, so I quietly walk the shovel back to its spot. I excitedly hurry back to the floor door and then I remember, I have no idea what is behind this door, and an owl, normally an aggressive animal led me here, I best be careful now. I take the padlock off and pull the door open to find more blackness, a dark pit of who knows what. I wave my phone over the hole in the ground until a female face comes into light, a girl lifts her head barely awake looks up at me. She can’t seem to muster the energy to wake up or get up, she just reaches for me. I’m breathless and reality shifts to slow motion for a moment, and I don’t snap back to real time until my phone hits the bottom of the pits floor. I dropped it out of shock, luckily it landed face down so the light is guiding me with a pathway down. She groans, and mumbles help, I skip the ladder built into the hole and just jump down ignoring all pain in my feet and ankles. It’s only a five-foot hole, no damage done, and I shouldn’t have a problem lifting her up and out of it. I dial nine-one-one on my phone, they answer in not time, so I tell them to bust their ass to 36, County Road 1 Northwest of Pines Deep. They of course ask what the emergency is, and I respond by telling them I found the missing girl from the paper, she needs medical attention and to bring the cops, the kidnappers don’t know I’m here, so best not use sirens. They then ask if I can get her someplace safe, so I say no, not while I’m talking on the phone, just get here and I hang up. I turn the flashlight back on and hand her my phone and ask her to hold it for me, she does but can barely hold it up to be effective, she must be drugged or immensely tired. I pick her up, lift her to the top, she isn’t much help pulling herself up, but she does just enough to help me help her. I climb the ladder so fast I slip on one of the steps, but I recover in a split second. I pick her up with one arm under her knees and one arm wrapped around her, under her armpits. I kick the partially open barn door open and hustle like never in my life, the weight of her isn’t even phasing me, too busy wondering what is happening. Before I enter the driveway darkness, I look back for the owl but it’s nowhere to be found. I make to the road without complications, and I can see police and ambulance lights. I told myself, thank God.

I told the cops I was on a run past this property earlier that day and thought I heard a scream but wasn’t sure, so I came back tonight and found her. They seemed to buy it, but also told me to stay in town until the girl is awake and sober to identify her captors. I went home and couldn’t sleep at all, so I went to the hospital and fell asleep on a couch in one of the waiting rooms. The police woke me and told me she didn’t identify me, nor remember me at all because she was in fact drugged. They said the family is in her room and would like to thank me, and that she requested to meet me, I couldn’t possibly say no.

I get to the room and am bombarded by her parents, brother and sister with gratitude, and then she speaks…

Ellie: Can I have a minute alone with him please.

They all look at each other before looking at her and happily agree to leave. As awkward as a person can be, I step aside and wait for them to leave, then eye contact is made with Ellie. I notice a cross hanging around her neck and a heart tattoo with an owl face on the inside of her forearm, what a striking, unprecedented and speechless coincidence.

Ellie: Please, sit here.

I sit next to her.

Ellie: What’s your name?

Billy: Billy.

Ellie: You saved my life, and I have no idea how to thank you.

Billy: You just did, and it’s sufficient.

Her eyes water.

Ellie: Do you believe in God?

Billy: Never have before, why?

Ellie: I prayed what felt like every minute under that barn. After praying for someone to save me and no one coming, I prayed I would die, and my favorite animal would fly me to heaven.

I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed silent and tried to maintain eye contact.

Ellie: It sounds dumb, and childish but…

She stopped talking and cried a little.

Billy: What’s your favorite animal?

She sniffles and wipes her eyes.

Ellie: The Barn Owl, you know the one with the heart shaped face.

She lifts her right arm to show me her detailed tattoo of a Barn Owl face. The heart shape around it’s face is accented with red. Of course, I’m taken aback by this conection.

Billy: It’s beautiful.

Ellie: Thank you.

Billy: I need to tell you something, but you can’t tell anyone.

She looks at me with warm and tired eyes.

Billy: I lied to the cops about how I found you. I was led to you by an owl, one that looks just like your tattoo. It sounds cuckoo believe me I know, I thought it was the whole time I was following it, but then there you were. I don’t expect you or anyone to believe me, but I feel like you of all people should know the truth.

She can only smirk and become teary eyed again.

Ellie: It was my guardian angel.

For the first time in my life, I really wanted to believe in a miracle, but I knew the owl was just leading me back to its caged mate in that barn. And I didn’t have the heart to tell her, it’s the least I could do.

Billy: Maybe.

I ventured back to the diner for a palliative cup of decaf. the owner interrupts my entrance to say, “No drugs aloud in here, you scared our customers and me yesterday.” I ask her what she is talking about, and she said I was acting weird and jumpy, swatting at the air with a newspaper. I replied, “No, I wasn’t on drugs, it was the owl that flew in here, it freaked me out, you saw it.” She retorted assuredly, “What? There was no owl, I would know and so would all the other customers.” Desperately I say, “No, you said to me I best swat at the owl to go away.” And she said, “No son, I said, we appreciate your business, but no drugs allowed. Hand to god.”

I went from living a blue life in the dark, to the light.