The Things You Say Aren’t Real

When I was nine, there was a broken down shed on our property that I wasn’t allowed to enter.

“That shed could collapse at any moment,” my dad used to say.

“But...”

“No ‘buts’! Don’t go in there. That’s the final word.”

When my dad said that, further argument was useless. His mind was made up and no force on earth could make him reconsider.

Clearly, his fears were an exaggeration. Sure, the shed was old and there were gaps between the beams, but it was still solid. Anyone could see it was solid. It was made from blackened railroad ties covered in tar.

Besides, I knew that if dad truly considered the shed a danger, he’d have torn it down. Dad allowed the shed to remain, therefore it was safe.

At nine, I was an explorer.

I couldn’t look upon a stand of trees without wondering what secrets might be hidden within them.

Perhaps, if you looked, you’d find a complete set of armor from a long dead Spanish conquistador buried beneath a fallen log? The metal would be rusted and covered in moss, but if you cleaned it and oiled it and repaired the leather straps you might be able to wear it again.

Maybe?

Or a sword! Perhaps I’d find a sword! Not a cheap knockoff like you got at the dime store, but a real weapon that had been used in battle centuries ago.

Wouldn’t that be something?

I was convinced the shed must hold such treasures. After all, it had obviously stood since the days when the railroads had been built. That was pretty much the time of the conquistadors wasn’t it? Perhaps a conquistador himself built it as a shrine to his armor?

It must be in there, hidden beneath the dirt. Perhaps only a few inches deep. All I had to do was slip in and brush away the topsoil like an archaeologist. I carried a brush in my satchel just for that purpose. I’d watched the shows. You brushed away the dirt to preserve the relics.

I knew.

So, despite what my dad said, I felt compelled to sneak into the shed.

It stood on the corner of our property, framed by birch trees, almost absorbed by the surrounding wilderness. The front had a door that was too heavy to swing open, but there was a gap at the bottom that I could crawl under.

I made my way, sliding along on my belly, feeling the dirt on my chest and arms.

Inside it was shadow but for the scattered beams of light that passed through the cracks in the walls and roof. The light that did come through was refracted by tree leaves. Patchwork shades of dancing gray made it difficult to perceive anything in the magical gloom.

I felt a surge of excitement. My presence here was against the rules, but I didn’t feel guilty because the rules were wrong. I had to know what was in here. I had to know the truth!

My exploration was systematic. I went to the corner and walked along the wall, brushing the floor, looking for something interesting. Perhaps a corner or point from the armor would be visible to the naked eye? That would inform me as to where to begin my excavation.

I was so focused on the floor, that I didn’t bother to look up.

That’s when I heard the ruffling.

It was an odd sound, different than the background rattling of branches against the wall. No, this was more like the noise made when somebody crushes a paper bag. It was a ruffling, deliberate sound and my first fear was that I'd been discovered!

I looked up fearful that I'd see my dad's furious, intimidating face.

I did see a face.

But it was not my dad's.

The face I saw was heart shaped and white. It stared at me with the silent wisdom of a living thing that seemed to exist both within this world and the next.

It was a barn owl.

The great bird sat in the corner, staring back at me with dark eyes. His manner was both alert and indifferent. He didn't move, but he was tense as if poised to attack if that should prove necessary.

I froze.

I was too frightened to contemplate him in the moment, but my mind’s eye took a picture that I’ve never forgotten. He was beautiful and large.

I desperately hoped that he wouldn't fly at me. I could see his talons and they were fearsome, but it wasn’t the talons so much that scared me.

The barn owl appeared both delicate and powerful. I didn’t want to have to swing at him if he were to descend upon me. The thought of deflecting his soaring body into the walls of the shed filled me with remorse.

Now I did feel guilty for having come. I had intruded upon his home. The barn owl had a right to attack me to defend itself.

Not breaking eye contact, I began to back away. As I moved toward the door, the owl face remained fixated in my direction. Its head barely moved as it followed my retreat, but it did move ever so little.

I reached the door, and passed beneath.

Back in the real world, in the full light of day, I had to pause to catch my breath. Such excitement flooded me! What a discovery! What a privilege!

But almost as crushing was the understanding that I had to keep it secret, for telling anyone would be to reveal that I had entered the prohibited shed.

I began walking back home, considering my problem.

I came to the conclusion that I would have to tell. What if dad became motivated to destroy the shed after all? The magnificent bird would be killed!

I could say that I saw it fly in! I could tell my dad that it was there and avoid punishment.

Resolved, I arrived at my home and went straight to my dad’s office.

“Dad, I was walking in the...”

My dad was on the phone. He reached up to cover the receiver and regarded me with a stern expression. “Davey, I’m busy.”

“But...”

“Be quiet!”

Again that voice that left no room for argument.

I climbed onto a chair and sat to wait. I hoped he’d wrap up the call more quickly because it was obvious how urgently I wished to speak with him, but he didn’t. At that age, I never understood adult conversations, nevertheless some of the things he said seemed trivial, as if he were intentionally delaying the chore of speaking with me...

But no, I couldn’t allow myself to think such things.

I waited, and eventually he put the receiver back in its cradle.

“What?”

“I saw a barn owl fly into the old shed!” I said with excitement.

My dad's face changed to his superior, smug expression. It was the smile that he used when he was convinced I was lying. Once my dad was convinced of something, it was impossible to get him to change his mind.

“I told you not to go into the shed,” he said.

“I didn’t, but I saw a barn owl!”

“There’s no barn owl,” he sad. He made the declaration as if it were an absolute.

“But there is! I saw him!”

“No, there’s nothing. You’re wrong, and I told you not to go into that shed! Now get out of here and let me work.”

I knew it was better not to let him see how angry he’d made me. I had to hide it. Long practice had taught me that if I pinched my right wrist with my left hand, I could maintain a neutral expression.

I pinched.

“Go on,” dad said.

I slipped off the chair and went away.

It didn’t matter where I went. So long as I was away.

***

At dinner that evening, dad told my mom about my “lie.”

“Davey insists there is a barn owl in the shed,” he said with a smirk.

My mom set her fork on her plate and looked at me with excitement. “Really! How big is he? What color is his face? Did he...”

“There’s no barn owl,” dad interrupted.

All the energy drained out of my mom’s features. She picked up her fork and stared submissively at her food.

“Davey’s been imagining things that aren’t real. I suspect what he’s really doing is making up lies to get attention.”

“But...”

Dad’s eyes flashed and I fell silent.

“Don’t tell lies. Don’t make up things that aren’t real. Don’t go into that shed. That’s final.”

I did what my mom did. I looked down at my plate.

“We’ll discuss your punishment later.”

I nodded. There was no room for debate.

Later on I was punished. I don’t remember what the punishment was, but dad probably said it was fair and appropriate for what I’d done.

That’s what he always said.

***

Weeks later, the summer heat was oppressive.

I was having a sleepover at a friend’s house. Mom had been sent away for treatment. Just a few days.

Dad insisted he needed some time for himself.

I hadn’t forgotten the owl. It lurked in the attic of my mind just like it lurked in the real rafters of the shed.

I couldn’t forget that penetrating stare. It was wise and fair and knew the truth.

The owl’s face became a symbol for me.

I was supposed to stay at my friend's house for two nights, but my friend’s father had an emergency. I can’t remember what the emergency was, but they had to take me home.

“I’ll call first,” he said. “What's your number?”

I gave him the number and he dialed.

“Busy,” he said.

“My dad’s is always working,” I said. “He’s probably in his office on a very important call.”

The way I said ‘very important call’ made my friend’s father look at me strange, but he didn’t say anything.

He waited a few minutes, then he tried again.

“Still busy,” he said. Then he shrugged. “Well, if they’re home I suppose I can drop you off.”

So, I said goodbye to my friend, and we loaded up into the car, and a few minutes later we were driving down the long, winding driveway that led to my house.

This was in the 80s. Things were different then. My friend’s dad saw that the lights were on, so he just dropped me off. He didn’t even wait around to make sure the door was unlocked.

I went to the house and opened the door.

I heard voices, and thought nothing of it. Only after the door had opened did I remember that my mom was away.

I walked in to find my dad sitting at the table with a woman I didn't recognize.

I froze.

The sight of her confused me.

Wait, I did know her. She was my dad’s secretary. I just didn’t recognize her at first because I’d never seen her in a bathrobe before.

“Hello Stacey,” I said. “Are you working?”

Stacey looked down at me. Her face was white and heart shaped. She remained motionless, but looked set to pounce.

“What are you doing home?” my dad said.

There was a lot going on, but my mind’s eye took a picture that I’ve never forgotten. My dad was terrible and huge.

“I...”

“Answer me Davey, why are you here?”

“They brought me home, there was an emergency.”

“Why didn’t you call first?”

“We did call, the phone was busy.”

Dad looked at me with such rage that I almost took a step back. I became afraid. I was afraid that he’d come soaring down from the rafters and tear me to pieces.

Instead, he stood up.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to go,” he said to Stacey.

Stacey said nothing. She stood and went into the other room. It was as if she wanted to pretend she hadn’t seen me. Like I wasn’t there. Like none of this had happened.

A little while later, she’d gotten dressed and left.

The few minutes it took for her to get ready were enough for Dad to make up his mind. Once his mind was made up, there was no changing it.

“Don’t go inventing stories again Davey. You make up stories all the time. The stories you invent aren’t real, and I don’t want you talking about them. Don’t tell mom these stories when she gets home. Got it?”

I nodded.

“Tell me.”

“My stories aren’t real,” I said.

“That’s right,” he said. He almost looked proud.

Mom came home a few days later. That night, at dinner, dad told the story about how I’d come home early from my friend’s house and thought I’d seen somebody who wasn't there.

He laughed.

Mom laughed too.

I laughed, but I didn’t think it was funny. We at the rest of our dinner in silence.

That evening, when everybody went to bed, for the first time in my life, I snuck out of the house.

I took my satchel. My satchel had everything I needed for exploration. There was a brush, there was a knife, there was a length of rope, and there was a flashlight.

I remember that there was enough moonlight that I could see. I made my way to the shed and slipped the flashlight from my bag.

I didn’t go in all the way, I just lay on my belly under the door and shined the beam of the flashlight up into the corner.

I’m not sure what I expected.

Maybe I expected to find nothing.

If I’d found nothing, that would have meant my dad was right. It would have meant that what he said was true. It would have meant that I did make up stories.

I shined the light.

At first I saw nothing and I became scared. I started to doubt myself.

But then the barn owl was roused.

It turned its great white head in my direction.

It gazed at me with those penetrating eyes that knew wisdom and the ways of both this world and the next.

My mind’s eye took a picture that I’ve never forgotten.

Even today, when I think of truth, the image that comes to mind is the face of that barn owl... never my father's.