When the Blackbirds Caw!

One at a time, Seven large blackbirds lighted on the railing of the moss-covered stone bridge and silently watched Brent like gargoyles on medieval architecture. Brent continued to stare into the dark, slow-flowing river below, ignoring the birds.

After several silent moments, the birds turned and looked down as well and began to caw.

Brent glanced at the birds on each side of him. Are the blackbirds telling me something? He focused more intensely on the waters below.

As the blackbirds grew louder, Brent watched his reflection as it danced upon the flowing water. His eyes widened as a pale body floated to the surface. No, not my love, Silvia! Tears began to trickle from his eyes like the first sprinkles of new rain. The momentum built into a torrential downpour splattering off the river below, drowning out the birds.

. . .

“Brent! Brent! Wake up! You’re having a nightmare.”

Brent shot up to sitting, wide-eyed, and screamed, “Silvia!” Breathing in ragged shallow breaths, he finally panted out. “Don’t leave me!”

Kicking his legs over the bed and onto the floor, Brent placed his head in his hands, rubbing his face and head. He welcomed the morning sunlight’s warmth filtering around the blinds.

After a deep sigh, his breathing slowed.

He closed his eyes and felt the gentle warmth of Syliva rubbing his shoulders. She often would give him messages after he came home stressed from work. With her soothing voice, she would coax him. “Honey, a warm shower might help you feel better.”

He would cover Silvia’s hand on his shoulder with his allowing the stress to melt away with her gentle touch.

“Honey, I know work has become more stressful after the corporate shakeup.”

Silvia bit her lip as she thought for a moment. “You can always trust me, and feel free to talk.”

“Silvia, I wish now more than ever to talk with you. The words get stuck in my throat.”

. . .

Brent stared at the spreadsheet before him until he started to doze. He shook his head and grabbed his lukewarm coffee. The acrid-tasting coffee had cooked too long on the burner. UGH! This stuff tastes burnt.

“MURPHY! How are the numbers looking?”

The voice over his shoulder startled Brent, and he nearly spilled his coffee on the keyboard. “Good, Mr. Luddick. The forecast looks promising as we head into the holiday season. If we continue on this track, we will be in the black by the end of the quarter.”

Mr. Luddick scowled, “That is the problem with you people. You want to skim by in the black. I WANT PROFITS. MARGINS GREATER THAN FIVE PERCENT. CALL, CALL, CALL YOUR CLIENTS.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Luddick.” You don’t understand this business. Our clients are at capacity. They can’t order more of our product.

Luddick started to walk away, then turned to Brent, “Oh, almost forgot. I have a potential customer I want you to visit today. His name is Hyland Powers. He requested you by name. Here is his address. He wants you to meet him at his home ASAP.”

. . .

Brent drove to what he imagined as Hyland Power’s country estate. Why, of all days, do I have to chase what will probably be another dead end? The market for Penwell Extraculators is a niche market. None of our customers submit orders during the holiday season.

Brent glanced at the clock on the dash. An hour’s drive one way, and I promised Silvia dinner out at the new Italian Restaurant — Gotti’s Italiano Originale. I am not going to make it. She will be disappointed. Why didn’t I tell Luddick I had plans?

Brent slammed the brakes. “Oh, crap! Almost missed the turn.”

He backed up and then turned down the tree-lined, narrow gravel drive.

“My goodness, the pine trees are so dense you can’t see the light between the trees. It looks like an impenetrable wall.”

After driving about a quarter of a mile through the narrow corridor of trees, Brent saw a clearing ahead. At the clearing, he had to cross a single-lane moss-covered stone bridge.

On each side, perched on the railing, were seven large blackbirds. They looked at Brent, cawed, then bowed as if granting him entrance.

Chills ran down his spine. The scene reminded him of his nightmares. “What in the hell have I gotten myself into? Maybe I should turn around and tell Luddick I could not find the place.”

He sighed, “No, I have to see this through.”

. . .

Brent parked on the circular drive in front of a small stone cottage. As he walked up to the door, he vented, “Well, this blows my expectations — so much for a grandiose mansion with armed guards, butlers, and landscapers!”

As he was about to knock, Brent heard, “Not what you expected, huh?”

The man had come around the house as Brent spoke.

The stranger looked sternly at Brent for several seconds, then softened into a smile. His blue eyes sparkled as he began to laugh.

He reached out his hand and nodded, “Brent Murphy. I am Hyland Powers, but please call me Hyland.”

As Hyland shook Brent’s hand, a warmth spread through Brent, starting in his hand and radiating up his arm and through his body.

Woe, what was that? “Mr. Pow, I mean Hyland, when I first saw you, I thought you were the gardener.”

Hyland chuckled as he looked down at his attire, a Peter Frampton concert tour 1978 black teeshirt and a pair of faded, worn jeans. “I get that often, but I dress for comfort.”

“I am sorry; I did not mean to belittle your home or anything. Most of my clients live in fancy homes with their affluence on display. Your home is down to earth.”

“No offense taken. It’s not what’s on the outside but what is on the inside that matters.” Hyland opened the door. “Please join me.”

Hyland invited Brent to sit on his vintage 19th-century sofa. The couch and chair had hand-carved rolled arms and decorative wood framed back.

“Would you like coffee?”

“Coffee sounds great, thank you.”

Hyland disappeared through a swinging door into the kitchen.

Brent scratched his head. I swear the inside seems too large compared to the outside size. The elegant decorum looks like it came from the gilded age.

Brent studied Hyland’s living room. Beautiful craftsmanship went into this sofa and chair. Everything about this living room contradicts the simplicity of the outside. Siliva would love this decorum.

Hyland came from the kitchen carrying a silver tray. On the tray were a silver carafe, two white bone china coffee mugs, heavy cream, and several allulose packets. “This is a special blend of coffee I picked up an hour ago in Vietnam.”

Hyland smiled and paused.

Brent looked up, “Mr. Powers, did you just say you were in Vietnam an hour ago?”

Hyland’s eyes twinkled as he winked at Brent. “One tablespoon of heavy cream and a packet of Allulose — correct?”

“How did you know how I like my coffee?”

Hyland smiled and nodded before he took a sip.

After savoring the taste, Hyland spoke. “Brent, I called you here to enrich your life.”

Brent’s eyes lit up. Wow, no sales pitch is required here. Where do we sign?

“Brent, I am the answer to Silvia’s prayers. Her concern for you has reached beyond the veil.”

Hyland took another drink. “I love a good cup of coffee. When I drink, I enjoy the cup with all my senses. I watch the steam rise off the cup, feel the warmth of the cup, smell the aroma, and savor the taste. I even enjoy the sound of me sipping.”

“Mr. Powers, What do you mean you are the answers to my beloved wife’s prayers?”

Hyland looked down at the cup in Brent’s lap. “Try the coffee. I will get to Silvia’s request in a moment. She mentioned she would like to see you slow down, enjoy life, and reconnect with others before you are dead.”

Brent’s eyes widened, “Mr. Powers do you know something I don’t.” With the nightmares lately, this experience is too surreal.

Hyland reached over and placed his hand on Brent’s shoulder. The warmth of Hyland’s touch relaxed Brent. “You are already dead. You are stuck in stasis. You are trapped in your fears, anxiety, and regrets. Silva’s prayer is that you break free and begin to experience your life in the present.”

Brent shook his head. “You don’t understand the stress I am under.”

“I understand more than you think for I am you and you are me. We are one.”

Brent started to cough and choke but managed to swallow and keep from spuing coffee all over the champagne colored sofa and table.

Brent shook his head. “What does that mean? I am you, and you are me. We are one.”

Hyland looked Brent in the eyes. The compassion in his eye’s held Brent’s gaze. “This is not something I can explain to satisfy your intellectual curiosity. What I am speaking about descends deep into your being where life is not rationalized but experienced.”

“Sir, I am confused. You are getting all mystical on me. I live in the now. Not some mystical plane.”

Hyland smiled, “Are you NOW? To help you get unstuck, you must start by forgiving yourself, allowing the grief to move through you, and let go. Silvia has never held it against you.”

Brent slowly looked up. “I am the one who pushed her to have a child. They both passed away during the birth. Silvia is dead. She is DEAD.”

Hyland set his cup down, stood up, and walked over to Brent. Brent sat motionless, staring into his cup as tears began to flow.

Grabbing the cup from Brent, Hyland gently helped him stand and Embraced him in a hug.

Brent began to heave as he let go of the emotional build from the two years since Sylvia passed.

“Syliva desires for you to let go of the nightmares. She wants you to forgive yourself and begin to live again. Allow the grief and the pain to grow you.”

“Sylvia is dead. I have tried to hold onto her so strongly I act as if she is still with me. Every day, I play her last voice message reminding me to be on time to go to the restaurant. We never made it. She went into labor that night. Am I crazy?”

No Brent. You are heartbroken at the loss of the woman you love and a child you will never meet. Allow the healing to take place. Live your life. This is Sylvia’s prayer. She will always be with you in your heart.”

“I Will! I am ready now. Thank you, Hyland.”

. . .

Brent drove away from Hyland’s cottage and across the bridge. The blackbirds were gone.

. . .

The sunlight crept through the shades and hit Brent across the eyes. He opened his eyes and then reached over to feel the empty place in the bed. His dream of Hyland Powers seemed unbelievably real. He breathed in and sighed. Something resonated from deep within. Wordless feelings bubbled up. “I am okay.”