Untamed

The man with the owl tattoo is staring at me intently. I try to ignore his gaze, as black and piercing as the owl peaking out of the collar of his shirt, on his chest. I wonder absently if being tattooed on your clavicle would be especially painful. It seems like it would be. My feet shift impatiently on the slightly tacky floor, wondering why the coffee line is so long today. I try to ignore the feeling of being watched intently, but it is difficult. Somehow the fact that this is our new daily routine does not make the feeling of being watched less uncomfortable.

I have tried to escape the owl man by arriving early, or even going to a different coffee stand, but he is always there, staring. I glance back at him, taking in his white hair and heart-shaped face, so like his owl. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him blink. If he had approached me, or tried to take a sly picture of me, I would have reported him. But how can I report someone for just sitting and staring?

Finally, the overly friendly barista takes my order. They shouldn’t be allowed to be that chipper to people who obviously haven’t had their coffee yet. I pay the girl, managing to almost smile before stepping to the side, awkwardly waiting with the other caffeine junkies, dying for their fix. Another glance at owl man. Yep, still watching. Fan-frikin’-tastic.

“Is-la?” The prep school version of a Rasta calls. “It’s Eye-la, thanks.” Finally, the sweet nectar of life is mine.

As I turn, I inadvertently lock gazes with owl man. This has never happened before. I have carefully avoided looking into his glittering eyes, so bright, so untamed.

He looks straight into me, past the physical, and the world around me fades. In my mind, I hear the piercing screech of a barn owl. The sound resonates deep within my chest, the vibration shaking something loose inside me. My body tingles all over with cold and scorching heat. My chest burns, and some part of my brain registers that I must have spilled my coffee, but I am frozen in time, in space. I stare deeply into owl man’s eyes, losing my self…or finding myself? I can see into him, past the physical. We are connected. He looks into me without speaking, but I understand him plainly without the need of words. I have waited long for you to be ready. He makes me understand. I find no need for words as I answer, I do not feel ready, Tytonidae. I do not wonder how I know his name. I just…know. One is never ready to transpose, Isla Neoma, but now your time is come.

I do not understand what he means by transpose, but already there is a stirring inside me. I feel a great thrill, like standing on the edge of a high cliff. I am exhilarated, not afraid. Whatever this is, I want it. I wish to break away from the monotony of ‘real’ life. I want to be wild and silent, swooping from a darkening sky. I am ready to break free.

My choice is made. As I embrace the change, there is a shifting and cracking as my restricting shell falls away. I am reborn.

Tytonidae smiles and in a flash of white, his owl sweeps its wings free of his chest and with a speed not quite natural, it swoops straight towards me with its screeching cry. I flinch in surprise, trying to protect my face, arms upraised, but it slams into my chest. I find myself blinking in surprise as the hot coffee splashes down my arms and face. My mouth opens to ask him what just happened, but Tytonidae is gone. There is no one in his place, only a single, white feather. I stare in stunned amazement for I do not know how long. The burning on my chest remains and finally I look down. There upon my chest is the tattoo of a barn owl. It the tattoo, identical to his. I have been marked. Chosen. For what I do not know, but I am brave.

I use brown, recycled napkins to mop up the spilled coffee as best I can, and then I leave the shop, stepping into a world unknown.