The Visitation

"Are the kids down?" John asked as he took the time to steal away from watching mindless videos on the phone and ask his wife the same question he asked every night at eight o'clock.

Sarah descended from the stairway and resentfully responded, "Of course." She was tired. She felt every ounce of her forty- one years with each creak of the old, wooden stairs. The dark circles under her eyes were slightly showing through the remnants of concealer she had put on earlier that morning. Sure, one may think it was easier to simply ask John for help, but she knew deep down, her routine was more efficient- simply better.

It never failed that when John put the kids down, he would fall asleep before them, snoring loudly throughout the entire house, muddy shoes still on, dirtying up the freshly washed comfortor. That in turn created another chore for Sarah- laundry again. It was her nemesis, the pile always growing and never shrinking. One child, or both, would find themselves sleepily stumbling to Sarah, asking for her gentle bedtime routine while the snores grew increasingly louder from upstairs. The duties eventually found her, no matter what. Responsiblity hunted her daily, even if she attempted to escape.

John sensed the resentment and walked back toward the kitchen to his nightly perch by the sink. He popped in his new earbuds Sara had given him for Christmas as he pulled up another video on his phone. He plugged himself back into the zone and away from the reality of his distancing marriage.

Sarah wondered to herself if she had subconciously given him the earbuds to keep him occupied while she kept everything in order with the kids through her last ounces of energy. After a full day of work, it was sometimes hard to shift to her second job as doting mother and homemaker. Shifting to her third job as loving wife was basically impossible. However, she never wanted to be known as a woman who couldn't keep a home and a man.

Sarah curled up on the sofa, realeasing the exhaustion from her bones as she laid her head on the perfectly coordinating throw pillow. Her cat curled up on the blanket that was covering her legs and looked up at Sarah as to say, "Finally, you have time for me." She grabbed her phone, panning through Instagram to see what the beautiful people had done for the day. Then she went for the remote and thumbed through a list of her saved shows. They were always the same, mostly brainless reality television that didn't require her to think. It wasn't uncommon for her to fall asleep on the couch. She usually slept alone anyway. The snoring was too much.

After fifteen minutes, Sarah's eyes became heavy. As she was starting to slip into the long awaited peaceful slumber of total relaxation, she heard John's voice from the kitchen. It was sharp, but in a whisper- loud enough to keep her from sleep. "Sarah!" Was she hearing things?

Again. "Sarah! Come here!"

This time his voice was slightly louder, more urgent. Sarah stretched her neck, looked at her purring cat, and became annoyed she was going to have to get off the couch. "No rest for the damn weary," she thought to herself. She creaked again, shifted her tired body into an upright position off the couch, and begrudgingly walked into the kitchen.

John was in the doorway that led to the garage. "What's going on John?" a confused Sarah asked.

"Come here," he whispered louder. Sarah walked over to the doorway. He pointed and quietly spoke. "Look in the corner. We have a visitor."

Sarah looked around. She didn't see anything. Her eyes went to the pile of tools John never picked up. They then panned to the unorganized stack of outdoor activity- a scooter, two bikes, three or four helmets, a sled (even though it had not snowed in three years). All she saw were more chores.

"I don't see anything," replied Sarah as she wiped her sleepy eyes.

John gently grabbed her shoulders. He felt unfamiliar to her, as it had been awhile since she felt his touch. John softly turned her until she saw him. Or maybe it was a her. It was a round, almost cartoonish, barn owl perched on the handle of some power tool Sarah didn't know the name of. His or her eyes were a wide and round black. Its feathers still fluffy and light.

Sarah, John, and the visitor locked eyes. The owl stared a hole into them, looking intently at them both. Sarah gasped, then whispered, "It's adorable. Is it a baby?"

"I don't think so. Maybe an adolescent owl. He's not fully grown. Look at his feathers."

"She. It's a she. I know it."

Sarah looked at the owl, wondering what "she" had come to tell her. Sarah knew it was there for her.

The three sat in silence for ten minutes, staring at one another. Sarah didn't move. John eventually walked back to his perch to grab his phone. "I want to take a picture!" he told Sarah in his loudest whisper yet. And as if the owl knew she was about to be caught during her visitation, she cocked her head, took one last look at Sarah, and flew out of the garage as fast as she had arrived.

"She's gone."

"Damn."

Sarah looked at her husband, not knowing if the moment made her feel closer to him or even further away. "What do you think this means?"

"Who knows? Doesn't a visit from an owl mean something bad is going to happen?"

"I don't know. I think it means they have come to guide you through a transition of some sort."

John looked at his wife, then looked out into the night sky, attempting to catch one last glimpse of their visitor, blissfully unaware of Sarah's discontentment. "I guess we'll see."

Sarah took a deep breath before heading back inside. "I guess we'll see."