The Owl Guardian

It was their third day of hiking on the Appalachian trail. Paul was an older man with graying hair and a moustache, around the same height as his teenaged son. Distraught as his mother passed away the week prior, Mark was finally able to regulate himself. Having his green T-rex plush and chewing necklace with him at all times certainly helped. Both Paul and Mark were autistic, so being away from the rest of the society and exploring the beauty of nature is what brought them peace.

After a tragic loss, Paul knew it was exactly what they both needed. As soon as she had fallen from a heart attack, Mark’s routine spiraled out of control. Watching her pass, he could not contain his sadness and frustration, as he would smack himself in the head to make the pain disappear. Knowing that wouldn’t quell the situation, Paul sang “Dear Prudence” and wrapped his arms around his distressed son. The yelling stopped and Mark was able to relax his arms.

“I know you’re sad that she’s gone,” Paul told him. “But I’m still here. It’s just us now. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. I love you, son.”

Mark was quiet but calm. He could not speak, but Paul knew that he could understand everything he told him. His father knew that non-speaking didn’t mean non-thinking.

Her passing created the perfect opportunity for the pair to spend time together, so Paul took advantage of his vacation time to reserve a week off from work. A vacation would be therapeutic for Mark, as he needed to adjust to a new routine without his mother. When Paul asked if he wanted to go to the Appalachian Mountains, the teen jumped around the room in excitement. The joy brought a smile to the older man’s face.

Once they arrived, the breathtaking scope of the mountain made Mark smile. He had wanted to hike it since his father showed pictures of it to him in an issue of Backpacker Magazine. He walked around in circles while twirling his fingers by his face. It was another natural display of Mark’s excitedness. His happiness reverberated to Paul, which made him temporarily forget their loss.

At the start of their trek, Mark stayed about 10 feet in front of his father, as the young man’s curiosity bloomed in a land that felt quite uncharted to him. Although Mark typically didn’t adjust well to new places at first, the mountains were an exception. He felt at home here. Away from the judgment of prejudiced stares. Away from his mother yelling and slapping him for humming while his father was working. Away from teachers demanding him to sit down, although he learned best while he paced back and forth. He could finally be free to be who he was, and his father knew that’s what Mark needed most.

“Mark, don’t go too far ahead of me, understand?” Paul told him as he shot both his hands up with open palms. If Mark touched Paul’s right hand, that was his way of affirming “yes.” If he touched the left hand, he would therefore be saying “no.” Mark touched the right hand. He had a tendency to elope when excited, regardless of what was ahead of him. It caused his mother a great deal of frustration over time, but Paul knew it was natural to him. The autistic mind is a curious one. But some are immeasurably more curious than others.

They made it about a mile, getting to 200 feet of elevation. In the distance, Mark could see an abandoned barn at ground level. Out of the barn flew a tiny white shape. It was an owl, soaring over the surrounding area, perhaps on the hunt. Paul observed the young man hyper-focusing and reaching out his hand to try to catch the bird. Since they were on a cliffside, the father had almost no time to react. He pulled his son by the back of his shirt, and they both fell backwards, thankfully on the same ground they were standing on. As great as his temptation was, he couldn’t muster up the rage to scream at his son. He knew it wouldn’t help anyone in the end.

“I’m sorry, Mark, but you would’ve fallen. I’m sure the owl will come around again. You can’t chase birds. That will just make them want to fly farther away from you. I really hope you don’t do that ever again.”

The two continued on without speaking of the incident again. It was easy to forget, given the pastoral landscape. There was a mutual admiration they shared over a landscape untouched by loggers or anyone else willing to exploit the land’s resources; a type of land that is slowly becoming rare as time runs its course.

They were able to find a spot to camp, which was under some paper birch and sugar maple trees. Since Mark did not know how to set a tent together, Paul willingly did it for them. As he was doing that, he would intently watch Mark meander and marvel at the animals in the forest, notably a squirrel in one of the trees towering over them. Once Paul started a fire, it seemed to him that it was a good time for him to light the joint in his pocket. He didn’t smoke often, but he reserved it for relaxing endeavors such as this one. Truth be told, he felt even more relaxed than he already was. The fire gave Paul a comforting sense of stimulation, as he feels regulated in the heat.

The relaxation came to a halt once they heard a booming roar not far from where the father and son were positioned. Despite having just smoked, Paul was quick to react; Mark was frozen in place because he was startled. Feeling the ground shake from heavy paws running towards them, Paul was able to pull his son back towards the fire for safety. In the light, they could see a black bear, possibly hungry for the food in their backpacks. Thankfully, Paul had a branch that he lit with the fire. The bear was certainly afraid, but it refused to turn around. Mark couldn’t help but panic, walking in circles and yelling.

A winged creature descended with its long, sharp talons, clawing at the bear’s eyes. It was the white owl. The bear struggled to ward off its attacker, fleeing away in defeat. No longer panicking, Mark found the bird perching on the ground next to him. It was a quarter of the boy’s size, with a wingspan almost as wide as Mark’s height. Its feathers were white as a blizzard with a black beak, and black eyes to match. The owl allowed Mark to pet it, standing still while he massaged its rounded head.

Kneeling down, Paul told it, “I guess I should say thank you. You saved our lives.” The bird then hooted, almost as if it was acknowledging what Paul said.

“You know, Mark, your mother always loved owls. In her culture, owls were seen as wise protectors. Before she passed, she told me that a white owl appears after a loved one dies. I never believed her, but after this, maybe anything is possible.”

The bird flew away and disappeared into the night sky.

It was not the end, though. Once a week, before Mark would go to bed, the owl would sit in the tree outside his bedroom. Even without his mother, he had a way to remember her forever.