Night of the White Owl

            Snow blew down the highway through the small town 4,400 feet up in Eastern Oregon’s Blue Mountains, not the rainy part of the state people think of, but the part where temperatures hit 45 below zero and snow accumulates four feet deep. I walked quickly against the wind, cold until I entered the warmth inside the store.

            The soda pop is on my left, and I pass it by, figuring I’ll pick it up on my way out. According to the big clock on the wall, my watch is slow. Joe and Angie were just about ready to lock the door, but they saw me walking through the snow and wind, and they waited for me. Now they both lean on the counter, watching me and waiting for me to get what I want and leave.

            I pick up bread, milk and buttermilk, butter and matches, and I walk up to the counter, pay for everything, and walk back out into the cold wind.

            Wind blows hard against my back all the way home, and I rush into the house, put the sack on the counter, and then stand close to the big wood-fired heater. Jan has dinner on the table, and Sarah is in her high chair, looking at me with her big, brown eyes, and waiting to eat. We sit and eat.

            When we finish eating, I wash Sarah and her high chair, take her out of her chair, and talk to her about the wind and the snow blowing against the house. “It’s about five degrees below zero out there, and the wind makes it seem like it’s much colder. I’m glad we have a good stove and lots of firewood in the woodshed.”

            Jan puts away everything I bought at the store. She turns to me with the empty sack in her hand. “Bob, you didn’t bring me a Pepsi.”

            “I didn’t? No. I didn’t. I know you asked me to. I meant to. I went by the soda pop, near the door, and I thought I’d pick it up on the way out, but I forgot it when I went back by. I’m sorry. I meant to get it.”

            “You do that all the time.”

            “No, I don’t do it all the time.”

            “Not all the time, but a lot of the time. You don’t hear what I tell you, or you forget the things that are special for me.”

            “I said I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it as a personal affront. I just forgot. The store’s closed, or I’d go back.”

            “Well, I don’t care. But I was looking forward to it. I think you’ll always forget things like that a lot.”

            “I’ll go to Baker and get you a Pepsi.”

            “Oh Bob, that’s thirty-five miles.”

            “I know it is. Thirty-five miles and thirty-five back. But I’m going.”

            “That’s silly. It’s really cold, and the road is icy.”

            “I’ve driven icier roads with less cause. What knight counts the cost before he launches an adventure for his lady?”

            Jan watched from the doorway as I started the car and backed it out of the driveway. I drove down into the deep canyon. The full moon hung above the east canyon wall, bright in the clear winter sky, lighting the night with moonlight reflected from snow.

            I hadn’t dressed warmly enough, and I felt chilled before the engine warmed enough and the heater began to make it comfortable in the car.

            I slowed crossing the bridge, for ice on the road. I started to speed up coming out of the curve after the river, but I hit the brakes, because the largest owl I’ve ever seen stood in the middle of the road in front of me, white, as big as winter. I skidded sideways on the ice, and I said, “Fly, fly,” but I stopped short of the white owl.

            Its head reached higher than the hood ornament on my car. I shut off the engine and the headlights. In cold, bright winter moonlight, we looked at each other through the windshield. Large, yellow eyes stared into my eyes and touched something deeper than I could reach with my conscious mind.

            The owl spread long, white wings and flew over me into the night. I sat in the car on the icy road where moonlight reflected from the snow all around me. Cold penetrated metal and glass, touched me for attention. I started the car and drove slowly on into town.

            I left the car and walked across the parking lot toward the store. A short, stocky teenager stopped me just outside. “Hey mister, if I give you the money, would you buy some beer for us?”

            “No.”

            I went into the store and bought a six-pack of Pepsi and a small box of Jan’s favorite candy. When I left the store, the same young man stood outside, now with two companions. “Hey Mister, why wouldn’t you buy us any beer?”

            “I don’t think drinking is a good idea.”

            “Don’t you drink?”

            “No.”

            “Does that make you better than us?”

            “Hey, you’re the guy who’s talking. I didn’t say anything to you but no. That’s all, just no. I didn’t lecture you about drinking or advise you about anything, so don’t put words in my mouth. See you around.”

            “Hey, if you don’t drink, what’s in the sack?”

            “Pepsi Cola.”

            “Let me see it.”

            “Get out of my way. Who do you think you are, some kind of a cop, look in my sack? If you step in front of me again when I start to go, I’m going to knock you flat on the ice, and both you guys too, if you move to help your buddy. Try me.”

            I stepped forward, and he moved out of my way. I walked to the car, got in, started it, turned around and drove back and stopped by the three young men. I rolled the window down. Nobody said anything.

            I pulled cans out of their plastic holder. “Have a Pepsi, you guys. Cold Pepsi on a cold night.”

            They hesitated briefly. “Sure. Why not? Hey, thanks Mister. Take her easy now, huh?”

            “I will. You guys be careful.”

            I drove south through town. Snow had packed to ice on the streets. Everything was closed up tight but bars and two grocery stores.

            Up the canyon, heavy fog that ices up everything it touches lay dense along the road. I turned the defroster up high and drove slowly. Nobody else drove the late, icy highway. I wanted to see the owl again, but I knew I wouldn’t, and I didn’t.

            I carried my sack up onto the front porch and pulled at the doorknob, but the door didn’t open. Jan probably didn’t lock it on purpose. The lock springs closed sometimes when the door shuts.

            I knocked. Nothing. They’re asleep, and they’re sound sleepers. I floundered through deep snow beside the house to the back door, but it was also locked. I knocked. Nothing. Stars shone brightly far above me, and I started to feel deeply cold.

            Okay, maybe you didn’t lock me out on purpose, but wake up and let me in. I knocked harder. Nothing. Come on. I climbed up on snow that had slipped from the roof, so I could look in the bedroom window. I saw Jan in bed, the covers pulled up warm, sleeping soundly. I rapped on the window. Nothing. I called. “Hey Jan. Hey, wake up. Wake up and let me in.”

            I could seek shelter at a neighbor’s. Then, if Jan woke at three o’clock in the morning and I wasn’t there, she’d panic.

            I knocked on the front door. I knocked at Sarah’s window, hoping to wake her so she would wake Jan. I kicked the wall near Jan’s bed, and I pounded on the back door again.

            My hands and feet ached with cold. I tried to pick the lock with my pocket knife. I remembered a box of tools in the woodshed. I walked into the woodshed, turned the light on, dug through the box, and found a cement trowel. I walked up the steps onto the back porch and went to the back door. I forced the trowel between the molding and the door jamb. I pushed the lock back and opened the door.

            I stepped into the warm house and shut the back door behind me. When I walked into the bedroom, Jan woke, startled, and sat up in bed. “What? What?”

            “Relax. It’s just me. I brought your Pepsi.”

            “Pepsi? Oh Bob. It’s so late. I don’t want it now.”

            I knew she wasn’t really awake. “Jan, don’t go back to sleep yet. I want to tell you what happened. I want to tell you about the white owl.”

            “Okay. Tell me.” But she lay down and slept.

            I took off my boots and gloves and sat close to the stove and let the heat soak to my bones.