Chapter Text
The sun is glaring in the sky. I can still see it despite pulling my blinds down completely—what a miserable way to start the morning. It pierces my eyes as I glare outside at the figure approaching the building. He's late. Again. His skinny arms grip a box of files as he approaches the doors, struggling to pry them open. If he wasn’t so useful at organizing the rest of the office, he would’ve been fired by now. Watching him enter the building, I put my hands down on the table and wait. They tremble with anger, and I struggle to control myself.
Focus, Owner, I command myself, you wouldn’t want him to see the pin feathers on your palms, that’s not very human of you, is it?
I growl in retort at my own thoughts. Nothing about me is human. When we left that dreaded Hotel three years ago and it collapsed behind us, the Lobby Boy and Manager were determined to go their separate ways, to carve out a normal, human life for themselves. How foolish of them, thinking they could do such a thing so easily. They—my thoughts are interrupted by the slam of files on my desk. I look up and see Walter, rudely barging in on my reflections.
“These are reports for this term, sir,” He nervously stammers, setting the files down on my desk.
I furrow my brow into a glare, “You’re late. Again.”
He stumbles over his words, “Well, there was an accident on the highway, and you know, I’ve told you how Susie can be in the mornings. Oh, I love my little girl but she’s a real screamer! So I—”
I interrupt his ramblings, rubbing my chin with my hand in a contemplative gesture.
“You’re here at least. Don’t let this incident repeat.”
He sighs in relief, “Oh, you’re a real lifesaver, boss! I promise this won’t ever, ever happen again!”
That’s what he said last time.
Walter winks at me before slamming the door behind him. What a pain in the ass. At least he’s usually in a chipper mood. Walter may be annoying now, but he’s even worse when upset. He gets these round, watery, begging eyes when worried, it almost reminds me of … the Lobby Boy. An irritating trait to say the least.
I attempt to dismiss both the Lobby Boy and Walter from my mind by grabbing a file from the stack in front of me—that of a “Lucy Dawson”— and opening it slowly.
I examine her sales records. She’s had a customer increase in the past quarter; an admittedly impressive one.
Lucy Dawson, I think to myself, a very average name for a very average woman.
I reach over my desk and turn my name plate around to face me.
“Mr. Owner,” it reads.
I grumble to myself, thinking about all of the flack I’ve gotten for that. Thankfully, my employees don’t know my first name is exactly the same as my last. My legally documented name is Owner Owner, and if they ever knew, I’d be the laughing stock of the office. I know I should change it for commonality’s sake, but it doesn’t … feel right.
I snap back to reality, realizing that I’ve been pressing my finger so hard against the document to the point of giving myself a deep paper cut. The blood from my finger drips down onto my desktop, almost indistinguishable from its dark brown surface. Annoyed, I attempt to refocus, refusing to be distracted by my thoughts any longer. With the click of my pen, I place it to the paper and get to work on my reports. Some things truly never change.
The clock strikes three, and I’m suddenly snapped out of my working trance by Walter at my desk again.
“Are you working overtime again sir?” He says, shifting his weight back and forth between his legs.
I briefly ponder the idea in my head before reaching a conclusion.
“No,” I tell him, “I think I’ve done enough here, at least for today.”
Walter’s face lights up as he excitedly stammers, “Well you see, Martha and I were going to have a pool party, and we wanted to invite the whole office. Fall is coming in quick and we want to catch those last few days of summer, you know!”
He winks at me again. He does that a lot.
Walter continues, “The office never sees you outside work! So I wanted to have you to join us! It’s a little bit of a last minute invite, but you know, never a better time than the present!”
He nervously laughs to himself, awaiting my response.
There is an awkward moment of silence between us before I clear my throat and say, “I’m not really a pool party kind of … man …”
“Totally get it, no worries boss,” Walter replies, “But you’re invited to join us any time, there’s always a seat for you at the Hope table!”
He turns and proceeds to walk out the door. “Well then, you have a swell day, boss!”
Walter leaves, taking all the energy he brought to the room with him. I gather my belongings, collecting my briefcase and coat, preparing to leave the office myself. Before I exit, I turn around and flick the lightswitch. The lights go off one by one, covering me and the room with darkness.
I am no longer greeted by harsh sunlight as I exit the building, the clouds have blocked it out since the morning.
Good, I think to myself, I prefer this weather much more.
I take my keys out of my pocket and approach the only car left in the parking lot, small and silver, worn by the years. Squeezing in my broad shoulders, I get inside. It’s a cramped fit, but I’m not the type to waste thousands of dollars on another car based on a slight irritation. I ignore it and start the car, pulling out of the parking lot to reach the only place I ever look forward to going.
I enter the city and busy traffic almost immediately blocks my car, spanning out in front of me like a steel wall. As I sit in a lengthy line behind a large truck, I sigh, tempted to hit my horn as many times as I possibly can. Reaching over to rub my shoulder while I wait, I realize my wings are partly formed on my back. Usually I control when they appear, but I supposed they are also fighting the urge to rip my car door off and simply fly to my destination.
Eventually, the truck ahead starts to move forward, and I manage to avoid another traffic jam as I drive through the city; passing shops, restaurants, bakeries, and all other sorts of businesses. It’s all obnoxiously noisy and serves to motivate me even further to get to my destination. I keep driving until I come to a stop in front of a wide area of woods, joined by a peaceful lake with small tables and a coffee shop. Taking a deep breath in, I feel my muscles ease. Finally, I can somewhat … relax.
Leaning down, I take a separate bag from my briefcase out of my car—a black leather one with a large silver clasp. I open the bag to pull out a small book with a red chested bird on the cover and a pair of grey binoculars. I almost feel a sense of excitement rise in my chest as I walk briskly toward the lake. Near the water's edge, I take a seat on a bench, pulling my binoculars to my eyes. My binoculars zoom in on a pair of black wings, fluttering in the distant marshes. A red winged blackbird, chirping and hopping from reed to reed.
This is what I occasionally do outside of work. Birds fascinate me, the way they communicate, their rituals, their body language—I find all of it interesting. I suppose that I envy them as well, they get to fly so freely through the air without a single concern. Meanwhile, I can only fly on the occasional night. If anyone were to see me, a large man in his forties or fifties taking flight with a large pair of black wings, they would faint at the sight. I chuckle to myself, finding the thought slightly amusing.
“What are you looking at?” A voice abruptly interrupts my thoughts.
Looking over my shoulder, I see a shorter woman around the age I appear to be, wearing an apron and holding a cup of coffee.
“Ah, nothing interesting,” I reply, tucking my binoculars away. I prefer that others stay out of my business.
Her braided red hair falls over her shoulder as she leans toward me, “Ah, well, I noticed that you sat down before ordering your coffee, and you always order your coffee before sitting over here.”
I glare at her.
“You’ve been … observing me?” I ask accusingly.
“Well, it’s hard not to notice the tall guy with the big, black coat who gets a coffee here almost every day before sitting on this exact bench every time,” She laughs, “You’re a pretty unique customer!”
I raise an eyebrow, observing the freckles that dot her face, “Well, I have never noticed you before.”
She smiles and pushes up her glasses, “I actually own this coffee shop, but I’m not surprised you didn’t notice me. You always seem lost in thought.
“Can I sit down here?” The woman asks, gesturing at the bench.
I sigh and move my bag. “I suppose.”
She sits down next to me and hands me the coffee in her hands, “Black coffee, right? It’s what you get every time.”
I do feel low on energy, a cup of coffee does sound nice right now, I think to myself, I suppose this woman isn’t all that bad.
Our fingers momentarily touch as I take the coffee from her hand.
“Thank you,” I mutter, opening up the book with the robin cover.
I may as well read more while she’s here.
“The European Starling, an invasive species to the United States, introduced in—”
“May I ask what you’re reading?” I hear say in a gentle tone.
I look at her curious face, “Nothing you would take interest in.”
She smiles, “Oh, don’t think that. I find the coffee making process interesting, it takes a lot to bore me. I think just … learning new things in general is interesting, you know?”
What would she think of a man who looks like I do, reading up on little, feathered animals? I ask myself.
I open my mouth, prepared to be mocked.
“Birds… ” I say aloud, “I’m reading about bird species in the area.”
“Are you kidding? That’s super interesting!” The woman says, her eyes glowing with excitement.
“May I see?” She asks politely.
I suppose it won’t hurt. I turn the book toward her, “I’m reading up on an invasive species in the area, it’s called the European Starling.”
She looks at the picture of the starling, before noticing my cut thumb that holds the page.
“Shoot, how’d you get that?” She asks.
“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” I state, looking over at her.
She wilts like a flower in her seat, “Oh sorry, am I bothering you?”
A splinter of guilt hits me in the chest, “No, don’t worry about it. You’re fine. It’s just a paper cut from work.”
“Oh, ouch!” She remarks, “I’ve got some bandaids inside. Let me get you one, I’ll be right back.”
I watch as she stands to leave.
“I’ll be fine,” I respond, “This is just-“
Before I can finish my sentence, she’s already left towards the coffee shop. My body relaxes in my seat as she leaves.
I’ll never get used to casual conversation, I think to myself.
As my coffee cup meets my lips, I notice writing in black sharpie on its side.
“Tall shadow man,” it reads, in sloppy, barely legible cursive.
To my surprise, a chuckle escapes from my lips. I’ll admit, that is a slightly amusing summary of my appearance. Hearing the sound of footsteps crunching against grass, I turn around and see the woman approaching.
“Here,” she says, holding out three small bandaids.
I grab one from her hand and attempt to wrap it around the side of my left thumb. The combination of using my non-dominant hand and the small size of the bandaid ends up leaving the item barely hanging onto my finger.
“I think your hands are too big for this,”She remarks, “Do you want me to do it instead?”
I instantly pull my hand away, “Absolutely not.”
Pausing to think about it … I realize the cut does sting and is rather annoying. Reluctantly, I give in.
“Fine,” I sigh, “but make it quick.”
She pulls off the bandaid I applied and unwraps another, circling it gently around my thumb and wrapping it up at the tip of my finger.
“There we go! All done.” The woman says proudly.
I look at her, “I … appreciate it, you really didn’t have to.”
“Anything for my most consistent customer. You’re practically paying my bills!” She giggles to herself, face lighting up at her own joke.
She looks out over the lake, and there is a moment filled only with the sound of birdsong as we sit there. The sun is starting to set, so I gather my belongings into my bag.
“I should go,” I say, “Thank you for the bandage, the coffee and—”
Turning the coffee cup around, I read the black writing facing me, “—The words you put on my coffee cup.”
Her face flushes with embarrassment, “Oh my god. I forgot I put that on there, I wanted to remember it was your order, but I don’t know your name and I forgot to take it off—”
“Just put Owner on it next time,” I interject.
She looks up at me.“You’re really mysterious, you know that?”
I sigh, “That is my real name.”
“Your name is … Owner?” she questions, “Well, I’ve certainly never heard that one before.”
I force a smile and lie through my teeth, “My parents were simply setting me up for success from birth. I’m the boss of a branch now, so I suppose it worked.”
She looks at me, stunned, before bursting into laughter, “You know, you’re pretty funny. I was pretty intimidated by you at first, but you’re not so bad.”
I tower over her as we stand, “Many find me to be intimidating. It is a common perception.”
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Owner,” The woman says, reaching her hand out.
I pause, before extending my hand in return, “It was nice to meet you too …”
I fail to recall her name.
“Robin,” She finishes my sentence, “Robin Wrensworth.”
I shake her hand, mine almost covering hers completely, “It was nice to meet you too, Robin Wrensworth.”
She removes her hand from my grasp, “The pleasure’s all mine. I’m gonna go close up shop, so I’ll see you around!”
I watch her walk away and turn to my car, pulling out the keys.
As I hold them in my hand, I notice my bandaged thumb and think, Maybe I should come here more often.
I stop in my driveway and climb out of my car, locking it with my keys. The sun has nearly set and its last golden rays lay in streaks on the side of my house. I unlock the tall fence surrounding the building, and open the gate.
They must be starving, I think to myself as I step inside the yard.
I walk past my bird feeders hanging from the trees, sticking out of the ground in my yard, and past the bird baths. My neighbors would call me mad if they saw my property. Thankfully, the brambles along the fence keep it hidden. This is a quiet, secluded place. I like it that way. I look at my house as I walk to the front door, all three stories of it. The sloping roofs stretch down and out like arms to beckon me inside. The brown paint and black trim of the house are faded with age, but its windows are pristine and elegant.
The structure as a whole has an imposing aura of eeriness to it, exhibiting why the seller listed it as ‘potentially haunted.’ No one in their right mind would want to buy such a place; no one but myself. I take out my key and open the old wooden door, entering the foyer. I can hear the chirping and calling of the aviary in the backyard even from here, but as I enter the study room, a particularly loud squawk next to me gets my attention. A beady eyed raven stares me down from a mahogany desk.
“Yes, yes, I’ll feed you,” I murmur as I reach into a cabinet in the room, pulling out a small dish of food.
She scampers excitedly back and forth on the desk, her nails clacking against the wood as I set the dish down in front of her. Her beak disappears into the food bowl as she eats with the ferocity of a starving lion, despite the fact I fed her this very morning. I turn to face the back of the house.
Time to feed the rest.
The bird calls become louder and louder as I approach the aviary. I open the door to it, and am welcomed by dozens of hungry beaks belonging to my parakeets, parrots, sparrows, and other varieties of birds.
Grabbing several bags of food from the side of the door, I clear my throat, “Settle down, settle down. I’ll get to you all in due time.”
I eventually finish feeding all of my birds, cleaning all the trays of waste, and in general, cleaning after them. Sighing, I re-enter the house, exhausted. I dust feathers off my coat and run my hand along the wall. Although the sound of birdcall can still be faintly heard from where I stand, the house still doesn’t feel quite alive. It never will. I press my fingers into the wall, and I feel nothing. This house doesn’t breathe, and the voices that fill it are not its own. The rooms don’t change, I come home to the same door every day, the same library, the same rugs, and the same …everything. I run my hand through my hair. It’s been years, yet sometimes I can’t help but think of … her. She gave me one permanent position to fulfill. I stayed stagnant in that role, while she was ever changing in all dimensions. Out here I may have the advantage of defining my own power, but within her was the only place I know I will ever fully belong.
I realize I’ve reached the top of my stairs, I must’ve spaced out.
Such thoughts don’t matter now, I tell myself, I should sleep anyway.
I pull myself up the stairs and into the bathroom. Flicking on the lights and staring at myself in the mirror, the face of what looks to be a human man stares back at me. I reach up to smooth back my hair, and notice there’s more grey hairs than there usually is. I’m noticeably aging, and yet despite how I appear … it’s very new to me. I keep expecting my appearance to revert, but my wrinkles deepen and the hair on my head greys and grows out. I run my hand over my lower face, rough against my hand. I should shave, but I’m too tired. Stumbling to my bedroom door, drained of energy, I barely manage to change out of my clothes before collapsing into a deep sleep.
I wake up in a familiar room, stumbling around before I gain awareness of my surroundings.
I’m back here.
My mind races for any explanation, How am I here?! Did we never leave?!
I look next to me, and at my side are the Manager and Lobby Boy. Her face is sunken and hollow, skin tight at her cheekbones. His flesh is sagging off his face, barely sticking to whatever muscle he has, the veins in it bulging as if clinging on for dear life.
The room shakes around us as the Hotel laughs, echoing mocking us from all directions. The Lobby Boy looks more frightened than ever, and the Manager notices. Her bony arm reaches out, and her hand intertwines with his in the most loving gesture that could ever be shown in this hellish place. This brings some kind of fire to his eyes, and in a surprising spark of bravery he begins pulling her forward, toward the exit. They run after it, but the door pulls itself further and further from them, the room stretching out. I unfreeze, finding myself running behind them. My heart races as if to leap through the thinning layer of skin that clings to my ribcage. The exit seems closer, but just far enough that we cannot reach it. I reach down within myself to muster up the last bit of strength I have, unfolding my wings and diving towards the Manager and Lobby Boy, pushing both them and myself through the exit door.
I breathe in, prepared to be greeted by the crisp autumn air that awaited us that day. But I am not. We are in the lobby again, and the laughter echoes over, and over, and over. Cackles ring in my ears as the flesh drips off my body in strips. I turn to dust, and the last thing I see is what’s left of the Lobby Boy and Manager, embracing as their bodies return to whence they came.
I wake up in a massive pool of my own sweat.
Of course it was just a dream, I tell myself, don’t be a fool, we escaped that night, remember?
I wipe my brow. I haven’t had a nightmare like that since the first few slumbers just after we fled the Hotel. We slept in someone's summer cabin the very night of our escape. I awoke in a similar state on a lounge chair placed in the living room of the cabin. The Lobby boy was across from me on the couch, shaking and whimpering. Laying next to him was the Manager, and upon noticing the state he was in, she reached out her hand and stroked his greasy hair. His whimpering died down until they both fell asleep. No one was there to comfort me that night. I made due then, and I’ll make due now.
Sitting up from the sweat in my bed, I’m disgusted by my own body’s reaction. Human traits such as this appall me. My attention is suddenly drawn from it, however, as I notice feathers scattered across my bed.
Now that is certainly not a human trait, I think to myself.
I pick up a feather and examine it between my fingers, holding it against the rays of sun beaming in through my window. The feather is long and pitch black, but it’s iridescence shines in the light, reflecting shades of green and purple. This isn’t just some fake feather from my bedding, it came from myself.
I clutch it in my hand and realize my feathers are scattered all over the floor as well.
Unusual … I ponder, typically, I have more control over my transformation than this …
My raven hops into the room and stares me directly in the eyes, before gathering up my feathers in her beak, one by one. I quickly get to my feet, and scoop her up with both my hands.
“Don’t do that, they are covered in sweat. It’s disgusting,” I scold.
She puts up a struggle as I pull them out of her beak, but she is no match for the strength of someone with opposable thumbs. I toss her out of my room, and she flies downstairs, squawking with annoyance. Shaking my head, I pull a broom out of my closet, sweeping up the feathers into a dustpan, then proceed to change my sheets and clothes before heading downstairs. I feed all the birds and pull on my coat, gathering the leather bag with all my birding supplies. Pulling out my phone, I check the weather.
It’s been getting colder recently, I think to myself as I grab a scarf from the rack.
I glance at the raven on my way out and grunt, “Behave yourself.”
She cocks her head at me as I close the door to my house and leave for my car.
Driving through the suburbs, I notice the leaves beginning to change color and fall to the ground. The birds fly south overhead, heading to a warmer place with the arrival of colder weather, seeking comfort in the hotter climates. Driving in the same direction, I head to the place that brings me a bit of comfort and warmth in a cup of coffee. I pull into the parking lot and gaze upon the forest, its leaves lightly swaying in the breeze as I shut the car door behind me.
I put my hands in my pockets and head toward the coffee shop by the lake. Not seeing anyone in line, I step up to the serving window and peer inside. The woman from before is in there. Robin, I believe she said her name was. Her red hair whips back and forth in a messy braid as she darts around the kitchen. She doesn’t notice me, so I clear my throat.
She quickly turns around and stammers, “Oh! I’m so sorry I didn’t notice you sir, I’ll get to you right away-”
Robin pauses as her eyes light up with recognition.
“Oh, it’s you!” She thinks for a moment. “… Owen?”
“Owner,” I correct her.
Suddenly, I hear a quiet voice that whispers, “Owner is a silly name.”
I look down at the source by Robin’s legs. A small girl hides behind her, peeking out at me with big, brown eyes.
Robin gasps. “Rosemary, walk up to Mr. Owner and say you’re sorry, that is very impolite.”
The little girl, Rosemary, hesitantly walks up to the counter and whispers, “Sorry Mr. Owner.”
“All is … forgiven,” I murmur as I lean down, attempting to look less intimidating.
This doesn’t work. She cowers behind her mother, clenching at her slacks.
Robin pours my cup of coffee and sighs, “I’m sorry, she gets that way around adult guys sometimes, she’s not really keen on being around them. I left her dad a while ago and well … she just gets a bit scared when talking to men around his age.”
She puts my coffee down in front of me, “I hope you don’t mind that I bring my daughter to work on weekends. You would not believe how hard it is to get a babysitter nowadays, so I’ve got to keep my eye on her, you know?”
I clear my throat, “That makes logical sense, although I wouldn’t know any better. I live alone, and I don’t need any ‘sitter’ for my pets. I prefer to stay at home with them.”
“Awww, that’s sweet,” She says, “they get plenty of time with their dad!”
Perplexed by her words, I peer down at her and begin to state, “Well, that doesn’t make me their …”
I trail off, realizing she’s too absorbed in what she’s doing at the cash register to hear what I’m saying.
Looking back up at me, Robin asks, “Cash or card?”
“Cash,” I reply, pulling out my wallet and paying her.
She gives me my change as Rosemary starts tugging at her apron lightly, asking, “Mommy, can we please go outside now?”
Robin turns to her, “I suppose we can, it’s almost my break.”
She smiles at me before her daughter leads her out the back door by the hand. I turn back toward the tables and sit down, sipping my coffee. I put it aside momentarily to pull out my binoculars and point them over the lake. A blue heron gracefully walks through the shallows, its long neck bending down as it strikes the water swiftly. It brings its head up, a fish grasped in its beak. Having the chance to see such an action in person is quite fortunate, but out of the corner of my eye I catch a blurry motion much closer to me. I put down my binoculars and see Robin with her daughter in the grass near the lake. Robin picks up a small twig at her side and puts it to Rosemary’s arm, before lifting it to her mouth and pretending to chew on the imaginary substance.
“I’m gobbling you up!” She says.
Her daughter squeals and giggles.
“Nooo!” She exclaims, barreling into her mother’s arms as the two embrace.
I look away, the moment feeling too intimate to intrude on, even when looking on at a distance.
Robin approaches me, her daughter in hand, and the crunch of newly fallen leaves beneath each step they take. She rests her hand on the table in front of me.
“I’m sorry, are we in the way of your birdwatching?” Robin asks, concerned, “We can move if you’d like.”
“No, you’re fine,” I reply, “I haven’t eaten yet so I should go home and find something to calm my hunger anyways. I’ll be back eventually.”
I get up, dusting off the long, black coat I donned, and prepare to leave. As I walk back to the car, I see a figure exit the coffee shop and walk up to Robin. They appear to start talking. I turn to my car, attempting to find the right key on my key ring.
“Wait,” I hear.
I look back and I see Robin walking towards me.
“My employee offered to watch Rosemary during my break and I haven’t eaten yet either, would you …” She hesitates, “Would you like to go to lunch with me, Owner?”
I stop and surprisingly find myself not immediately turning down the idea. She is a tolerable presence, perhaps slightly enjoyable in some instances.
“That sounds fine,” I say to her, and her shoulders relax.
I continue, “There should be plenty to eat at my residence.”
Her face goes almost red as her hair as she fumbles with her words, “To your place?! No, I meant like a sandwich place, or restaurant, or somewhere like that—you know?”
I grimace at the idea of being out in public, and make an excuse, “I don’t know anywhere to eat in the area.”
“Oh, don’t worry!” Robin quickly reassures me, “I think I know a few places that you might like. There’s actually this one sandwich shop that looks out on the beach, and I see a lot of shorebirds around it, the place is called Turnstone’s. Would you be fine with going there?”
The idea piques my interest; I don’t get the opportunity to observe shorebirds often.
“… Yes, that’s fine with me,” I reply.
I unlock my car and squeeze into the driver’s seat while Robin sits down next to me in the passenger’s seat, folding her hands in her lap and staring down at them quietly.
I clear my throat to break the silence and state, “I need … directions.”
She snaps out of her trance. “Oh, yes! Directions, that’s, uh, pretty important to get to a place right? Let me just pull it up on my phone…”
Robin clicks her tongue as she starts typing away at her device, “Got it!”
“Well then,” I say, “Where do we start?”
We pull up into the beach parking lot, the water a dark. deep blue in the distance. The wind rustles the grass that separates the sand from the parking lot, and I can see a few beach goers from here, braving the cold in their ventures. In front of me stands a small building painted with murals of fish and swimmers, topped with a hatched roof of grass.
I turn to Robin and ask, “Is this where we eat?”
She nods, walking ahead of me. I follow after, and we enter the building.
Immediately, I am overwhelmed by the scent of fresh bread and tomato soup. Gentle jazz music plays in the background. The booths and tables appear neat and clean, and I examine the floor, surprisingly sandless- the staff must sweep often. I notice Robin looking at me in anticipation of my response, so I nod my approval, and she seems relieved by this. We take a seat near the window with a clear view of the beach. Wading through water, I spot two small white birds speckled with brown. Their beaks are long and slender, and using this characteristic I easily identify them, Sandpipers.
I turn to Robin, “You were right, there are shorebird species here worth coming for.”
She smiles at me, “I hope you like the food too!”
A waitress stops by our table and hands us both menus, her eyes keen and clear. She has a look that vaguely reminds me of … the Manager. My mood immediately sours and Robin peers over her menu.
“Do you know what you want?” She asks.
My mind is too focused on the Manager, so I respond. “What do you suggest?”
“Their BLT is pretty good, and you can get a soup or salad on the side,” Robin says, pointing to the sandwich.
I stare at her. “What is … a BLT?”
“Oh, it’s a general type of sandwich,” She responds, “It has bacon, lettuce, tomato and sometimes some other toppings.”
“I suppose I will get that then,” I say, “With a salad.”
I watch as she calls the waiter over and orders for us. We wait, sitting and watching the coming and going of the tide.
Robin turns to me. “So, you said you had pets at home?”
I respond, “Ah, I did say that. Yes, I have an aviary I tend to.”
“Aww that’s nice!” She says, “So that’s your hobby?”
“… Yes” I respond, “That is my hobby.”
I sit for a moment, thinking of what to say next, before it comes to me, “What is your hobby?”
“Oh, I’m glad you asked!” Robin replies, “I’m a huge sucker for plants. I actually majored in biology, but my personal focus area is botany. I’ve got all kinds of cacti and small fruit trees scattered around my apartment.”
I nod in acknowledgment, noticing that my shoulders are starting to itch.
Ignoring it, I continue the conversation, “Botany sounds like an interesting area of focus.”
“It really is!” Robin says, excitedly, “There’s so many—”
She is interrupted by the waitress bringing the food to the table. We thank the waitress and start to eat, the sandwich is … surprisingly appetizing.
Robin swallows a bite of her sandwich and asks, “I realize I never asked, where do you work?”
“I work at an appliance sales company. I’m the boss of my branch,” I answer.
“That’s exciting,” She responds, “You must’ve studied pretty hard. Went to college for marketing, I’m guessing?”
I stutter in my sentence, my shoulders feeling as if they’re about to burst out of my coat, “I—yes, I went to …”
I look around the room, reading the menu over the counter at the front, “French onion soup, chicken noodle soup, tomato soup—”
That’s it, I realize.
“Somato,” I tell her.
“What?” She asks.
“I went to Somato University,” I clarify.
Robin looks perplexed at my statement. “I’ve … never heard of it, it sounds Canadian though, am I right? Is it a Canadian university?”
I quickly grab at my chance to make the stupidity that left my mouth sound remotely plausible, “Yes, you’re exactly right, in British Columbia.”
My shirt is now noticeably straining against my back, and I feel my shoulder blade pop as an extension of it juts outward, hitting the man sitting behind me.
“Hey, watch it jerk,” He exclaims, “You hit me square in the head, what’s your fucking deal?!”
“I was simply stretching,” I respond.
He shoots me a piercing glare before turning back to his table.
I clear my throat and turn to Robin, “Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”
I get out of my chair as quickly as I can and walk briskly over to the men’s room, closing the door behind me. The restroom is thankfully empty, but in case anyone happens to walk in, I enter a stall and close the door. Removing my shirt, I hesitantly run my hand over my shoulder blades, preparing for the worst case scenario. I am greeted by the worst case scenario, as I feel the texture of dozens of feathers over small, folded wings. They ache to be extended, but I fear that doing so might cause them to grow to full size, and I don’t see any possibility of that going unnoticed. I need to get out of here quickly.
I put my shirt back on and leave the restroom, sitting back down across from Robin.
“I’m not feeling well,” I tell her, clearing my throat, “I think I should take my leave as soon as possible.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, let me call for boxes,” Robin says.
“I don’t have time for that,” I reply quickly, “I need to leave now.”
Her face drops and she responds, “That bad? If you leave cash here, I can tell her it’s for your meal.”
I hurriedly rummage through my wallet and pull from it a fifty dollar bill, “Pay for both our meals with this and leave the rest as a tip.”
Robin thanks me.
“Could I have your phone quickly?” She asks.
I hand it to her, and she types in it before handing it back.
“There,” She says. “You have my phone number in case anything happens. Text me if you need something, ok? I hope you feel better.”
I thank her and gather my things, walking out of the restaurant as quickly as I can, my head almost hitting the doorway on my way out.
After an excruciatingly painful drive home from the restaurant, I enter my house. Walking into the common room, I breathe a sigh of relief. I let my wings fully extend like a black cape behind me, and I shake them out, relaxing my muscles. Now I have the time to think.
Why the hell did this happen? I ask myself.
I’ve never had my abilities act up this severely before, the only time a similar event has occurred was … last night. The feathers covering my bedsheets and floor, perhaps my wings emerged in my sleep.
I start pacing the room.
Will this happen again? I ask myself, What if it happens and I can’t control it?
People might see … what if they call the police? Will they arrest me? Can they arrest me? Is having wings a punishable offense in a court of law?
I shake my head, Stop panicking. You are the Owner, you are in control of the situation.
I dig my nails into the desk in front of me.
I’m just restless, I think to myself, perhaps using my wings will tire them out. I just need to keep myself occupied for a few hours until nightfall, then I can fly.
I examine the desk in front of me, piled high with reports. Grabbing a pen, I sit down in a chair behind the desk and open the first file, getting to work.