Owen's Dilemma

Owen thought about sitting under the tree with Bernice many summers ago. Even though they weren't romantically involved, he had a special relationship with her. She was his mentor and friend. Bernice had long honey blonde hair and was tall and thin. She had earned tenure at an early age and became the chair of the English Department before she was thirty. Owen trusted her more than anyone else on the faculty. He fantasized about kissing her and caressing her supple skin, but Bernice was married to a young lawyer. He came close to kissing her that one night underneath the oak where they spent hours discussing literature and writing. Bernice felt like his dissertation was almost ready, but he couldn't get his advisor to work with him.

His loved turned into hate after he was fired and she did nothing to stop it from happening. Even though Owen had finished his dissertation, his advisor had not been well, so Owen had not gotten his doctorate. He had tried to get another advisor and put together a committee, but the University would not work with him. Bernice had promised to help, and he thought everything would be worked out. Owen was an instructor and had hoped for a full-time position after he finished his PH.D. He had been working on a dissertation about literary vampires before the accident.

Now they for the rest of time he would be viewed as a monster.    The night was cool, transparent and somehow even tempered. It reminded him of sitting on his grandmother’s wooden porch in late September when the leaves were just starting to change. It seemed like it was more than a life time ago. Now he felt like he was merely a shadow inhabiting a world beyond the living, but it wasn’t life or death. And did he really have a choice? His confidents kept advising him to let go of the past, but the past was very much a apart of him, but he knew he would be stuck until he could tell his side of the story.  He believed that the reader brings her own experience to the story, so every story has infinite points of view.

 And all good stories were a series of could’ves went through his mind. He tried not to wallow in pity which on made his predicament worse. His grief was replaced by a slow, growing anger at those who had betrayed him. The very one he thought he could trust, stabbed him so hard the wounds would never go away; not even after a life was over.  People could be so cruel and careless; yet he was the monster they created. Their fear and regret fed his hungry spirit.

In some ways it must’ve been easy for him that no one studied him closely, no one could notice that there was something askew, and something dark and puzzling in his expression that only a few could see.

Owen wandered up and down the empty halls, thinking about his version of a story that he never had a chance to tell.  No. Sometimes time didn’t heal wounds and could in fact, make them worse. The past was sharp and inevitable.   it must have been a night like this one when he glanced over her head at the cluster of pines behind him and heard the wind scraping against the trees.

Time had gone by too fast and now all he had was endless hours.  He watched people grow, change and move on; whereas he remained in the same place. He was restless but couldn’t move forward. Sometimes wounds were like a cancer that invaded the soul and killed the spirit over and over again. He tried to pray, but he had a hard time believing in a higher power that would ultimately release him from his current prison of grief and resentment.  It was so much harder to forgive someone he loved. He had trusted Bernice and still cherished the memories of the summer picnics and late night kisses. She was till attractive after all those years. Bernice was tall and thin and had deep hazel eyes that could be both empathetic and fierce. He admired the way she could see through a person.   He longed to have some kind of closure, but he needed someone to release his voice.

Where could he go? He couldn’t leave but couldn’t stay. The sense of constant inertia was difficult. When he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t look at himself.

Was he really a monster or was it a matter of perception? The bitterness made him feel weak and powerful at the same time, but ultimately, he had given his power away.   Bitter thoughts circled above him in the shape of hawks. He wondered how many victims sent postcards to another era, looking up with fear and regret.

 He tried to pray. Maybe the words would eventually come and he would be able to let go and move on.   Gracie kept telling him that nothing was ever lost, and he would find love again. He just needed to trust and then let go. Rilke said holding on was easy but letting go was so hard. And every angel was indeed terrible.  They wandered in between worlds. He wanted to see them, to touch them.  He had those moments where he felt warm and alive and confident he would find that one person.

He walked outside the campus and looked at the nearby woods full of ghostly losses. 

Owen re lived the moment again: the betrayal followed by the accident at Gracie’s house. That one moment lasted longer than a lifetime and overshadowed his other memories.

He saw the full moon rising between the clouds, and shattering into infinite fragments of stories. The tales that was the only remnants of a life that ended too soon.

He watched the sun set behind the trees and smiled. No, his life was just beginning with the arrival of Summer. She would help him walk among the halls of the University and she would lead him to Bernice. Bernice and the others would all pay for the betrayal.

The light hurt with all of it's intensity. Owen watched that girl get in her car and drive to her grandmother's. He remembered the little girl with the wide blue eyes just after his car had crashed into the oak.

That little girl was still there. She would help him get back to Bernice. Bernice was already starting to unravel. He called her every night, but could not bring himself to say anything, as he no longer had a voice. Now he would have a voice. Summer.

Owen stood in the painful sunlight and grinned. For the first time in decades he felt a sense of vindication. His time would come, and it was all just starting.