The Glint in the Owl's Eye

8/14/2019 The Glint in the Owl's Eye

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"The Glint in the Owl's Eye"By Christine Stoddard

The hostess, in her short, swishing black skirt,greets you as you enter the restaurant. Emeraldglitter dances on her brow bones as she shoots youa Scheherazade glance. She smells like snow lilies.

"Hi," you respond in a voice not even half as loudor cheery as hers.

You point to your date huddled off in a candlelitcorner as she peruses the vast menu. Before youhave gotten within twenty feet of the woman,you're certain you will not fall in love with her. Yourlong coat swings as you march toward the table,past a dozen other anxious couples. They discuss

their alma maters and how they contribute tocharity. At least two-thirds of them lie. You canalready imagine the bland conversation, the vaguecompliments, and the uncomfortable silencesexchanged between you and your date. You sigh. Afew steps later, you take off your coat and sitdown. Rain pelts the window to your left, reflecting

your somber mood in every droplet.

Your date, a plain woman, appears overdone andoverdressed. From fake eyelashes tosupersaturated dyed hair to acrylic nails to pushup


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bra to designer clothes--you spot every falsehoodimmediately. In fact, you begin to wonder whatparts of her are real, though you aren't sincerely

interested in discovering firsthand. You pray, that ifnothing else, she will make you laugh for a fewmoments during the hour and a half lying ahead ofyou.

You say hello, introduce herself, compliment her onsome little, insignificant thing. A second later, youcan't even remember if you said, "Nice earrings,"or "Nice bracelet." The compliment would be thesame either way: both are absurdly ostentatious,costume jewelry pieces. Your date thanks you,comments upon how "lovely" the restaurant is,how she "adores" the atmosphere. She wavesaround her orange-tan hand with every syllable.You nod your head and open up the menu. If

nothing else, you expect a decent meal.

Salisbury steak, baked cod, rosemary chicken,apple butter pork chops--you engross yourself inevery dining possibility as your date rattles onabout how being vegetarian has cost her. Youglance at her and smile with fake compassion.

Then your heart settles on the BBQ rib, friedchicken combo with bacon flavored mashedpotatoes. You close the menu. Your date, hummingself-consciously to herself, winks at you. Inside,you cringe; outside, your lips twitch into a smile.


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"So," your date leans in and whispers, "Tell meabout your day. What's typical in the life of Mr.--"

Just then the waitress sweeps in, but you don'tactually see her. You only sense her presence asshe sways nervously beside you. You waitimpatiently as your date chit-chats with thewaitress and eventually places her order.

"One thick Malibu burger, the fattest slab ofmushroom patty you can muster!" she squeals.

You sigh again. Then you peer up at the waitress,gaining a general impression of her full red mane.You look back at your menu and point at yourdesired plate, but suddenly glance up at thewaitress again. She is a thin lady with butterfly

lashes and gem-like eyes. Her hair, which you hadonly seen ironed straight before, flares out inmangy curls. Her pink lips puff into what seems likea permanent pout. A gold nose ring gleams fromher left nostril. A fairy tattoo climbs up the wholeright side of her neck, as if the winged being seeksshelter in the woman's frizzy hair. She reminds you

of the redhead you took out to dinner last weekthanks to another blind date orchestrated by yoursister.

The waitress shifts as she notices you ogling her.


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She gulps before asking, "Sir? What would--whatwould you like to eat?" Instead of looking at you,she stares just above your head as she speaks. It

bothers you because she seemed so engaged whiletalking to your date.

"Um..." Nobody has asked you a more difficultquestion. You gaze at her face, trying to place it.She flinches and then focuses on her clipboard. "I'llhave the BBQ rib and..."

"Fried chicken combo?" The waitress' voice crackslike china against a hardwood floor. You wince.

"Yeah, yeah. That, please."

"Can I g-g-get you a-anything else?"

Your date studies the waitress. "Are you okay? Ifyou need a minute--"

"No, I'm fine. Thanks." She whirls around toescape, pretending she has urgent business toattend to in the kitchen. As she storms off, shestumbles at a table only a few feet from yours

before slipping behind the swinging doors.

"Gee, I hope she's alright," your date mutters. Thenshe launches into a monologue about herembarrassing junior prom experience. Something


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about stuttering, cold punch, and a low-cut, whitegown.

You stop listening. The waitress's face remainsfrozen in your head. Over and over, you reflectupon the narrow bridge of her nose, her roundcheeks, the faint birthmark on her forehead.

Then you finally realize who she is.

It is Tuesday night and you celebrated your twenty-second birthday a week ago. You have your Intro toAnthropology final the next morning. Janie, yourassigned study buddy, has just complained that thelibrary is "too loud." She flicks the spine of yourmusty Anthropology textbook. Dust explodes into aminiature cloud near her fingertips.

"Guess what, Henry?" Janie asks as she flashes youa sarcastic look. "We're not the only ones: thewhole student body has decided to spend the last72 hours of the semester studying." She triescatching some of the book's dust, but it alljourneys off or falls to the counter regardless.

"Yeah, I can see that. But I need to study pronto.I'm this close to failing." You show her how close byseparating your thumb and pointer finger with amicroscopic gap of air. You quiver your bottom lipto elicit pity. Hands on her hips, Janie pretends to


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disapprove of the 'puppy face' ploy.

"Then let's go back to my place," she says, nudging

you. "It's quieter there. We can get plenty ofstudying done."

"Okay. Do you have anything to eat, though?"

"Yeah. My roomie made a bunch of fried spaghettilast night, so we still have left-overs. And I havetortilla chips and pretzels."

"Cool."

"So...?"

You shrug your shoulders and move away from theclosed Reference Desk and its myriad pamphlets.

"Yeah, sure. I mean, it's quieter there and you havefood, so..."

"Great. Come on. Pack up."

A couple minutes later, you and Janie walk out ofthe library and to her dorm. Signs of desolation and

the cold prevail. Moonlight pours over the icycampus. Trees appear silver and gray in theBurtonesque shadows; animals fade into the fieldlike phantoms. The grass reminds you of charcoalsticking up from the ground.


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When you enter Janie's dorm, you immediatelysmell cinnamon incense and day-old tomato sauce.

Your appetite rapidly shrinks. Someone in the nextroom over blasts Dean Fields' "Before the MorningSobers," but you don't feel like singing along. Aplethora of salmon pillows, a paisley throw andvarious stuffed unicorns overrun Janie's bed. Aplain navy blue sheet set covers her primroommate's. A block-shaped night table separatesthe two beds. Two desks, two chairs, and abookshelf full of Russian and Latin Americanliterature make up the rest of the room's furniture.The half-open closet reveals skinny girl T-shirts,college hoodies, pink toiletries, and discountcleaning supplies. Janie rushes over to shut thecloset door, then throws her backpack on the floor.She grins sheepishly. You raise your eyebrows,

somewhat surprised that Janie's roommate is notthere.

"Chapters four through twelve, then?" Janie sings."Darwin awaits."

You nod. "That sounds fine, but how about some of

that spaghetti first?"

"No problem." Then she laughs, bringing previouslyinvisible creases to her face. "But only if you washyour hands right now."


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"Ha, okay. Where's the bathroom?"

"Well, you can't use the one on this floor. Girlsonly," she says as she teasingly crosses her arms,"But the one downstairs is fine."

"I'm just washing my hands, not--"

"The R.A.s in this building are pretty strict. And,besides, once you get there, you'll probably wantto..." she fumbles her milky hands as she gropesfor the right words. "Well,you know."

"Fine." You chuckle and then pause for a beat.You're shocked her unique beauty has not luredyou before. "What's your major again?" yousuddenly ask as you peruse her catalog of pure

features.

"Wha--? Oh. World Literature with a Spanish minor.Like you. But what does that have to do with...?"

You shake your head, drawing your gaze awayfrom her. "Nothing. I won't get lost, will I?"

"No. It's right next to the staircase. On your left.You can't miss it."

"Alright. Well, I'll be back soon then."


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You wash your hands in a business-like fashion,drying yourself neatly on your pants when you

discover someone shoved all the paper towels in asingle toilet. Your tired reflection in the mirrorcatches you off guard. You expected to find thesame face you saw at age seventeen.

When you return to Janie's room, she has strippeddown to nothing but a pastel camisole andsweatpants. You instantly observe that she's notwearing any bra. Janie has let down her hair, whichframes her seductive lips in thick waves. Yourtextbook, Introduction to the History and Theory ofAnthropology: College Edition, Volume Six, rests asher long-toed feet. Your palms begin to sweat.

"I'm back!" you say as you wave sarcastic jazz

hands.

She bats her eyelashes and breathes, "I know."

"Um, oh. I just thought you might want to, um, puton a robe or something."

"No, I'm fine. It's kind of warm in here, don't youthink?"

"Er. No. I'm sort of cold, actually. I can't see howyou'd be too warm wearing just...that."


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"But I am, anyway. Funny. Why don't you sit here?"She pats an empty spot next to her on the fluffy

mattress. "My blankets are warm."

"Okay," you mumble, feeling your face flush. Youtake a seat beside her and twiddle your thumbs.You heat up almost instantaneously.

A moment passes before Janie exhales ratherenthusiastically. "So..."

"So..."

"Theory of evolution?"

"Um...the theory that...are you sure you aren'tcold?"

Janie smiles coyly. "Positive."

"Okay. You just...look...cold."

"Who's Spencer? Franz Boas? Ralph Linton?Margaret Mead? Jane Goodall?"

"I..."

"What about natural selection? Or artificialreproduction?"


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"Uh..."

"Am I distracting you?" She asks as she twirls aflaming lock.

You gulp. "Maybe." You start to scooch off the bed,away from her.

Janie leans in. Her scent reminds you of a botanicalgarden you visited as a small child. You rememberhow all the flowers' fragrances merged into onesingle scent. "Don't get distracted. Try to payattention. You want to do well on your mid-term,right?"

You nod a little too fervently.

"Reallywell, right?"

"Yeah, I do!" You suddenly jump off of the bed andstand directly in front of her. "Janie, let's go back tothe library."

"Why?"

"It's just that...I know I'll concentrate better there."

"Don't be boring."


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"I'm...I...could--"

Janie calmly raises. She takes a few pixieish steps

toward you until she nearly presses her noseagainst yours. "You could do what?"

You don't answer, nervously searching her eyesinstead. They shimmer like the moonlight,somehow too magically. As much as you want herto stay exactly where she is, the future of yourAnthropology grade and the threat of betrayalhammer your nerves. If your palms rained sweatbefore, now they pour.

"I'm...not sure."

Suddenly Janie lunges forward like a panther andseizes your jaw. Her nails dig softly into your

cheeks. What should feel annoying or even painfulfeels invigorating instead. You don't want her tomove.

Janie freezes for a few seconds, just holding you.The moment strikes you as so familiar and yet soforbidden. A girl has not touched you in years.

"You can stay the night," she whispers.

"Sure." But right after you've uttered it, you can'tbelieve you've said it.


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"I knew it wouldn't take long to convince you. Ididn't even have to tell you I have a copy of the

exam first."

"What?"

"I've got a copy of the exam." She crawls over toher pillow and pulls out a packet of about five orsix pages full of multiple-choice questions. Sheflaps them in the air.

"No, I heard that. But how?"

"Professor Higgins left a pile of stapled, perfectlyprepared exams on his desk. They were all facinghim, so he didn't think I'd notice them when I camein to discuss my research paper with him. When he

turned around to pick up the phone, all I had to dowas snatch one. So now studying seems kindapointless, don't you think?"

"I, uh...how do you even know that's the rightone?"

"What, you think he just made and stapled sixtycopies of a fake exam to reel me in?" She flaps thepacket again.

"Well...I guess not, but that's cheating, Janie."


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"Indeed."

"That's dishonest."

At this point, Janie drops the exam and crawls overto you. Through giggles, she begins to pull off yourhoodie. You blush as red as Janie's hair when sheasks, "You know what else is dishonest?"

You shake your head.

She stops giggling. "I've had a crush on you a longtime now, since freshman orientation even. Butinstead of telling you about it, I've kept it asecret...until now."

"Oh. Really?"

"Of course I like you. I'm unzipping your pants now,aren't I?"

"Uh, yeah, I believe you are." Your whole bodytingles like you're stepping out of a pleasantdream. "Listen, Janie, I, um, think you're nice and

pretty and everything, and I, uh, really like whatyou're doing right now. Don't get me wrong." Youinterrupt your own speech with laughter as shetickles you. "But don't you want me to take you outon a date first or something? Like I could take you


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downtown and--"

"Henry, please! You're here now. Besides, isn't the

object of dating sex, anyway? Let's skip theformalities and save you a few bucks in theprocess. I've never really liked pantyhose andlipstick much, anyhow."

"Are you s-serious?"

"Yes," Janie mockingly says, "I'm 's-s-serious,'Henry."

"I think there's something I should tell you first. Imean, before w-we..."

Her hands run up to her mighty mane. "God, youdon't have an STD, do you?" Panic seizes Janie's

face.

"I, no. That's not it. C-could you p-please sit downfirst?"

Janie throws up her arms. "If you don't have acondom, I've got you covered."

"No, that's not it, either."

"Are you a virgin? Because if you are, don't worry--Iam, too."


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"No, Janie, I'm not a virgin. I did...that...once, a longtime ago. That's part of what I want to talk about."

"For Christ's sake, Henry," Janie half-shouts andthrows up her arms in the air again, "What is it, ifnot a venereal disease? You just said you thought Iwas pretty--do you want to take that back now?"

"Could you please sit down?"

"Okay. Fine."

You drop your head into your hands. Then you takea deep breath, hold it for a second, and let it outwith a whoosh. When you speak, you do so withoutpausing, knowing you have rehearsed this speechhundreds of times before without ever once having

the courage to utter it. "I dated a girl back in highschool, starting the summer before junior year, justa couple weeks after sophomore year ended. Wewere together a year and a half, but not becausewe broke up or anything. I mean, we thought wewere going to get married one day. We were inlove." You bolt up and wander away from Janie,

who studies you intensely. "I-I s-s-still love her,even now, but the love's changed. It's not that it'sweaker. It's just different. I can't explain it. She wasmy first love. I learned how to love with her,through her. And then everything ended before I..."


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"What...what do you mean? How did it end? Didshe move away? Did one of your parents forbid it?

Did--"

"She died."

Janie's eyes widen. She scans your face, searchingfor some sign that you're about to declare it all asick joke. Judging by the wrinkles and tremors thaterupt across your distraught body, though, shedeems you truthful with a nod. Miserable, buttruthful.

"I'm...I'm so sorry, Henry," Janie says as she standsand steps slowly toward you. "I had no...wow. H-how did she die?"

You look away from her, and curl up on her deskchair, where you inspect the weave of your socks."She...drowned. I wasn't there, but I knew shecouldn't swim very well. I don't want to go intodetails."

"You don't have to. I just thought, well, I'm sorry.

I'm really sorry." She strokes your knee. "But thatwas years ago, Henry. Years ago. It was a tragedy,of course, but you have to move on eventually. Youhave to like--love--a girl again." Janie, ephemeral inthe glow the desk lamp that backlights up, leads


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you back to her bed.

"I know," you mutter as you follow her, with an eye

on her graceful shoulder blades, "I keep tellingmyself that that all happened almost five yearsago. That she and I might have broken up, anyway,because we were so young. Maybe we wouldn'thave gotten married." You sit down next to Janie,who promptly cups your knee. When she shocksyou with a strike of static electricity, you don'tbudge. "Sometimes I think I'm over it, but then Isee or hear or feel or taste something that remindsme of her." You rest your hand over Janie's; thenshe stacks her other hand over yours.

Janie gently pushes you down until you are lyingbelly-up on the mattress, like a dead lizard. Thenshe climbs over you and begins kissing every inch

of your face. In between kisses, she tells you shecan heal your heartache, she tells you that she canmake you forget.

"I think I love you, Henry."

"Janie, I...you hardly know me. We've had, what,

four classes together?"

"Five," she pouts and begins counting off on herfingers. "Intro to World Literature Parts One andTwo, Theories in Comparative Literature,


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Masterpieces in Russian Literature, and the Bible inLiterature."

"Still. This is the first time we've ever spent timetogether outside of class," you say with a sadsmile. "And I'm so ruined."

"What does that matter?" she scrunches up herforehead and softly punches the mattress. "I loveyou. Can you learn to love me?"

"I think a small part of me will always be in lovewith Sylvia...but I can learn to love you, too." Youseize a thick strand of her hair and twist it aroundyour pointer finger.

"Promise?"

"I'll try. I do like you and you are very pretty. Butlet's do this slowly, Janie. I want to be good to you,but it's going to take time. Please. I'm ruined. Let'sstudy tonight and then..."

"And then what? We graduate in the spring andnever see each other again? Where's the incentive

for us to stay together if we don't form some kindof emotional connection now?"

"I don't know, Janie. I'm ruined. Please. Let's study.We can talk about it tomorrow."


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"I already told you I have the exam. We just haveto quickly look up the answers, but we can do that

later."

"Okay. If you insist." You let go of her hair andnuzzle her nose. All of a sudden, she strikes you asa cross between a bird and a mermaid in a waythat Sylvia did.

"Do I remind you of her at all?" Janie whispers,pushing her fingers against the direction your hairgrows. It flips back like a hedgehog's spines.

You nod. "I guess that's why this feels strange.Good but strange."

Janie continues talking to you in between kisses

throughout the night. She murmurs adages like,"Keep faith in your heart," and "Love is thegreatest gift"--the kinds of words you imagineengraved on kitschy ceramic figurines at Southerntruck stops. You find her own original expressionsendearing, though. You imagine her writinggreeting cards one day as she sits at your shared

kitchen table. You cannot discern your own actionsin the vision, however. You only know that you aresitting at the table with her as she brainstormssweet Christmas and funeral poems.


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From the moment she planted that first kiss,warmth swallows you and you cannot escapeJanie's thundering heartbeat for hours. She glides

over you like a spider traveling across its web. Youare the web. Every now and then you reciprocateher kisses, hugs, and petting. At the first theactions feel foreign, but soon you fall into herrhythm. Then, at some point, you do what you hadonly done once before.

Eventually, exhausted, Janie shudders and fallsonto your chest. Then she rolls over onto her halfof the mattress. Within minutes, she has driftedinto a serene sleep. Yet you cannot close youreyes. For some reason, your eyelids feel swollen.You stroke Janie's shoulder and then turn towardthe window. Looking out onto a pitch-blackexistence, the window reveals nothing but the

depth of night. You lose yourself in the inkiness,wandering from one thought to another, fromSylvia to Janie, from Janie to Sylvia, until theymerge into one woman.

At some point, you spot the outlines of somethingemerging from the ebony clouds. You squint,

intrigued by the mysterious being's nervousfluttering. As it approaches you, you confuse it forSylvia's ghost. You make out the tip of her nose,the soft outline of her lips, the tiny dimple in herchin. The being suddenly slams against the glass,


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throwing a mass of feathers into the air. At first youthink they must be feathers from Sylvia's angelwings, but the feathers are not white. They are

gray, brown, and black. An owl has crashed intoJanie's window.

The owl hovers before the window after its briefrecovery. Its wings seem to flap in slow motion asyou stare at its perfectly round eyes. They gleambright yellow with specks of amber floating in theirises. The bird snaps its black beak to the samebeat as a crab snapping its pinchers as it scuttlesback and forth on the beach.

When you squint, you notice a strange silhouetterocking to and fro in the owl's pupils. The figure'soutlines gradually evolve into vaguely familiarshapes: upturned sections of hair, a long neck, a

sharp yet becoming profile, willowy arms, lithefeet. You scream, suddenly recognizing the figure.

"Sylvia!"

Janie, still pressed peacefully against her pillow,does not notice as you gather your pants. She

innocently snores as you pat the floor for yourkeys, pick up a pair of dangling earrings instead,curse, find your keys, and dash out the door. Shedreams of spending another night in bed with youas you scurry down the dorm stairs and out onto


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the lonely campus. Most of the students haveforsaken the library for the solitude of their roomsand the coziness of their blankets.

You shake yourself out of those final memories asyour date lifts up her glass in a toast.

"Henry? To our health, right?" She holds up herglass awkwardly in the air, red wine sloshing backand forth.

"Oh, right." You pick up your glass and nudge itagainst hers with a tink.

"My," she laughs, "What's on your mind?"

"I, uh, nothing."

"Are you excited about your combo?"

"Um, yeah. It sounds good. Have you had theMalibu burger here before?"

"No," your date scoffs. "Haven't you been listeningto me?" She slams down her glass and forces a

tortilla chip into her mouth. "I told you I've neverbeen here before. This is my first time. That's whyI'm so excited to be here. Nobody's ever broughtme here before. Can you believe it? Thirty-seven-years-old, one to two dates every week in this city


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since age twenty-five, the nicest restaurant intown, and not one guy--not a single one--has everinvited me here before."

"Yeah."

"But, it's like my mother always says, I just can'tlet--"

Your date launches into another yapping frenzy.You put down your glass and sigh. Your combo andthe Malibu burger are nowhere in sight. You diginto your pocket and pull out your wallet. Then youopen it, whip out a couple hundred dollars, andplace them on the table. The bills flit in the slightdraft.

"Henry," your date snaps, "What. Are. You. Doing."

"Tell Janie this is for her."

"Who?"

"The waitress," you say, clearing your throat, "Hername's Janie. Tell her this is for her." You rummage

your wallet for loose change. When you comeacross a few nickels and dimes, you dump themout next the bills. One of the coins spins until youhalt it with a thrust of your hand.


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"How are you paying for dinner?"

"Oh, yeah." You pull out another hundred dollars.

"Put the change toward the tip."

"What? Where are you going? Our food hasn't evenarrived yet. Don't you want to try the BBQ combo?"Tortilla chip crumbs hang from the drops of hermelting lipstick. Her chin crumples into a millionlittle dimples.

You get up from your chair and wiggle into yourheavy winter coat, tugging at the sleeves whenthey scrunch up over your bunched sweater. "Whydon'tyou eat it?"

"I'm vegetarian!"

You don't respond. Instead, you push in your chair,ignoring the sound of its feet scraping against thefloor. Then you abandon your gaping date.

Just as you are about to leave the restaurant, yourun into Janie. Her eyeliner's smeared into circlesaround her lash-line.

You lightly touch her wrist, feeling the bonebeneath her thin skin. Her eyes flash, but sheremains silent among all the clattering dishes. Youdeclare, "I've taken care ofyou this time."


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Janie knits her brows and swallows, examining youfor a second. Then, Malibu burger in hand, she

marches toward your date. Her long hair, the hairthat brushed all over your body that night, rippleslike ribbons as she rushes away from mentions of amemory she wants to forget.

Into the pouring rain you go, running out the doorand into umbrellaed couples and zipping cars. Youstomp through spat-out gum, broken beer bottles,and puddles to the nearest Metro stop. Then yourifle for your wallet, suddenly aware that you gaveyour last dollar to Janie. You smile and jam on yourhat as far as it will go. You walk home, knowing youwon't sleep alone tonight.

The Glint in the Owl's Eye

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