Owen James:
Five years later—five years after his passing, I thought I would write an account of my experience with Owen James—especially noting our last experience together—in the hopes that perhaps it will help in the understanding of what happened to him, not only for others but, for myself. I hope he will be remembered as the kind-hearted man and wonderful teacher he was. He was a close friend, and I know he changed my life. I believe it is possible that he changed other’s as well
I remember the first time I met Owen. He’d been my daughter’s freshman government teacher at Boston, and she loved his class. I was visiting on the Homecoming weekend, and he was the first person Jenny introduced me to.
“Dad! Dad, come here! I want you to meet Dr. James!” She was waving frantically from across the courtyard and pointing a man standing with her. He looked bit more rugged than any of the other professors I’d seen roaming around that day—but he wasn’t old. He was handsome in his own right, but he had more than a five o’clock shadow, and I could tell from where I was that he looked tired. When I arrived in front of them, I noticed that he had deep golden eyes—they were unlike anything I’d ever seen before. He also had large bags beneath them, which made him look worn out, as though he’d been awake for more than 24 hours.
“Hi,” I shook his hand. “I’m Jenny’s father, Henry. It’s nice to finally meet you. Jenny talks about you all the time.” As he pulled his hand back from mine, I noticed that his arm was rather hairy—I thought it nothing more than funny at the time.
“And, I am Dr. James,” he nodded. “I’m pleased to meet you as well. Your daughter is such a delight in class. It seems she knows a lot about what is going on in current events. I’m glad to know she was brought up with such a good foundation.” I saw my daughter beaming up at him, and could tell that she had a deep fondness for this man. Perhaps this should have bothered me, but something about Owen intrigued me.
After our initial meeting, Owen and I struck up a friendship. We spoke via e-mail, the occasional phone conversation, and we’d even venture out for drinks when I was up visiting Jenny. He was kind, personable, and a brilliant academic. It seemed we had a lot in common. The more I communicated with him the more I understood my daughter’s fondness and respect for him.
Over the years of Jenny’s college career, he and I grew closer, and eventually I came to think of him as one of my closest friends. Spring break of her senior year, we decided to invite him to our beach house in Cape Cod for the week. My wife, Amie, and I took the week off and we all headed over for a nice, relaxing week away from the world. As it was March, and still cold on the Cape, we didn’t spend a lot of time out on the beach, but time was spent around the fire playing cards, eating good food, and telling stories about ourselves. One day while we were eating lunch, Owen was telling a story about Jenny in class, and I realized that he never talked much about himself and that I didn’t really know anything about his life prior to his teaching at Boston. I’m not sure why it had taken me this long to realize this. I suppose it hadn’t mattered.
When he was finished telling the story about Jenny and all the laughter had died down, I looked over at Amie, and I could see that she was thinking about something—likely the same thing I’d been thinking about Owen. Before I could, and before I could stop her she asked, “Owen—why don’t you ever talk about your life before Boston? I feel as though we don’t know anything about you.” She laughed a little, to make it light hearted, but his face fell and he said quietly, “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Sure there is!” Jamie smiled at him. “What about your parents? What happened to them?” Owen’s eyes were on his knees and he looked very uncomfortable.
“Amie,” I said sternly.
“What?” She looked at me, annoyed, and asked, “Is it so bad that I want to know a little more about our friend?”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it, okay? We have to respect him.” I could tell that she was annoyed with me, but she stopped pressing after that, and everyone dispersed from the lunch table. In the late afternoon, I proposed to Owen that he and I go for a walk on the beach. He agreed, but he looked somewhat reluctant, as though he assumed I was going to force him to talk about his former life—which he seemed to be holding on very tightly.
“Henry, thank you—about lunch—uh, I didn’t mean to create tension between anyone,” he said as we walked out onto the beach.
“It’s all right,” I smiled. “Owen—I’m sorry as well. We are your friends, and we know you now and we know you to be a good man. I hope that it didn’t seem as though we thought that you were hiding something from us, and we don’t mean to pry. I’ll be your friend whether you tell us about your life or not. I think Amie and Jenny will, too.”
He smiled at me and then we walked and talked about the current state of the government, academic bureaucracy at Boston, and where to find the best scotch—things we normally talked about. We walked a ways down the beach before turning around. I looked into the sky and noticed how beautiful it was.
“The sun is going down—I bet that the sunset will be beautiful,” I turned and looked at Owen expecting affirmation for my hypothesis, but instead he looked upset and scared.
“Owen? Are you all right?”
“Yeah—uh, is it a full moon tonight?” he asked and looked up at the sky.
“I’m not sure. I don’t tend to follow the moon cycle,” I answered. I laughed a little and then joked, “You’re not going to howl to it or anything, are you?” It seemed absurd and I expected him to laugh. His face was terror-stricken, and he didn’t seem to find what I had said amusing in the least.
“Owen, we’re on our way back to the house—we can go inside once we get there, if you want.” I said.
He looked at me with wide eyes and shook his head. “We’re too far away. Henry—run. Run as fast as you can back to the house, and when you get there, lock the house. Go—if you don’t, you will be hurt. I promise everything will be okay in the morning, but you need to go.” He had is hand on my shoulders and everything about his face told me that he was completely serious.
“Owen—you’re scaring me. What do you mean we don’t have time? What do you mean I’ll get hurt? We’re not that far away—I’m not going to just leave you on the beach by yourself.” He took his hands off my shoulders and shook his head.
“Go—Henry. I’m not kidding.” I could tell that he wasn’t—he looked over on the horizon where the sun was going down over the water. He looked back at me and pointed in the direction of the house.
“Henry. Go.”
So, I did. I ran as fast as the sand would allow me. I had no idea what was going to happen—but a million things were running through my mind: Who was Owen James? Who was this man that I called my friend? What was so terrible that I couldn’t be around him—or he couldn’t be around me? There was one thing I was refusing to let my mind think. And, it was the one thing that scared me the most. What if it was true?
As I rushed back into the house both Jenny and Amie were sitting at the table playing cards. As I turned around and locked the door as he’d told me to, they stared at me with frightened looks.
“Henry? Why are you out of breath? And why are you locking the door—we never lock the door? And were is Owen?” Amie asked me frantically. I looked at her—I didn’t know where to begin. What could I say to her to explain my behavior? I hardly knew myself.
“I think you two should sit down,” I said, and as they did, I began to recount what had happened with Owen on the beach. As I told them, the looks on their faces went from frightened to shocked and back again. When I finally caught my breath I got up and looked out the kitchen window and wondered what happened—what would happen—to Owen. I looked up into the now dark sky and saw the moon. It was indeed full. I was scared and nervous—I didn’t think I would be getting much sleep, so I made a cup of tea to calm my nerves. I thought about what Owen had said: “Everything will be okay in the morning.” Was that really true? I felt like I didn’t know him anymore, and I didn’t know if he’d be able to explain his actions, or if I’d be able to trust him again. I didn’t want him to be what I thought—but illogical as it seemed, it was the only explanation my mind provided me with.
In the next moment I heard a crashing noise outside the house—and what ensued following the noise, happened so quickly that I still wonder if it was real. A loud piercing scream came from the living room and looked over to see Jenny staring in terror at something outside. When Amie and I ran over to her and saw what she saw, it was as though everything that we’d ever believed in, everything we’d ever hoped for in life, everyone we’d ever cared for outside of the three of us didn’t matter—except what was in front of us. Standing and facing the three of us was a creature. A creature that had small remnants of torn clothing covering hair that seemed to consume it’s body, a creature who’s eyes were so bright golden that they seemed to be on fire—a creature that no matter how hideous, no matter how shocking, was still our friend. He moved closer, but we didn’t move back. He put his hand on the window, and for a moment he seemed docile and kind—almost as though he wasn’t the terrifying creature I knew I should be afraid of, but rather that of the family dog. One who cares for the family as much as the family cares for it.
“Dad,” I heard Jenny say somewhere in the distant corners of my mind. “Dad,” she said again, this time a little more clearly. I looked over at her and Amie and saw in their faces the same emotions I was feeling—the desire to be scared and to run away from the horrific creature in front of us, but the heart and the love of a friend, and the hope that perhaps he is still the person we know, however deep inside it may be, overcoming those wants and those fears.
“What Jenny?” I asked quietly.
“Is that Owen?”
I nodded in affirmation, and then looked back in his direction. Before any of us were able to react, before I was able to tell Jenny and Amie that even though we wanted him to be our friend, he probably wasn’t right now, the window crashed into a million pieces and the creature was standing over us, having knocked us down with the shear magnitude of it’s presence. His face became that of someone unrecognizable—this creature was no longer someone we knew and loved. He moved to stand over Jenny and Amie, and in the next moment, I didn’t think of anything other than protecting my family. After I somehow managed to stand up, I ran into the den where we kept a shotgun. We never used it—it had been my father’s, and I had always thought of it as being merely for show. Now, however, I needed it to save my family. I rushed back into the living room and pointed it at the creature that had once been my friend. Without a thought, I pulled the trigger. I know, to this day, that if I had thought about it, even for a second I wouldn’t have done it—and he would have killed Jenny or Amie. He fell backwards against the broken window into the shards of glass. As my wife and daughter ran over to where I stood, I looked over at the mangled body and saw that it was no longer that of the creature, but it was that of Owen James, my friend. In my killing of the creature, he’d changed back into his human form. Holding my family to me I started to cry, knowing that what we’d experienced had forever changed our lives—and knowing that I would miss my friend more than I could say.
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