The Howler
by LaTanya McQueen
It started with a tickle in his chest, almost like an itch, until the feeling grew. He
found himself opening his mouth wide, his lungs filling with air, the muscles in his
throat constricted, and then it came. A howl, deep and guttural. He felt the vibration
against his vocal chords. He imagined it as a response to a dream, perhaps still part
of the dream itself, and so he got up from the bed and stretched and then went into
the kitchen to find his stepmother.
At the entryway of their kitchen he made the noise again. It was so loud his stepmother
turned to face him, a look of startled surprised briefly overshadowing the age lines
on her forehead and in the corners of her eyes.
鈥淲丑补迟 is that? That sound? Is that you?鈥
He nodded his head.
鈥淲丑补迟鈥檚 wrong with you?鈥
He didn鈥檛 answer. He looked at the kitchen table where she鈥檇 laid out a bowl and a box
of cereal for his breakfast. He went and sat down and filled the bowl to its brim.
His stepmother stood up and went to the fridge. 鈥淲e鈥檙e out of milk,鈥 she said, handing
him a glass of water. He didn鈥檛 respond as she poured the water onto the sugary flakes.
鈥淗耻谤谤测 and eat up,鈥 she said, and at this he took the spoon and scooped into the already
sogging flakes. Before the spoon reached his mouth he felt the urge. His stepmother鈥檚
gaze focused on him as he tried, with all his might, to force it away. Frowning, his
brows furrowed, he gritted his teeth in the hopes of suppressing it. The spoon still
in midair, he slowly, ever so slowly, moved it to his lips, but the moment he parted
them, the sound he couldn鈥檛 contain filled the small room.
When it was over his stepmother continued standing there staring. 鈥渊辞耻鈥檝e got school soon,鈥
she said and left him to eat.
He thought nothing of what had happened, convincing himself it was just a fluke impulse, like an unquelched burp suddenly resurfacing. That is, until an hour later on the bus ride to school, the urge came once again.
His stepmother was called that afternoon to come pick up her son. That鈥檚 how the principal
had put it鈥欌your son, not realizing that, technically, he wasn鈥檛 hers. She felt the slight impulse to
correct him but hesitated, decided against it, then felt guilty for thinking it in
the first place.
She had not wanted to be married but she met a man and had fallen in love. She had not
wanted a family but he had a son. She had not wanted to be a mother but then he died.
Now she was cutting through traffic to pick up the boy that was not her own, a boy
she had not known long enough to even consider being hers, yet he was.
The principal told her he howled in class and she stared him down like he was kidding.
Uncomfortably, he pulled on his shirt collar and wiped sweat from his neck and told
her how he wouldn鈥檛 stop.
鈥淗辞飞濒颈苍驳?鈥 she said, although she knew. He had done it this morning. She had not known what it
was, what to call it, but the principal had given it a name and she knew that鈥檚 what
it was. A howl.
鈥淗别鈥檚 been doing it all day,鈥 the principal continued. 鈥淓ven when his teacher tells him
to stop he still does it. He says he can鈥檛 help it.鈥
He looked nervous, unsettled, and she realized that the last time she鈥檇 sat in this office
was shortly after her husband died. The principal was uncomfortable then too when
he鈥檇 told her she should expect her son to act out in some way and that she should
prepare herself for it, but then weeks went by and he was the same boy as he always
was鈥搈ild-mannered, quiet, a dreamy sort of kid who seemed content enough in his books
and games rather than talking to her or anyone else, and so she left him alone, and
then months went by and she forgot there was anything she should have been looking
out for.
鈥淥耻谤 nurse checked him out and she said he was fine physically, so it鈥檚 got to be, you
know, something else.鈥
She nodded, understanding his implication, and he smiled with relief.
鈥淗别谤别鈥檚 some materials for you to consider.鈥 He handed her a stack of pamphlets. Helping Children Cope With Grief. Teaching Your Child 51风流官网 Loss. The Grief Journey of A Child. She remembered these from before. They were still sitting where she鈥檇 placed them鈥揷luttered
on top of the fridge next to old bills and expired coupons she鈥檇 kept and forgotten
about.
鈥泪 trust you鈥檒l take care of all this and get him the help he needs. We hope to see him again once he鈥檚 well,鈥 the principal said, and from his tone she knew he wasn鈥檛 wanted otherwise.
A howl is a cry of pain. It is a sound of rage, of distress. A howl is often a symptom.
She had not cried when her husband died. Perhaps it was the shock of it鈥揾is body tangled
in their hedge branches. He had stumbled out here late at night, as he was prone to
do when he couldn鈥檛 sleep. His breath fogged in the cold air as he blew into his hands
for warmth. How long he鈥檇 stood there she would wonder, how long did he stare out
into the shadowy darkness before his chest seized and he fell into the grass? How
long did he cry out, waiting in pain for no one to come? He died there, in the cold,
alone, and sometime after he died the wolves that lived in the woods ventured out
and picked at his body, eating the fleshy part of his stomach and limbs.
In the morning, noticing the empty space next to her, she got out of bed to look for
him and saw the horror outside. The blood-stained grass. The dried bits of what was
left of his entrails scattered across the lawn. Her husband鈥檚 flesh gnawed on like
jerky, the bones broken鈥搒ome of the bones even taken by the wolves as a snack for
later.
Had he known? That morning, her first instinct was to look for him, to make sure he had
not gone outside and seen. She went to his bedroom and was relieved to see he was
in bed asleep. At least he had not seen, and that was the comfort she kept with her
as she pulled on the curtains and called the police.
She had not cried then or on any of the days after. Instead she focused on getting through
the days, on what was left to do, and there was so much to do. She had not known what
she was capable of until she was forced to do it, and now there was this boy, this
boy not her own but now suddenly was, and with him came morning trips to school and
packed lunches and parent-teacher conferences and homework help and bedtime stories
and all the other things her husband had mostly done. Now here was someone who needed
her in a way she鈥檇 never known to be needed. She did not cry because she felt it an
indulgence she no longer had.
In the car she watched as he fought back sniffles and it struck her how he could hold
back tears but not this strange sound that had caused all this in the first place.
鈥泪鈥檓 sure it鈥檚 just a temporary thing,鈥 she said as she pulled the car out of the parking
lot and onto the road. 鈥泪鈥檓 sure in a matter of time it鈥檒l go away.鈥
His stepmother hadn鈥檛 known but he鈥檇 seen his father that morning. He wanted to tell her
he had seen what had become of him, but he didn鈥檛 know how to say the words. Every
time he tried they just petered out.
He did not know how to tell her either about what had happened at the playground at recess.
How after the teachers had crowded together like they always did to gossip about their
day, a group of older kids sought him out as he sat on the grass away from the others,
far enough away to they wouldn鈥檛 hear the little howling sounds he tried his best
not to make. They crowded around him in a circle to block those outside from seeing
as a few in the middle took turns punching him in the chest and stomach. 鈥淒og boy!鈥
they yelled over and over again. 鈥淒og boy needs a leash!鈥 As two of them held back
his hands, another took a jump-rope and tied it around his neck. 鈥淒og boy can鈥檛 escape
now.鈥 They kicked and spit as he tried his best to choke his urge to howl, but still
it came, fueling their fire. They left him huddled on the ground, bruises forming
underneath his clothes, and laughed as the teachers whistled for them to line up and
he was still there curled into a ball, too afraid to even move.
She had thought about getting rid of him, telling him she was unfit and abandoning him
at a group home for orphans. She鈥檇 found one in the city and on a hot afternoon she
drove there to see, parking her car at a butcher鈥檚 nearby. The worker inside eyed
her through the glass as she jaywalked across street to the home. There were patches
of dried grass among the dirt.
A group of kids were playing along the corner. She glanced at their steely-eyed faces
as she passed by. They snickered under their breath and she knew it was directed at
her. She didn鈥檛 belong here, she knew, and the closer she got to the entrance of the
home the more she knew her stepson didn鈥檛 either.
Before driving home, she went to the butcher鈥檚. She bought five pounds worth of steaks, bloody
and cut fresh from the cow.
鈥淢补测产别 you should start trying harder to control it,鈥 his stepmother suggested later at dinner.
He howled between spoonfuls of clumped macaroni and cheese.
鈥泪 don鈥檛 know how.鈥
He hadn鈥檛 touched his steak. She鈥檇 decided to cook them rare, tenderly unwrapping each
one from the brown paper and dropping them into the skillet. She鈥檇 cooked them all
and they sat untouched in a pile in the middle of the table.
鈥渊辞耻 need to eat something other than macaroni and cheese,鈥 she said, nodding toward the
steaks.
鈥泪 don鈥檛 want anything else.鈥
鈥泪 made them for you.鈥
鈥淭丑补苍办蝉,鈥 he said, but continued scooping macaroni from his bowl.
鈥淲辞濒惫别蝉 eat meat.鈥
鈥泪鈥檓 not a wolf,鈥 he said apprehensively.
鈥渊辞耻 howl. Wolves howl. Unless you鈥檙e a dog, but dogs can eat meat too. Are you a dog?鈥
鈥泪鈥檓 苍别颈迟丑别谤.鈥&#虫9诲;
鈥淭丑别苍 what are you?鈥
鈥淎 产辞测.鈥&#虫9诲;
鈥淎 boy who howls,鈥 she said, refusing to hide the irritation in her voice.
He was a boy who howled and he did it throughout dinner. He howled while doing his homework. He howled and howled despite her pesterings for him to stop.
鈥泪f it鈥檚 just an urge it shouldn鈥檛 be that hard,鈥 she told him.
鈥泪 don鈥檛 know how.鈥
He was not a liar, she knew. He was a good boy who did as he was told. He had never gotten
in trouble when his father was alive and after his behavior had been even more perfect,
if possible. He was the kind of boy teachers favored鈥揳lways saying what needed to
be said and nothing further, always doing what was expected, cordial and considerate
and kind. At parent-teacher conferences they would smile at the mention of his name
and tell her how proud she must be. She would nod while taking the packet of assignments
they鈥檇 give her, a stack of completed homework sheets and stories written in painfully
clear handwriting and sketched drawings from their free periods.
Yes, he was a good boy, and because of this she knew he wasn鈥檛 lying when he told her
he couldn鈥檛 help his howling. Still, each time she heard the sound her body clenched
up. Here was a problem she couldn鈥檛 solve, didn鈥檛 know how to if she tried.
鈥淕辞 outside and howl there,鈥 she finally said and so he did. He stood on their deck with
its chipped paint and the weeds growing so long that they came up through the cracks
of the wood and scratched against his bare feet. He stared out at the glowing fireflies
and waited, and when the howl came he let it out, loud and wailing, into the dark.
Inside the house, she listened and hoped for an eventual quiet. She hoped that his voice
would give out and he鈥檇 have to stop. She hoped his weariness would solve the problem.
She was weary too.
While he was outside she lit a cigarette and blew smoke rings in the air. It was a habit
she鈥檇 had when she was younger, had quit for over a decade, but the yearning had crept
over her again in the recent months.
She felt the burn of the smoke in her throat and chest. It soothed her, this slight pain,
numbed her.
She remembered the day after the funeral, that first morning of their new life together,
he had asked her what she was going to do with him. 鈥淲丑补迟 do you mean?鈥 she鈥檇 asked,
and he said he wanted to know if she was going to send him away. There were his grandparents
in Phoenix who lived in a retirement community. There was also an aunt in grad school
in Idaho who she鈥檇 only talked to once, briefly, on the phone on Christmas.
鈥淲丑测 would I do that?鈥 she鈥檇 asked him, perplexed.
The truth was if there had been the possibility she would have considered it, and the
guilt of that truth made her insides ache.
鈥泪t鈥檚 okay,鈥 he continued, not answering her question. 鈥泪t鈥檚 okay if you want to.鈥
鈥泪 don鈥檛,鈥 she said in the most assertive way possible and hoped that as she convinced
herself, he鈥檇 believe her too.
Outside, the boy that was not hers arched his back and lifted his head to the moon. This
howl felt like a shriek and she shook hearing it. He howled again, this one louder.
It did not take long before there was a knock on their door.
鈥渊辞耻r dog is causing a commotion.鈥 The cop grumbled.
鈥泪t鈥檚 not a dog, it鈥檚 my son,鈥 she told him, surprised at her own words. The cop didn鈥檛
notice, instead taking out the little pad of paper and a pen from his pocket.
She pointed in the back to the boy. The cop gave a sideways look at him standing in the
corner. 鈥泪s that you making all that noise?鈥 he said, his voice slightly amused.
鈥淗别 can鈥檛 help it,鈥 she explained further.
鈥淐补苍鈥檛 help it, you say?鈥 The cop raised his eyebrows. He was smiling, and it was this that
made her realize he was flirting with her. 鈥渊辞耻 saying we can鈥檛 help our urges?鈥
鈥淗别 can鈥檛,鈥 she said.
鈥淲别濒濒, help it or not he鈥檚 disturbing the neighbors. I鈥檓 going to have to fine you for
a noise violation.鈥
She took his ticket and after he turned to walk away she clicked the door back into place. She looked at her stepson, expecting him to howl again then and there but he just stared back at her, gulped, and tried not to cry.
Through the night, each howling wail pierced her heart. She heard him in the next room despite
his own attempts at muffling the sounds and so she went in and picked him up and carried
him to the car. When sleepily he asked where they were going, she shushed him quiet,
pulled the blanket up to his neck, and kissed the tip of his nose.
She drove while he slept on the backseat of the car. She drove, not knowing where to go
at first, just knowing she had to go somewhere, all the while he made little yelping
noises while shaking in his sleep. Finally, she stopped the car and turned off the
engine. 鈥淲ake up. We鈥檙e here,鈥 she said softly before getting out.
Before them was the deep, dark expanse of the woods. She took his hand and led him down a
path into the thick brambles. When they couldn鈥檛 see the way to the car anymore, when
they were surrounded by darkness, she stopped.
For a brief moment she thought of leaving him then and there but felt guilty for the thought.
Instead, she leaned down and told him it was okay. 鈥渊辞耻 can howl if you want to.鈥
Soon the sun would begin its golden glow over the horizon but it was not yet time, and
so he howled. Each howl growing louder than what came before, and the noise of it
echoed through the shadows. He howled and howled until his throat felt raw, and then
he howled some more. He howled while she stood next to him, not covering her ears
like she had all the times before but instead listening. He howled and when he finally
stopped and told her he couldn鈥檛 anymore, that his throat burned and his body ached,
she asked him if he still had the urge.
鈥渊别蝉,鈥 he said, and she knew then, finally understanding. His howl was hers, the same as
she had felt since the man she loved left her, left them, and she knew would never
go away.
鈥泪鈥檓 sorry,鈥 she said, wanting to say more, wanting the words to be enough. 鈥淲e should
go.鈥
鈥淥苍别 more,鈥 he suddenly said. 鈥泪 need to do one more.鈥
鈥淥办补测.鈥
She was here though, at least there was that, and so she told herself in the end that was all that mattered. She told him they would howl together this last time, before they began the long drive home. She told him to close his eyes and he did. She closed hers, opened her mouth, and reached down into the deepest part of herself, to the memory of when the man she loved died, to the day she found herself alone and afraid with a child she did not know then how to keep, and from there she found her own urge, and together, clasping each other鈥檚 hands in the dark, during the last remaining hours of the night, they howled.
Your father pauses in the doorway, turns to you and starts to say something. What would you most like to hear?
You get a second chance.
It鈥檚 like a theme park forever.
Sweet boy.