Slowly she returned to the Now. But where had she been? Had she been back to that horribly remembered place? Only once before had she been submerged in such a dark, suffocating suspension of feeling. That time, it was her mother’s demanding attention that returned her to the light. She had been badly mauled and would have chosen the dark of the other world had it not been for her mother’s refusal to let her go.
But no, this was something different. The hunting had been successful but she did not have the energy to return to the den. There was an unaccustomed weakness as she dragged herself those few paces to this remembered haven. Out here in the nowhere was this abandoned barn. Here, she had fed on her kill. Her body trembled in an agony of violation as wave after wave of gut-clutching spasms churned her insides. Then came the most severe of winter chills followed immediately by the burning of a desert summer. Impossible! The weather seasons did not happen that way: one intruding on the other at the same time. She did not fear this drift into the dark world but welcomed it as a relief from torment. Her willingness to linger in that relief did not dictate her submission to it. She must return to the NOW.
She opened her eyes a drowsy slit then, in shock, blinked and opened them to a startled wide. This was wrong, frighteningly wrong. The light was such that she had never seen. Gone were the subtle differences in shades and hues, the sharp definitions in black and white, here was a different image. She blinked again hoping it would go away. It didn’t happen.
This was the wrong den. No! The shapes and order of things were the same. This was the place she always used when her hunting took her far from the pack. Here were the familiar and comforting smells: cured animal dung, musty straw bedding and the sweet odor of a snake’s lair. Bright, dry dust floated in the air catching the early sunlight filtering through broken boards in the roof. Never before did it appear so bright and alive, never before so shimmery silver.
She lay on her side next to the comforting remains of her last meal; the crushed bones sucked for marrow, the discarded scrapes of fur. The delicious perfume of blood gone dry lingered in the air. She licked her lips for any remaining taste and then brought her paw forward to lick. The comforting rasp of her tongue would collect the tidbit tastes left on the fur. As it happened, her tongue slipped over the smooth surface of a paw she could not recognize. This thing that responded to her intention couldn’t be hers. Completely startled, she was on all fours to make an escape. But they were not “all four”. Her body moved independently of her thinking. Her front paws left the ground. It was as though she uncurled. Her head lifted up and up and up until she balanced on her two hind legs. She was upright.
The uprights had intruded and could be seen everywhere. The whole pack knew, very well, what they looked like. This was just some kind of mimic trick her body had learned. Her heart pumped erratically to accommodate this new circulation. A swirling entered her head and she collapsed.
This couldn’t be her body. With eyes tightly shut, she couldn’t bear to see her ugliness. She commanded different parts and pieces of it to move. She practiced this exercise for several moments and always the limbs gave the appropriate response.
She knew what kind of creature she had been and what she should be. When the uprights saw her, what was the cry? “Wolf”, or sometimes “Lobo” which she thought meant the same from their reactions. She accepted that as being what she was. She relaxed and breathed evenly. Now calmed, she took an inventory and had to admit that there was a match for what was remembered of them. This is the body of an upright. In confusion she thought, I was a wolf pup first. I remember that. Then, with the seasons, I got to be an upright. Even she could see there was something wrong with that progression. But what had happened to her? Whatever, there wasn’t a thing she could do about it now. She had to consider what this meant to her survival. Was she safe here?
She finally acknowledged the obvious. This place hasn’t changed: it is my eyes that have changed and how I am seeing it. This is still the place where I have havened in the past. This is where the uprights, at one time, kept their four leggeds. When the uprights had moved out then all the natural life returned to make it home. There are the very small creepies, the middle size scurryers and now I too. It seems that, in me, an upright has returned.
Then the thing happened that, as a predator, she always feared. She sneezed. While hunting you can’t afford that type of betrayal. She sneezed again. In her agitation she had stirred up clouds of old straw and dust. Oh no! She had never minded these things before. This change affected not only her body but her thinking as well. So, as much as she was loath to do so, now was the time to confront these changes.
This was a girl body and, with an ache of acceptance, it was her body. Her disgust caught in her throat so that her anguished animal moan could not escape. A moan had not the volume to express her distress. At last, a full voiced and haunting howl satisfied her grief.
No matter what her shape, she still had to eat, so these long, well-muscled legs would just have to carry her. All her parts were pretty much accounted for, although of a size and shape she despised. She wouldn’t ever think about her pelt. She had been so proud of the thickness and silkiness, without realizing the richness of the color. She would miss the warmth of that pelt but she would not punish her vanity by its loss. At least this under-a-rock, milky-white hide wouldn’t attract the unwanted attention of a male, whatever the specie.
Such speculation was a waste of time. Whatever the cause of this miserable transformation she still had to survive within this body. The first order of survival was, as always, food. That would have to wait for the darkness to settle. It was then that the small, furry things would be about. Her mouth puckered at the thought. She would never get the fur past her mouth, let alone stomach it. This strange reaction must be a part of her change. She would skin down to the animal’s flesh before she fed. What a waste. She would face that later. Now that the barn was daytime warm, a lethargic kind of coma overcame her. With the drone of the insects as a lullaby tune, she slept.
She floated in a warm shallow of dreaming, buoyed by bubbles of a tuneless chant. “What came first, the chicken or the egg?…the chicken or the egg?…the chicken or…” It was a memory scolding her: a young one’s voice. The words meant nothing. They droned in her head as she slept.