Believe

Raindrops thunder in the old barn like a swarm of angry bees, pervading the silence in my mind.

"When did it start raining?" I wonder distractedly in a low voice, confused by the unexpected timeskip. The shy sun was picking behind light grey clouds last I glimpsed at the lonely barred window, clear patches of blue sky in between. Now slate grey and heavy rain fill the scenery.

Just a typical summer storm, I concur. They come and go so fast. Old me would have seized the opportunity to run outside and walk in the rain, face upward and tongue out in an attempt to catch a few drops. In my insatiable quest to stay a kid.

I wonder where this inner child is now, if she's just playing hide-and-seek or if I've lost her entirely. The thought used to scare me, but lately I've been surrendering to the fatality of it. I don't have energy for anything more. Drained, restless. Nothing but emptiness left for me since that sunny day.

In the oblivion, just one impulse. To come back here. The old barn by the abandoned cherry-red brick house. Of course, at first I tried to ignore the impulse. But it kept coming back to me, more and more insistent. I thought maybe I was becoming insane, psychotic. Until one day, the realisation hit me that it's nothing as macabre. As an hopeless optimist, a persisting light of hope is leading me to this haunted place. A feeble hope that the old barn can help me find myself again, in a twisted cycle of bad karma. Unfortunately, no success so far.

It's been three weeks and it always ends the same way. I sit on the dry hay by the left end corner, a piece of paper on the knees and the black ink pen in my right hand. For hours I spin it and spin it lazily between my fingers, the motion almost hypnotic. Yet, neither memories nor words appear in my mind. Time moves insufferably slow in this trance, but it doesn't matter. I have nowhere else to be.

A sigh escapes from my lips, heavy like a trail of honey. Unlike all those times before, may be led by the rhythmic sensation of the beating rain, the trail leads me all the way back to that uncharted memory.

————— May 9ᵗʰ

"Come with me?", he says as he stops by my desk with his briefcase under his arm and two coffees-to-go in his hands. I noticed that he looked a bit tired, he had been for the last couple days. Coffee is such a gift for humanity, I thought.

"Sure", I reply with a big smile. I swiftly throw notebook and pen in my bag before placing it over my shoulder with a schoolgirl-like enthusiasm. Time for my favourite time of the day.

It must be six months ago that we have started the new routine of going for a walk after lunch. My boss is a firm believer that two minds are better than one and that nothing inspires words more than the everyday life in the street. "Listen everywhere", he always says. So every day, rain or shine, we walk for a few minutes with no specific direction, in search for inspiration. Still, it doesn't hurt when it is a hot sunny day like today - I think delightedly. If only I knew how wrong this thought truly was.

As we head out of the office into the busy main street and begin walking east, the conversation moves to the last song he has been working on. I feel lucky to have become some sort of a co-writer for him. Honestly, I still feel lucky he even gave me a chance all those years ago. When no one else believed in me, not even myself. Needless to say - and I hate it sounds cliché - he has become to me the father figure I've never had.

As he explains how he's finally found the missing rhyme, I take the cue to go off on one of my long monologues - this time about the misuse of assonances. I get lost in it for a few minutes, as we take a few right turns. All of a sudden, the unexpected: something succeeds in interrupting my stream of consciousness. As if teleported in a different reality, the silver buildings and busy shops have now morphed into the typical roads of the countryside, with their big mansions and high trees and twisty turns. In the shimmering heat of the day I stop to wonder if it is a mirage.

"I can't believe such a place exists so close to the city centre! Is that a horse in that field there?" I notice with wide eyes, forefinger pointing in the corresponding direction. My usual curiosity, today sprinkled with a bit of additional childhood nostalgia, is so quick to demand my attention. And yet I overlooked all that mattered.

He chuckles. "Indeed! It's pretty, isn't it?"

He then pauses for a moment to take the view and a deep breath in before announcing, "I know you've been struggling with the new assignment, so I want to do something new today that could light up your inspiration. There is a place here I'd like to show you."

I twitch. I have been stuck on this song for too many days and I have been getting impatient. I don't like for people to see me struggle, knowing that I've let them and myself down. With him, there is also the extra element of wanting to make him proud, which now makes me curse my damn rollercoaster creativity. With him, nevertheless a warm sense of gratitude sneaks in as I acknowledge he's taking care of me. In this turmoil, all I can come up with is a "Let's see!" and a wavering smile in the hope to sound convincing.

I am defeated. I know he can tell exactly my reaction. And he simply resumes walking.

"We are very close, just a little patience. It's just by that cherry-red brick house at the end of the street." His slow pace was so uncertain, the patience was self-encouragement. But I could not see that.

As we reach the abandoned house, he leads the way towards a dense line of cypresses looming at one side like an impenetrable shield. To my surprise, he simply vanishes in the thick vegetation. I get closer with hesitant steps, and I giggle as the tension that was slowly but surely gripping my chest diffuses. It's not a line but a series of cypresses. And there is a short, narrow path hidden between them. I step in. On the other side, rays of sunshine welcome me into a large glade filled with daisies and wildflowers.

"This is the place", he says proudly. His eyes look dreamy as they lazily move through the soft blades of grass towards a modest building standing right at the centre of the open space. The weed-covered run-down barn, lopsided and discoloured by time, looks just as melancholic as an old guard dog. Yet, he's looking at it with the same respect you'd give to a royal castle.

Eyes still lingering, he takes another moment to reposition his glasses on his nose. So I know. He's about to share a story.

"When I was just about your age and songwriting was just the dream of a lonely romantic boy, I'd come here looking for inspiration. The peaceful sight of the glade and solitude of the old barn were speaking to my heart, I felt unusually connected. I spent so many hours here, wrote so many songs. Yet, none of them was being accepted. I was losing my hope, and my creativity. You know the feeling, how dark it can get. And, believe it or not, back then it was even more difficult to find the way." He repositions his glasses once more. "One evening, as I was looking at the new moon from the window inside the barn, I felt particularly drown to her. Fully in the moment. And something happened. A light sensation, like a jolt of energy, radiated through my left hand all the way into my chest. I've never felt such a blissful feeling before or after. Words started appearing with such clarity in my mind that I could swear they had been whispered by the wind. That magical evening I wrote the song that has transformed the dream into my profession." He smiles. "I've never shown this place to anyone but my family. I want it to be yours too. You have what it takes to feel the same magic. If you promise you'll start believing in yourself. Really believing. Your talent will bring the words to you." He pauses, looking deeply in my eyes. I nod in understanding, not knowing if the emotions of being introduced to this secret could let me say anything. I knew this was a moment I wouldn't forget.

"Would you care to join me indoors, we can look for some cover from the heat and work on your song? You are going to love the smell of the wood."

I nod excitedly, and take careful steps in the grass. I feel humble reverence as I look with new eyes all around, at the flowers and the way the sunshine brings the colours of nature to life. As a silent breeze brushes my hair, I start feeling a bit of the peace he's been telling me about.

I turn around to share with him this thought, but he's not where I expect him to be. He's laying on the ground, hand tight on his heart. And the words turn into a stifled cry.

We never made it to the old barn. I called 999, called his wife, waited helpless for the ambulance to arrive, sat in anguish for hours in the hospital's waiting room. They succeeded in keeping him alive, but he never gained consciousness back for farewell. He died of heart failure two days after. The doctor said that his heart wasn't well, and the unexpected heat of that day accelerated his condition. I couldn't help but feel guilt and remorse for his last moments. I didn't even deserve them. I have been unconsolable, and useless. To his family, to him, to anyone. My only friend and mentor has gone. And with him, my inspiration for life. I couldn't evoke one single word since then.

—————

As the memory silently fades into reality, the pain I expected does not follow. His last words linger weightless in my head. He was right, I love the smell of the wood in the barn. It's even mellower in the rain.

I imagine what it must have been like for him, on that magical evening he's told me about. He was sitting on the hay, just like I am now. Lost and in the dark. I lift my gaze to the little window, and I let the surroundings envelop all my senses like he did. My breath slows and calm flows through an ever absent me.

Soon, something in the rain draws me closer and closer. I focus my eyes on it. Silver-shining lines join to form a word, as if written on a spiderweb. And the rain sounds just like it is whispering that word to me too, over and over again. Believe.

Spellbound, I do what I couldn't for so long. I write the word down. Swiftly, a wave of energy radiates from my right arm all the way to my chest. Bittersweet words of love and loss appear in clear sentences in my mind. My hand moves in accord on the paper.

After what could be a moment or an eternity, I look at what's in front of me. Dark strokes in the shape of a complete song.

You were right once more, I think filled with renewed inspiration. I can believe.