By the Blueberry Bushes

Twenty years ago it was my escape. Acres of grass lined with blueberry bushes surrounded the two stories of weathered wood. Time had taken away most proof of the original bright red color, though the secret escaped the doors edges when I opened it just enough to slide through. Inside, hay collected in the corners showing the ground dry and dusty.

Just up the creaky stairs, on the left was my spot. A few steps away from the large opening in the side, a support beam stood connecting the downstairs ground to the upstairs roof. I would set my backpack down, fight the zipper all the way around, and pull out the red, white, and blue quilt my mother’s grandmother had given her a long, long time ago. It was the perfect size to spread beside the beam; my legs had the perfect amount of covered space to stretch as I leaned into the wooden support.

Here, I could read. I could write. I could draw and I could dream.

***

Fifteen years ago, it was where he first kissed me. We’d snuck off just before sunset. My mom thought we’d be picking a few blueberries and then coming right back. We did pick, for a little while. Telling each other stories and gossiping about which boys liked which girls from school. Occasionally, I’d pop a berry into my mouth, thrilled with each burst of sweet hydration.

“I betcha won’t go into that barn when it gets dark,” he smiled and tossed a blueberry into the basket.

“I ain’t afraid of that barn, Charlie.”

“Even at night?” He tempted, raising a doubtful eyebrow. Dark lashes tickled his dark brown skin each time he blinked. He had two freckles, one in the middle of the bridge of his nose and one on his right cheek.

“Even at night.” I declared. His dare left no way for me to make it home before the sunset. Momma would be so mad, but I refused to let Charlie decide I was chicken. As soon as the sun set, I set my basket of blueberries on the ground and proudly pranced my way toward the barn.

The place looked different at night. Instead of the warm, homey greeting of sturdy, greyed wood, I stared at a tall, dark shadow. Out of habit I reached for the door, cracked it open, and slid inside. I heard Charlie struggle to fit through the small opening and faced an even scarier inside than out. With no sunlight to peek through the windows, I held my breath until I found the stairs. I led the way to the second floor, and in the moonlight saw the shadow of my beam. What fear I had escaped, and I found a seat at the opening and dangled my feet over the side.

“Told you.”

“That’s cause it’s your barn, if it’d been my barn you’da been scared.”Though I doubted his words, my heart skipped a beat when he sat right next to me. His feet dangled off the side, too, and one gently touched mine.

“My momma is gonna kill me, I need to go home.”

“Yeah, we probably should go now.” As he said the words his fingers danced over to mine before he leaned in and made our lips meet. His brown eyes grew wide before he quickly stood up and ran out. I watched him through the opening, running away from the barn towards his house.

A few minutes later I made my way home, too, touching my lips repeatedly as I tried to decide whether it had really happened.

I did get a whipping that night, but I knew momma did it out of love. It hurt, my seat burns a little thinking of it now, but it was worth every lash.

I had no reason to doubt that Charlie DeRidder loved me.

***

Ten years ago, twelve pick-up trucks and double that number of newly graduated adults met around a bonfire two fields over. Beer and colas rested on ice underneath each tailgate. The one car in the group parked facing the fire with both doors open, blaring Louisiana Saturday Night radio. Charlie and I arrived separately, said our hellos, caught up with friends, and snuck away together on foot.

We found ourselves at the barn and snuck in through the front like always. This time, Charlie brought a flashlight and when we turned towards the creaky stairs, I saw red rose petals littered on each one. I turned to find him right behind me, like he knew I’d stop before continuing up the stairs. He was a head and a half taller than me now, I couldn’t see the freckle on his nose anymore unless we were sitting down. One hand held the flashlight and one found its way to the small of my back before he pulled me close and kissed my forehead. “Come on,” he whispered, “You ain’t scared are ya?”

“I think I should be,” I teased and continued up the stairs, his free hand now still tangled with mine. When we reached the top, Charlie made his way around me, bending down to light candles placed by the beam. When the first one was lit, I noticed others placed around the barn’s opening. I guess Charlie had found his momma’s stash of hurricane supply candles, and I chuckled at the thought of him sneaking such treasure from his home. Walking toward the first candle he lit, I noticed the beam was etched. The date of our first kiss and our initials were carved inside a heart. Just below the heart was today’s date. “Our graduation,” I smiled as my fingers traced the numbers.

My red, white, and blue blanket was spread out by the opening, two wine glasses and a picnic basket sat to the side. We found our seats and dangled our feet over the edge.

Charlie pulled a chilled bottle out of the basket, “I, uh, I know you don’t like wine, but this—" He handed me a fancy glass of dark blue liquid, small bubbles forming on top from the pour. “is the finest of all blueberry wines.”

I was thankful he'd brought a back up pitcher of sweet tea as we shared the snacks he’d packed for the night. We exchanged kisses between discussing high school memories, our first kiss, what it meant now that we were officially adults. As night turned into early morning, I folded the blanket, put it in the snack basket and began blowing out the candles, one by one.

“Before you get that last one,” he said, “I need to tell you something.” He was on his knee, with a little red box in his hand. My heart raced and I felt the blood rush out of every freckle on my face. I assume I looked terrified. “I’ve loved you since before I kissed you in this loft, and I want to keep loving you for the rest of my life.”

“Okay,” I barely heard myself, I couldn’t take my eyes away from his sparkling brown ones.

“So you’ll marry me?” My mouth was on his before the question fully escaped his mouth.

“Yes, yes, yes,” I told him, “I can’t wait to marry you.”

***

Nine years ago I married Charlie. The only reason it had taken a year to plan the wedding was because momma insisted it was proper, and daddy wanted a fresh coat of paint on the venue before having people over. Charlie’d grown out his hair and decided a little facial hair made him feel more grown up.

“Husbands--” he’d say, when I’d complain that it tickled my face, “Husbands have facial hair.” It was the most ridiculous reason to grow a beard, but he never gave another reason why. Just that boyfriends don’t and husbands do have facial hair.

Our wedding was perfect. Thirty people watched us promise eternal love to one another on the second floor of our barn. A Bible lay open on a table next to my beam, and the preacher stood in the middle of the opening, a picture perfect view of the blooming blueberry bushes behind him. I’ve never felt words before, but I felt every syllable as Charlie said his vows. I felt the sincerity in his words, “I do.”

***

Five years ago we got approval from the parish to build our forever home in the only place that felt like forever. First we sturdied the bones, replacing the worn frame with brand new. Then we put the windows where windows belonged. We finalized the outer shell of the barn, put in our kitchen and our bathrooms. We picked out tile, and appliances. Downstairs we created our living spaces and a guest bedroom, upstairs was our bedroom, a second bedroom, and a sitting room centered around the now glassed in opening. My great-grandmother’s quilt draped over a small couch, and a little light shined down my beam to illuminate the artwork we’d installed. One more date added to our initials and heart.

***

Two years ago, we sat on the couch by the opening and put the phone on speaker. “Cancer,” the doctor said. The only word I heard from the conversation, and the only word to have ever crushed my soul.

Offices, treatments, home nurses. Charlie smiled every day, even through chemotherapy and loosing his beard.

“I hope this doesn’t make me just a boyfriend, again,” he’d say as he stared at his bare face in the mirror.

I’d position myself between him and the counter, prop myself up, and put both hands on his smooth skin, “I’m glad I’m married to the boyfriend I love.”

Charlie begged to leave the hospital. He wanted to be home, in our spot for those last days. The red, white, and blue quilt was the perfect size for the bed that the hospital brought, and the bed fit perfectly along the window opening. We’d spend most mornings looking out at the blueberry bushes, browned from the harsh winter. We’d talk dreams and wishes during the day, and I’d read to him at night. For weeks I slept in a chair beside him, his hand resting on my rounding belly.

***

Today, the barn became a family home as I carried my baby girl through the front door. I dropped the diaper bag on the small kitchen table and carried her up the stairs. The middle one creaked as it bore the weight of the baby and me.

I passed the beam on our way to the bassinet that I placed in the middle of the windowed opening. My fingers traced the carved dates.

Fifteen years ago, ten years ago. Nine years ago. Five years ago.

Two weeks ago.

Today.

I arranged a new pink, blue, and green quilt around the little body in the bassinet. “This is our spot, baby Charlee,” I whispered and looked out the window into a setting sun. Just past the blooming blueberry bushes, I see the cross silhouette. “Daddy can see us from here, too.”