IF THESE OLD BARN WALLS COULD TALK

IF THESE OLD BARN WALLS COULD TALK

The old barn was nearly a century old when I saw it for the first time. It looked as if it had weathered its last storm. It set alone among the swaying tall pampas grass on my grandparent's old, dilapidated farm. Its weathered red paint faded and stripped of its rich former color, leaving it a brownish blackish dirty reddish color. The decayed wood had separated from the rusted nails, many of which had fallen to the ground. The barn was a massive size, and there was an enormous hole in its roof that had partly caved in. It had four windows on the front of the barn, with the loft opening just above the two badly worn-out barn doors. The loft's floor was still covered with faded and stiff hay that had been blown about over the passing years.

Some of the open windows had been boarded up, and now the boards were hanging off the hinges. In its condemned condition, it managed to still be standing and leaned to one side. This old barn had intrigued me for some reason from the very beginning. It was the first thing I noticed when we arrived on the farm. For some strange reason, I felt a kindred spirit with it. As I looked up at it. My father saw me staring and had forbidden me to go near it as soon as we had arrived. I had never visited the farm before, and I was being raised by my single father after losing my mother at birth. Although my father was good to me, we led a quiet life, no other family. The loss of my mother was something he never talked about. I knew nothing of her or any family she may have had, living or dead. He also never spoke of his parents much. I was their only grandchild and did not know them well except that they did exist. With my only living grandmother having dementia, the chances were pretty slim of getting close to her. Only one other time in my life could I ever have remembered meeting her. My life was an unresolved mystery and was slipping through my fingers quickly. A life I longed to know about.

From the moment we got there, I could tell there was something about being on the farm that bought a great deal of sadness to my father for reasons I would never find out. I ran through the tall grass to the large barn door but never entered. The old barn was no longer used but held many rusted plows and broken farm tools and old supplies grandpa, and my dad had used back in the day. They were leaning on and had surrounded the old barn. My grandpa was no longer alive, and my dad and I had come to move his demented mother, who could no longer care for herself and had let the farm go and remove the few animals left off the farm. Everything was overgrown, and the only farm hand had abandoned her. My father's next task was to put my grandmother into a facility near our home.

My grandparents' farmhouse I also found enthralling. A sizeable two-story structure with a great room and a big round weaved wool rug gave the room much warmth and a big warm kitchen. Imagining this kitchen was filled with memories of the meals grandmother cooked. It appeared to be a home where a family was nurtured and loved, but that was not the case. My dad had one brother who had long since separated himself from the family. My uncle hadn't been seen or heard from in years; living or dead, no one knew. While growing up, Dad and my uncle shared a bedroom off the kitchen. Something I could not understand since there was plenty of room upstairs. Only four of them living in a large old farmhouse. The guest room on the second story had been given to me. Its quaintness had been well maintained over the years.

A vintage desk in the guest room sat in front of a mirror, holding notes and trinkets. Beautiful lace curtains covered a picture window and had a lovely window seat lined with a soft cushion. Its large window gave a birds-eye view of the old barn that sat in the distance from the house. The bed, an unusual old iron bed draped with a beautiful quilt. At the foot of the bed was a beautiful steamer trunk that smelled of mothballs. Inside there were old family photos, a uniform, lace, and other mementos. I longed to know their history. There were two side tables, one had an old lamp, and the other had a girl's statue in a blue dress. On the wall perfectly lined up nine pictures above the bed, three in each perfect row. Ever since my father and I had arrived, there had been a vase of fresh-cut flowers on the room's dresser. The house was surrounded by banquets of flowers. I imagined grandmother had pulled them from her garden. Everything on the farm was in full bloom. Something about this place made me like being here. I only wished I could have spent more time here growing up.

After having been on the farm a week, I lay awake in the middle of the night. Restless, I got up and took a seat on the cushion in the window. It was hot as I opened the window to allow the fresh air to flow in. The silvery light of the moon cast a dark blue silhouette on the old barn. I was enjoying the view and the cool night air when I noticed something moving about. Someone with a lantern, a man who at first I didn't recognize. I followed his movement with my eyes being sure to stay out of any noticeable view. I was shielded by the darkness of the quaint room behind me.

As he got closer to the barn, I recognized my father pull the old door open and step inside. Then closing the door behind him. I could see the lantern's reflection on the barn's ceiling through the opening above the old barn doors. That was a strange happening in the middle of the night, even for this man of mystery. For the next two hours, I watched before I fell asleep in the window seat.

Opening the barn door in angst and closing it behind him, keeping the lantern in hand. Holding it up as he turned, looking around the dusty old barn. Feeling the jitters as it held many memories. The barn's looks had changed drastically. Once, it had been a warm, friendly place, offering solitude and privacy to unquietness. It was here they found the joy they could not get anyplace else. Then it took an evil turn that changed everything. He looked up, and there she was. Her beauty took his breath away even in his memory. Joy was the spitting image of her. If only she could have known that. He was too timorous to ever tell Joy how much like her mother she was. Even though she deserved to know. The two of them had been meeting here for more than a year now on the quiet. Her parents had not approved of him, and his parents were unaware. His mom was in her mid-forties when she gave birth to him. His father was beyond fifty. Neither of them understood young love. How insatiable it was. He looked up, feeling aflutter, noticing her warm smile. It was that smile that made him see her in the beginning. He couldn't help but stare. "Come on up," he recalled she said softly. He climbed the ladder to meet her. Taking her face into his hands and tenderly kissing her. Slowly he moved his hand down till he felt the swell of her belly. It wouldn't be long before the baby would come. This made them both sad, for they knew what it meant. Her father had forbidden him to have anything to do with his daughter and grandchild. No one knew about their secret meetings in the old barn. It was here they planned to run away together and be the family they had hoped to be. It must be soon because the baby would quickly come. Recalling the night his father had come in and caught them together. He became neurotic, and a fight ensued. Cait struggled down the ladder, holding on to her belly. When getting to the third step, she fell. Managing to get up, she went toward them in desperation to break up the fight. During the tussle, she was shoved and fell, hitting her head on an old metal plow. The scuffle continued till it was noticed she was down. There was blood on her head, and she was screaming as blood also oozed profusely from between her legs. The blow and fall forced labor. In agony, she screamed out. He ran unsettled to help her. Skittishly his father ran outside the old barn and retrieved water, grabbing some old dirty rags nearby to help stop the bleeding. He fell to his knees, recalling the fateful events that followed that night. Rubbing his hands over his head and face, he wailed like it had happened yesterday.

Burying her in that old barn and taking the baby with him. He vowed to never return here. A dreaded secret his father had taken to his grave. He would do the same. His daughter, Joy, now at seventeen, could never know the actual events that took place in that old barn. It would have taken him from her. He couldn't bear the thought of her losing both a mother and a father. He needed to leave town with the baby that night. Get as far away as he could. No one could ever know. That had been years ago, and nothing had brought him back here until now. Here in this old barn, he felt close to her. Here is where they shared their last loving moments together. This time he would leave and never come back. This painful memory of the old barn and what happened in it would be gone forever.

I awoke the following day on the window seat to the smell of my father making breakfast down in the big kitchen. Still curious about last night and that old barn, I decided to disobey my father and go pay it a visit. I felt the need to look inside of it. When my father left to go into town on business, my job was to look after my grandmother. But instead, I ran through the tall grass that led to the barn. I hesitated before going in.

Pulling the stiff door with all my might till it had opened wide enough to let my small frame inside. I stepped inside. It was dirty and musty. Spiderwebs were thick and covered with the dust of many years till they had looked like ropes that hung everywhere. The old farm equipment on the inside had rusted. One metal plow had laid on the floor, obstructing the path. For some reason, it caught my particular attention. I picked it up and removed it off the way. The sunlight came in through the cracks of the separated wood that continued to deteriorate. The loft was up beyond a ladder that led to it. I decided not to trust it.

It was weird, but I felt at peace here. If these old barn walls could talk, what stories I wondered would they tell. Unfortunately, I would never find out. My father and I left the farm about a month later. That was ten years ago. My life has not changed and remains the unresolved mystery it had always been. And neither did it offer me any hope of enlightenment on my humble beginnings.