Memories of a Barn

September 23rd, 1956

Colorful skirts swirled around the dance floor to the square beat of country music. A mouse staring straight down from the rafters was mesmerized by the kaleidoscope. Sophie, on the other hand, was not overwhelmed in the slightest. This was exactly where she was supposed to be. Slightly late due to some hair issues, her friends beckoned her over, and she slid right in to the mix like she’d been at every harvest dance the small town had ever hosted in this barn. She had. They moved it to the Henry’s barn when she was four.

She still had to fight to catch her breath as the group dance ended though. The four-year-old’s she used to relate to looked on in envy as handsome Jacob Henry approached her when the music slowed. The breath catching got harder. If he looked good in his overalls working in the fields out back, the wooden beams of the barn perfectly framed the tan figure hugged by blue jeans and rolled up sleeves of a collared shirt. The tip of his cowboy hat was what really stole her heart, but she wouldn’t let that be known until at least a couple of the dances he’d just asked her for.

The whole atmosphere of the cleaned out barn felt lighter with their steps. Pounding of feet had ceased, making the slow dance a much more relaxing massage on the floor. White oak cradled the love in the air between them the way Sophie’s head fit into Jake’s shoulder. It knew from experience the late night rendezvous soon to follow, seeking warmth in the hay over winter, and celebrating spring the old fashioned way. The spark they birthed would linger long after the music and conversation faded.

June 12th, 1970

The door swung open as forcefully as a small, 10 year old boy filled with undirected rage and frustration could physically push. The walls creaked in response to the pressure felt in his bones. He’d put a dam in place that only the old barn could remove from his eyes, and it often did. The moment he stepped through and let the door fall back behind him, so too did his troubles. They cascaded down his face and soaked into the floor, the wood forever remembering all the times his father yelled at him to be better, stronger, tougher, faster with his chores.

Why couldn’t he measure up to the easy standards set by the generations of men before him? He didn’t want anything more than to wake up early, till the fields, feed the animals, toil under the hot sun in between meals made by a beautiful wife, content with what he offered to her world. A future like his father’s present seemed impossible with how useless he felt. It’s not like he dreamt of writing poetry at some city college like little sister Susie, or felt the weird feelings that caused people to only speak of cousin Ted in hushed tones.

He was as white a sheep as the little one he’d been tasked with shearing just fifteen minutes ago. That is, until the animal’s blood ruined the wool in spot after spot, nicked by the dull blade of his own hurried inattention. He knew once his father found it, he’d get the tough love that would one day make him just as great a farmer, so he’d let out his tears preemptively. If they snuck out in the middle of admonishment, it’d only make it worse.

The barn didn’t judge. The wooden walls didn’t tell him who should and shouldn’t cry and over what. The barn gave him just a few minutes to pull himself together. A minute longer, his dad would find him in the barn and the safe haven would be ruined. With a loud sniff, he detached from the feelings he’d lend the barn, never once accepting repayment, and firmly resigned himself to facing his punishment, and perhaps the rest of his life, like the cold, stone man he aspired to be.

February 29th, 2004

The barn had had 4 am visitors before, but none so panicked as this. The excitement in her heartbeat was not the same as the rebellion local teens reveled in when they lit up in the nearly abandoned place or made out in its dark corners. Her dread distinctive from the farmers of old who wished there were fewer chores and more hours to sleep. The door, as if in infinite sympathy, forewent its usual creak of age and paid homage to the silence this woman’s quick breathing still managed.

A sigh of relief was the first audible noise she made, way in the back of the barn, hidden behind nearly unrecognizable run down farming equipment. Whispers floated through the rafters in a pleading language the barn had started to learn, but couldn’t quite make out. Eventually, her exhaustion took over and she passed out on the thin layer of straw strewn about the hard wood. All was at peace again for a few short hours.

As if the barn too could jump, Gloria was jolted awake at the sound of voices outside. Shadows crossed the sunlight streaming in from between the wall’s planks. She didn’t understand what the words meant, but they were harsh, frustrated. She recognized the voice of the agent that had found her in the back of the van, the one she’d bolted from. Would he go through so much effort when he hadn’t caught her immediately? He sounded tired. Less tired, though still exasperated, was the man who responded. Their shadows passed around to the front of the barn, and the door screeched open on its rusty hinges, in case Gloria wasn’t already awake.

Even the worms awoke. They could feel the pounding in her chest, deep below the floorboards. Sharp, shallow breaths returned, and her eyes strained to the side, fixated on a crawlspace just underneath the broken tractor her back leaned against. She could hide there. She could move to it, if she could move at all. The entire scene was as still and unbroken as the bright blue sky beyond the roof, just out of reach, unable to be rearranged day or night. Then a cloud moved over her. She’d never see him and he’d never see her, but his eyesight seemed to blur as he stared squarely in Gloria’s direction. Whether sleep or work beckoned the men away, no other being could sense over the terror palpable to everyone else. She must have held her breath for three days before the sun set. Gratefulness was all she left behind, never to return.

December 1st, 2023

The love of his life entered the room and the entire barn melted away. All the people seated in the newly cleared wide open space seemed to never have existed. The old man next to Coral was a shadow her light sprang from. Her white dress sparkled under the fairy lights draped over the rafters as she glided towards Ian, and he knew he’d remember this moment forever. He should never have argued over the rustic farm look this city girl had dreamt of for her wedding. The simplicity of her surroundings made her shine all the brighter; the mason jars made the alcohol taste all the better, or maybe that was just the day; and the ancient nature of the barn, recleaned and redecorated, reflected another side of their newly minted coin: their love would stand as these walls had stood, heedless of time, and regardless, yet mindful, of all the lives it had touched.