My Hayloft

It was the summer of 1981. I’d just turned sixteen and had recently discovered Rick Springfield. Dreaming about being Jessie’s Girl with a teen heartthrob lusting after me was my salvation since I had nothing more exciting in my life. Summertime on a farm was filled with nothing but hard work. And, more than twenty miles from any real civilization meant that other than an occasional trip to the grocery store, the only people I’d likely see were members of my family.

Yay. I expected it would be the worst summer of my life.

I loved my little brother but Allen was only ten and quite good at being a typical, trying ten-year-old. He liked catching frogs and insects and passing gas, which made me gag. I liked—well, listening to and daydreaming about Rick Springfield, which made him gag. He often whined to Mom, “Please make Tina stop! She never plays anything else and it’s making me crazy!”

Allen wasn’t really the greatest of company for a sixteen-year-old girl caught in the awkward stage between childhood and adulthood.

My mom, Dorothy Ann, and I had been pretty good friends but that sadly changed when she married my stepfather. Always a rather needy, insecure individual, Mom’s new focus was on making her new husband happy. Impressing Eddie didn’t leave much time for, or allow the same allegiance to, a teenager who was becoming more confusing by the day. In addition, Eddie had two kids still living at home who were weren’t impressed with their newly enlarged family: a burly, seventeen-year-old son who loved terrorizing anyone, and a daughter my age who acted like a haughty princess.

Lenny and Josie frequently expressed their resentment over our presence. One night I found a garden snake in my bed, courtesy of Lenny. Josie always turned her nose up at me and any kind of work so I’d end up having to do her chores as well as my own.

To make it worse, I felt totally betrayed when my timid mother would coo to their dad about what great kids they were. Meanwhile, if things weren’t done to my stepfather’s satisfaction—he was a very intense, rigid man—fingers were usually pointed my direction. I eventually learned to do chores when Eddie was there so he could see I’d completed mine and done them well. That also had the advantage of getting me out of doing some of Josie’s work. Win, win!

The rest of the time, it was just safer to stay out of everyone’s way.

Mom didn’t mean any harm. I think she was just afraid to rock the boat by complaining to their father about his children. We hadn’t been completely destitute before she and Eddie were married, but we’d always ran out of money before we ran out of month. Understandably, she wasn’t too keen on living that way again.

The day Lenny stabbed the palm of my hand with a pair of scissors was the day I found my hayloft. Before he’d died, my real dad had taught me a thing or two about defending myself. One of the things he’d made a point to teach me was where to kick a boy if they tried something they shouldn’t. Stabbing me fit that criteria. Somehow, even queasy at the sight of my own blood, I summoned the courage to knee him as hard as I could in a male’s sensitive spot.

It worked like magic! Howling like a high-soprano banshee, Lenny immediately hit the floor. Once he could control his voice, the howling took on the form of a string of curse words (Lenny always had a potty-mouth when Eddie wasn’t around). I learned a whole new language that day as I ran from him as quickly as my legs could carry me. I hadn’t stayed around until he could stand again, fearing my life would be over if I were still there.

With limited hiding options, I made tracks for the old, rundown barn way out back. It was in such disrepair it wasn’t used for anything besides storage and the overflow of hay stored in the open loft. I grabbed a pitchfork and hauled it up with me to use as protection in case Lenny found me. Once I was safely in the hayloft, I fought to pull the ladder up. He couldn’t climb into the loft without it.

The hayloft was a world of its own; quiet, with plenty of light thanks to the cut out window, and just enough room amongst the stacked rectangular bales of hay to be comfortable. I vowed to make it my own special hideaway, tucked in the corner of that old, aromatic barn. It smelled of hay and earth and animals—a familiar, comforting smell to a farm girl. I loved everything about it.

It wasn’t until I heard Eddie’s truck pull up the gravel driveway that I was brave enough to swing the ladder back over the edge and climb down. I reasoned that with his dad home, Lenny wouldn’t try to physically retaliate. Confident I was semi-safe, I jogged back toward the house, slowing down to what I hoped looked like a bored saunter only when I reached the back door. Mom started to yell at me for being gone and not helping with dinner until she saw the blood all over my hand and arm. Then, she gasped and demanded to know what happened. Although I looked pointedly at Lenny, whom I could swear paled waiting for me to answer, I only told her nonchalantly I’d had an accident. Fortunately, she just scolded me for not being more careful instead of pressing for details.

That night, once everyone was asleep, I snuck back out with a lightweight blanket done up knapsack style. Stuffed in it were a few of my favorite books, my beloved childhood teddy bear to use as a pillow—floppy to begin with, it was well-worn and super soft from years of nightly hugging—a wind-up alarm clock, and an old transistor radio that still worked, as well as an extra battery. I wanted to make sure I could listen to Jessie’s Girl in my hayloft. After pilfering a few munchies kept in the pantry for Eddie’s lunches, I opened the back door as quietly as an old door with squeaky hinges could open. The last stop was for a kerosene lantern and a handful of matches from the back porch.

With only the starlight through the window and the soft glow of the lantern to aid my vision, I stepped back and grinned as I observed my little getaway. It was perfect. I’d spread a generous pile of hay on the floor back by the window, concealed from sight by a wall of hay bales in the front, and covered the makeshift bed with my blanket. A lower shelf of hay bales on one side held my food supply, books and radio. The hayloft was my new little niche away from everyone. No one else was likely to come up, at least not until well into winter. The new barn was already full of hay for feeding cattle so we wouldn’t pull from the dilapidated building’s supply for months.

I managed to avoid Lenny the following day. The day after that, we had a family barbecue. It was Friday afternoon and Marie, my oldest stepsister, had driven out from the city with her fiancé and his younger brother. Initially, I was peeved when I found out they were there for the weekend. How could I get away and listen to Rick in my hayloft? I didn’t pout for long, though, once I met Ken and his little brother, Mike. I was suddenly glad I’d washed my nearly waist-length, wheat-colored hair that morning and worn a halter top and Daisy Duke cutoffs. That hadn’t been for the purpose of company; my hair had needed washed and it was hotter than Hades that day in rural Kansas. However, I was suddenly glad for the heat when I noticed Mike’s eyes travel up and down my body appreciatively.

Mike and I hit it off right away. While the adults and the other pseudo grownups hung out in the backyard, Allen clinging to Ken (he’d made the mistake of showing Allen some attention), I asked Mike if he wanted to tour the place. Mentally crossing my fingers they wouldn’t, I extended the invitation to the group at large. I almost had heart failure when Allen looked like he was going to tag along, then breathed a sigh of relief when he changed his mind and decided to stay and monopolize Ken’s time.

As we walked around the garden and the horse corral, avoiding the stench of the pigpen, I learned Mike was about to turn eighteen and had already received a scholarship to attend UCLA in the Fall. That was kind of a bummer, but we still had the better part of three months to get to know each other. Besides, having skipped a grade, I was only a year away from college and UCLA sounded cool.

Maybe I was too presumptuous for having just met him, but he was the first guy ever to make my heart flutter. That is, if I didn’t count Rick Springfield. And, of course, Rick didn’t even know I was alive.

I ended the tour by taking him to the old, rundown barn and showing him my loft. He grinned his approval. “Nice place. I like what you’ve done with it.” We shared a chuckle when he gestured toward my stuffed bear. I sat on the blanket and patted the space beside me. He dropped down and we stayed there for hours, backs propped against a hay bale as we talked about everything under the sun. Favorite books, movies, music, how we’d like to change the world … and on and on.

By the time we heard our names called, I knew I could easily fall in love with the boy. A bit rough and tumble like I was, with intelligence, a gentle spirit and a kind heart. Not to mention, he was just as handsome as Rick Springfield, but with blonde hair and sapphire eyes. I could’ve drowned in that sea of blue!

Another yell that food was ready had us scrambling down the ladder. “We’re coming!” I shouted the response and turned to Mike. “Please don’t say anything about my loft, okay? It’s my secret hideout.”

Mike motioned zipping his lips. “No worries. Your secret’s safe with me. I hope you’ll invite me back again, though.” I couldn’t get the words out to tell him he was always welcome before his mischievous expression over my secret hideout became thoughtful. Even a little serious.

“I know I just met you and I’m heading to California in a few weeks but Tina, I really like you. A lot. Is it okay if I kiss you once before we join the others?”

My breath caught and I couldn’t have spoken if I’d had to. Instead, I simply nodded. Gently, Mike cupped his hands against my face and bent down so his six-foot frame could mold more closely to my petite five-two body. He looked into my eyes for a long moment—I think to verify I was sure. He must’ve seen I was, for his lips came down and pressed ever so softly to mine. The kiss was warm and sweet and far too short, but those few seconds changed everything. We walked hand in hand until we neared the house. Breaking contact, we smiled shyly at one another and walked side by side the rest of the way.

There would always be room for Rick Springfield, but he already had far less of my heart than he’d owned just that morning. I had a warm feeling that it just might turn out to be the best summer of my life.