Stopped Past The Old Barn

I was stopped past the old barn, looking back over the shed I used to sneak inside to see old things made of old wood. The house looked the same, I guess. Still white and sitting in the same spot. The tree I used to want to climb and would go up without help and then cry for help on the way down was still there. There was a weird door off the hall no one ever used that led to that tree. I felt sorry for it. Felt it deserved to be climbed. That house was full of secrets. A room above the kitchen that no one used. I would have made that my bedroom. But there were so many rules at the farm.

Grandma was mean. She tried to pretend she was sweet, but she wasn’t. She married again, late, and nattered that man to death. She didn’t coddle or cuddle her only girl grandchild. She was practical. You didn’t mess with things. Grandpa was funny and rough and worked and ate and napped and made us laugh until she killed him with fatty foods and ferociousness. And then the farm was hers.

So many summers with pricked arms, loading hay onto the elevator, or occasionally standing with my dad and the neighbour kid in the loft and hefting the bales into stacks. That teenage kid, quite frankly, was only there because he was a boy and was being paid, and had no weight or strength to add to his extra 5 years on me. He looked like he’d be more comfortable staring at a computer. Those big glasses. They probably didn’t even have computers yet. They still had party lines in the country. I used to fantasize about that boy. There was nothing else to do at the farm, as a girl. He never spoke a word. I wonder if he’s still alive? I would have killed myself by now if that was my life. I’ve thought about it regardless, and I’m sure my life is much more interesting.

I’m sitting, now, just in view of the barn, in my Ford Tempo, my first car, forest green with a sticky choke. I’m a new-ish adult remembering childhood, probably too nostalgically, but that’s allowed in my world. I’m sitting on the country road, tempting myself to sneak back into that barn. I’m too afraid. I just want to feel like it’s all alive and real again. For some reason, I have a memory all my own there.

I had found kittens, finally. I was a kid. About 12, maybe. Old enough to explore on my own. And there were tons of barn cats. I always searched for kittens. And this time I found them. An empty stall full of hay. They were old enough that the mom would let them walk all over me. I was there from sun-up til sun-down that whole time my dad was bringing in the hay. I lived there. I loved those kittens. I imagined the barn was a place I could live in. I would sleep in the hay. It didn’t smell good but you got used to it. The hay loft would be a good place, but the kittens couldn’t get up there. In the loft I would be alone. They would leave me alone. I was alone. I was mostly left alone, except for these kittens, so I would stay down in this stall. I didn’t ask for much. I didn’t want to be with the adults. All they did was make themselves the best and everyone else the worst. I didn’t want to be looked at. They would laugh at this. Stupid barn cats, they’d think. Grandma would probably want to drown them in the lake. They didn’t love the animals the way I loved the animals. I couldn’t think of them as dinner. The beautiful cows with giant eyes… my cousin Wayne had pet cows he showed at the fairs, and then sent away in a truck with a load of other confused cows, probably wondering why they weren’t loved any more. The beautiful pigs with their little babies sucking on them, looking so motherly. The chickens were somewhat pesky, although I couldn’t have plucked the feathers from their fleshy carcasses with as little feeling as Grandma did in the kitchen sink.

Grandpa, who was really just my Grandpa because he was Grandma’s second husband… Grandpa said I could have a kitten. He had seen that I’d spent the week in the old barn with the kittens, and I loved them. And he told my parents I could take a kitten with me. They laughed.

Grandma and Grandpa stood on the concrete steps and waved, and I turned and got in the car so they wouldn't see I was crying. Grandpa said goodbye to me and I wish I remembered for sure, but I think he said he loved me, and I said nothing. As we drove down the lane, then the road, then onto the busy road, my mother turned to me in the back seat and asked why I hadn't said goodbye to Grandpa, and that he looked sad. I thought about him standing on the porch and loving me even though he wasn't supposed to show that, because he wasn't a real Grandpa, and I was just adopted, and he never got love back, not from animals or Grandma or kittens and no one else loved him because he had no real kids and no one really thought he was a good guy because he made those jokes and was rough and didn't have many teeth. He had me, and I hadn't said anything back. He would see the kittens and try to hide them from Grandma so she wouldn't tie them up in a bag and make him take them to Lake Dore. He would take care of them so they would be there in case I could finally have one. We would both feel good about that. I begged my parents to go back but they kept driving. I tried to stop crying, imagining Grandpa seeing the kittens and knowing he'd keep them safe for me. He'd think of me when he saw them, and I could call him and tell him, maybe, that I was so glad he did that.

Wish I could have saved just one.

I see a tractor pulling in a load from the side field. Bales I used to hoist to the loft, but we didn’t admit it. The skinny boy with the glasses wore long sleeves. My pricked red arms were just from playing with the kittens.