“The Boy in the Barn”

The sun was setting behind the city, creating an orange glow on the walls of the living room. I’ve lived here the past ten years, after my dad disappeared and my mom fell in love with my step-father. Everyone else’s voices hushed as the TV replaced their yelling, echoing my silence. The news channel droned on about “threats to democracy” and “risks to public health”, sprinkled with a newborn, baby elephant at the local zoo.

The newscast felt vaguely similar to my own situation, with the small joy that comes from a sunset painted on the walls, juxtaposing threats to my mid-teenage wellbeing. How do they accept bad news from the tv more than their transgender son? The stagnant air remained putrid with left-over hostility. The words of my mother sat in the back of my mind, setting the tone. I heard her repeating, “We all know this is just a phase, Jacquelyn.” I thought to myself, Yes, this moment is just a phase.

Eventually, my family members grew bored and retired to their bedrooms one by one, like birds flying away from a tree in their own whimsy. Such was the routine of acting like nothing even happened. I sat alone on our chilly, leather couch and turned up the television as I cried. Our family dog came and laid beside me, gazing up with loving eyes.

I don’t remember what time it was that I, too, retired. Nor do I know what time it was when I grabbed my backpack and started shoving in clothes and money that I stashed away the first time. I only remember that the moon had just risen above our seemingly quiet neighborhood when I started running.

I packed food and water, and threw on my warmest coat and best running shoes. I kissed the kindest member of the family goodbye. “I’m sorry, girl. I wish I could take you with me.” She licked my face before I closed the door. I caught a glance of her brindle fur through the windowpane as she watched me stroll down the driveway.

Then, I ran.

I ran down the sidewalks of the suburbs, under golden street lights, past gas stations and churches, house after house after apartment building. I ran with tear-blurred vision until the city glow became a thicker darkness. I reached the more desolate outskirts and finally stopped. I huffed and puffed, noticing that what I was running from felt more and more distant, so I felt more and more free. I felt peaceful in the growing silence. I smiled as I listened to the crickets and remembered the camping trips I used to take with my dad. We used to lay out under the stars and listen for wildlife. He taught me the differences in owls, occasionally comparing those to the differences in people.

I took a few more breaths of late-night summer air and took off again. I had no idea how much I ran. I moved even faster as I thought about how my body and the pavement beneath me were my only home.

Off in the distance, I saw an old barn and wondered if maybe it was time to rest. I was miles away from the city and the moon was high above me. It’d be a good place to eat a snack and settle down for the night. I was grateful it was a warm evening, even though sweat dripped down my neck.

I made the decision to rest in the rickety barn and sprinted down the dirt road toward it, making sure to pause at the end of the driveway. Before I started to walk toward the barn, I stared up at the waxing moon’s kind face, thinking of the sweet family dog I left behind. Then, I turned my eyes on the farm, looking for movement. I didn’t want to spook anyone and possibly get the cops called on me.

I easily found the barn door in the moonlight and slowly opened it. I tried my best to close the big barn door from the inside, but I knew I would be gone by early morning and left it slightly ajar. I peered around, grateful for the bits of light shining through the open windows. I didn’t see any animals in there, which felt odd for a barn, but I did find a stable with a blanket of hay on the ground.

I had just gotten comfortable when I heard a screech. I must have a roommate! I got up and peered out of the stable until I heard it again. There it was, off to my left, a lone Barn Owl staring out at the misty field behind the barn, painted in twilight. It was searching for prey.

This barn had animals after all. “Who? Who?” Another owl responded. The hooting came from a Great Horned Owl lingering outside. The Barn Owl screeched again, knowing he could become prey. I confidently responded them both, “Me! Me!” The Barn Owl instantly turned its head 180 degrees; its dark eyes stared at me. It screeched in thanks for the distraction I created as the larger owl pried, “Who? Who?”

“Me, the boy in the barn!” I whisper-shouted. Both the owls stopped questioning me after this. At least someone gets it. I went back to lay down, comforted by their presence. I suppose I was never truly alone- the owls had shown me that. I fell into a deep slumber, grateful for new friends. As I dozed off I heard, “Who? Who?” But I was asleep before I could hear the Barn Owl continue the conversation.

The next thing I knew, I felt something poking my side. Groggy and startled, I opened my eyes to a fuzzy picture of a man. Am I dreaming?

“Hey. Kid.”

“Ah!” I scrambled backward.

“Woah, woah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle ya. Are you lost?”

“Oh, um…” I rubbed sleep away from my eyes and felt intense daylight hitting my face.

“Kid, I almost called the cops, I was worried you was lost! Then I thought maybe you was runnin’ from somethin’? You look like a city kid.”

I squinted at the black silhouette of a farmer in his early sixties. He had a scruffy beard and a worn-in, rawhide hat. I didn’t know people dressed like that, but I knew I didn’t trust talking to him if he could send me home.

“I reckon you’re not a morning person. Eh, that’s alright. I wasn’t either ’til I owned the farm and the cows needed milkin’ every day, crack of dawn! Maybe you’d like some coffee before I start askin’ them heavy hitter questions. What do you say?”

“I’d say, where are all your cows, then?” I retorted.

He chuckled, “Ah, I’m too old for that extra labor now. Just wheat, beans and corn for me, but I do miss the company…” He trailed off, then said, “I’ll be right back, okay?” I breathed a sigh of relief as he turned around to leave. Before he made his way out the large, barn doors he asked, “Hey, what’s your name, Kid?”

“Um…”

“Right. Coffee first! Be right back.” He walked away with a slight limp to his step, even leaning on the wooden doorframe before exiting. I started to scramble for my things. I quickly shoved my blanket and a half-empty water bottle into my backpack. I hastily threw it over my shoulder and tried to leave before the farmer got back. I couldn’t have him call anyone. I wasn’t eighteen yet, so they could’ve taken me back.

I walked toward the barn door and reached toward my neck to fiddle with- Oh no, where did my necklace go? My dad gave me that! Shit, not now!

I rushed back into the stable. Its floor was scattered with hay after I had thrashed around in my sleep with the umpteenth nightmare. I frantically started flinging hay at the walls to find the missing necklace. It’s the only thing I had left of him.

I finally fell to my knees, sobbing as I checked between the barn’s floorboards. I realized that I had lost the one item I truly cared about out of any of my belongings.

I shuffled back toward the door, slinging my tattered backpack in one hand and aggressively wiping tears away with the other. That’s when the farmer spotted me from ten feet away, two cups of coffee in one hand, a plate of food in the other. He exclaimed loudly, “So you are a runner? How about a bite to eat before you go, Kid?”

I felt my stomach growl at the thought of it. I begrudgingly nodded my head in defeat and followed him back into the barn toward a small table. I sat down and the farmer set the plate in front of me, presenting a BLT sandwich, half an orange, and scrambled eggs. He also placed the coffees down, sliding mine over to me on a coaster he pulled from his pocket.

“How did you have enough time to cook all this?” I inquired.

“I just had breakfast before I came out here. Sorry if the bacon’s a bit cold. Well, go ahead,” he insisted as he gestured toward the plate, “I’m sure you’re starvin'.” I took this as my cue and started scarfing down food. The farmer took a seat across from me, looked off into the distance and shook his head. He pried, “So, what’s your name?”

I swallowed my mouthful of food and stared into the coffee as I mumbled, “My name is Jax.”

“That’s a cool name, Kid. How’d you get it?”

Here we go. I insisted, “My name’s not kid! And... I chose Jax.”

He scrunched his brow and tilted his head at me. He suddenly stated, “Sounds like something a runner would do. Yaknow, the types that run away from shit situations? Pardon my French.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yessir. I used to be a runner! Couldn’t ya tell?” He laughed. I shook my head “no” as I picked up the sandwich. “I’ve got a lot of stories and a lot of names, Jax. I ran from city hubbub. I ran from a wife who hated my guts. I ran from... Speaking of stories, I bet you met my friend, the owl, last night.”

“Which owl?”

“Oh, you’re smart...” He trailed off. “The Barn Owl. He eats the mice ‘round here. I leave him scraps sometimes.”

“Cool…” I couldn’t understand the relevance, so I asked, “What’s the story with the owl?”

The farmer explained, “The owl started bringing me gifts once I started feedin’ him. Tiny trinkets. Shiny things. The occasional, dead mouse… He even brought me something this morning! It's why I started searchin’ the property.” I watched him reach into his pocket and pull out a silver necklace. My necklace.

“Oh my gosh! That’s mine!”

“This is your necklace?”

“Yes! Give it to me, you crazy old man!” I yelled and reached at it across the table, spilling my coffee.

He held it out and away from me while his other bronze, wrinkled hand rested on my shoulder. He asked, “Where on earth did you get this? It’s one of a kind.”

“That’s MINE!”

“Where did you get it, Kid?”

“My. Name. Is. Jax! And.. My dad gave me that! It’s all I have left of him.” I begged, “Please...”

“There, there. Don’t cry. I just needed to know. I used to have one just like that- handcrafted by a local artist. Completely unique, but... I gave it to my daughter. You’re not my daughter. You're nearly a man! Yet, you remind me of her somehow.” Then he looked at me, his pupils growing wider.

My voice screeched like the barn owl as I exclaimed, “Wait! Dad?”

He gasped, then smiled. “Of the many names, that’s one I’ve always been most fond of. I'm glad I didn't run too far, Jax."