The Barn Loft Window

I wouldn't call going back to the barn a bad idea, but maybe it was a hasty decision. I wasn't afraid. Mother was crazy.

That's the way it had been. She'd practically chosen it. Mother hadn't been "Mom" since Dean had died. Before Dean died, she was drunk all the time anyway, but somehow, I still had the affection to call her by a title she didn't quite deserve.

That summer was the hardest time of my life. I was 12, but I had to grow up fast. Dean was 16, and he was my hero. I really looked up to Dean and did everything he said. Daddy worked hard at the hospital, and he was always Dean's hero. He was like Daddy's shadow. Mom took care of Dean and me, and Daddy said for that, she was his inspiration.

We were the closest family on our block. That's what I thought. Every Wednesday, when Daddy got home, we all played cards at the table. Every week paralleled the week before it and the week after. Daddy would promise Dean they'd go fishing on that Friday after work. Dean would get really excited, and then on Friday, Daddy didn't get home until dark looking very tired.

Thinking back on those times, I missed Dean and Dad. As I sat in the loft of the barn, I looked down at the ground I never used to fear. I remembered all the times Dean and I sat in this very window talking about such frivolous things as our favorite colors and why and what we'd have for lunch when we felt like getting up and dusting the from our backsides.

I also thought of the weeks when Daddy missed Wednesday. The first time, he called us to tell us he was working over, and we didn't mind so much, even though it was weird. There was always next week.

Now, I sat on top of the blankets in the barn loft window. I stuck my trembling legs over the edge and shut my eyes tightly. I had to go back. I remembered the time Mom answered the phone at about 9:30. "Who IS this? Jerry? Is that you, Jerry? Jerry?" By this point, she was screaming "Oh my GOD! Oh, God!" She started to cry. I watched my weeping mom hang up the phone and throw it across the living room to crash against the wall.

"Are you okay, Mommy?"

"Don't watch me cry. Everything's fine," she said very reassuringly. "Everything's fine," she repeated.

That was the first time Mother lied to me. Later that night, or the next morning at 2 am, I was in my room pretending to sleep, but really, I was waiting for Daddy. I always did.

Mom was sitting in the living room when Dad quietly tried sneak in. "Where have YOU been?" Mom asked as if she knew. I was slightly frightened by her tone. She had been stressed all day, but especially all night since the phone call.

"Honey, I told you I was working late."

"Really?" she demanded, unconvinced. "Too bad when you were wrestling on a desk with some nurse bimbo, your cell phone speed dialed the house!"

I could imagine the look on Daddy's face. It was probably the same as mine. I just heard him stuttering. I was humiliated for him. All of a sudden, Dean's voice rang through. "Tell me you didn't." I heard his strong voice crack for the first time in years.

"I-I-I..."

"Get OUT!" Mother yelled.

"Where's he gonna go?" Dean cried out, concerned.

"I don’t care but I want him out of the house my parents left to ME!"

That night, I hardly slept, I didn't move, and I could hardly breathe through my hushed sobs. Dean stayed with me with the phone, still battered, in hand in case Dad called. The next morning, I woke to a room empty of Dean's presence and to a house that seemed foreign. Daddy wasn't making bacon in the kitchen. Wherever he was, he probably wasn't whistling his Saturday morning tune.

I had cried my eyes dry, so all I could do was cope that day. My perfect family had turned out to be far from it. I didn't know what this feeling in the pit of my stomach was. I felt like I wanted to cry, but I knew it was useless and that my face was stuck in this frown mode. I was, for the most part, unable to smile. When I did, it hurt the sides of my mouth because of the struggle. I felt like someone had reached in through my stomach and ripped out my heart. I decided to ask Dean what was wrong with me. He wanted to be a doctor just like Daddy was.

"It's called depression. If you know what's good for you, you'll forget how you feel and try to move on!" I didn't know if Dean was right this time, but I took his advice.
For months, no one said anything about Dad, but I couldn't help but feed my appetite. When would I see him again? WOULD I see him again? "Mom, is Daddy coming back?"

"No, Sarah. If you're lucky, you'll never see him again!"

A death sentence to my young ears. "But I love Daddy. I WANT him to come back.

"Why? Your dad HATES you! He OBVIOUSLY doesn't care about you. If he did, do you think he would have left us here for another woman?"

I left the room with my head hanging. Was she right? No. Daddy loved me. I wanted to talk to him and hug him and just feel his warm chest against my own. Some small part of me was so mad at him, but an even bigger part wanted him to love me again.

My shaking legs were still out of the barn loft window. I remembered the hay that used to be there and the last time I saw it. That horrible night that, ironically, I remembered every last detail of.

At that exact moment on that night, I woke up in a cold sweat. I'd had a dream that Daddy came back with a new daughter. It had been about three months, but the dreams still came. The effects had been even worse on Dean and Mom. Mom was drunk all the time, and Dean was cutting himself. I accidently walked in on him doing it, otherwise, he wouldn't have let me know. He said it made him feel better and that it was his only proof to himself that he was still alive. Still alive? Of course he was! I saw him standing right in front of me. Why would someone WANT to be hurting?

My dream still felt vaguely real. Daddy's new daughter looked more like him than I did. I was really jealous. It was one of those nightmares where you know you're dreaming, but you can't wake yourself up.

As I crashed into consciousness after quite a battle, I noticed tiny sobs seeping through the crack in my door. I sat up in bed knowing it was Mom. I went reluctantly to her door.

"Mom?" She began sobbing louder at this "What's wrong?"

She didn't answer for a long time, but when she did, she only let out two words. "The... barn...." I HAD to see what was so upsettig about the barn. I ran out of the house with her stumbling close behind shouting, "No! Sarah! Come back here! Don't go to the barn!"

As I approached the barn, I noticed the loft window open and full of hay. I looked down and saw something lying on the concrete slab right in front of the door. As I got closer, my feet met the edge of a puddle of blood. It was Dean. His head was the source of the blood, and he wasn't moving.

"I didn't want you to see this," Mother said through her tears. She turned me away from the traumatic scene and hugged me. I could smell the alcohol on her. She'd been at it again. Sirens blared as ambulances neared. They were too late, of course.

Two months later, from the barn loft window, I looked down at the spot where we'd been standing. I remembered it so well, I could practically see us standing there. I looked to the concrete slab, the view partially obstructed by my dangling feet.

I stood up as I reached into my pocket to get Dean's suicide note. It read:

"Sarah and Mom, I loved you both, but I couldn't go on. You may not have noticed, but Dad was my one and only idol. Not only did he let me down, but he left without putting up a fight for me. A world without my dad is world without love. A world without love is a world without worth. Bye. See you soon." The last line stood as a chilling omen.

I didn't cry when I read the sloppy handwriting. I had read it so many times that I had become desensitized to the words. Despite this, I did have to rub my arm to try to get rid of some goosebumps. I really thought about the words Dean wrote instead of taking them for granted. He made me realize things.

I stood there still staring at the page wishing I had been prepared, but it was now or never. I hated that my mother was an alcoholic. I hated living in a world without love, a world without Daddy, a world without Dean. I hated it all, so I jumped.