Barn Knights

Two blades crossed under scattered beams of sunlight as leaves gently fell. Relentless foes caught in the dance of battle. One parries, one blocks, the other dodges, and reverberating steel rings the ears of those fortunate enough to be near the nimble pair. Leaping onto a nearby rock to gain the upper ground, one warrior gains the upper hand, landing a fatal blow on the other.

“Got you!” Michael yelled.

“No fair, you cheated! You’re jumping higher than I can!” Isaac said.

“That’s not cheating, dummy, that’s what knights do.” Michael leaped from the hay back down to the ground. “Besides, one day you’ll be able to jump just as high!”

“Really?” Isaac said, his eyes glistening.

“Sure! But by then I’ll be jumping twice that high.”

“Whatever. One day I’ll be able to jump all the way to the loft!”

“Dummy, no one jumps that high ‘cept maybe Shaq,” Michael said, tousling his little brother’s blond hair. “Race you back!”

The boys raced each other past bales of hay and chicken feed, out the barn door, and across the field home. Michael arriving first and Isaac second, breathing heavily as they came in, the screen door slamming behind them.

“What did I say about closing the screen door?” A voice echoed through the house.

“Sorry mom!” they said in near unison.

“Good! Now go wash up. Hurry, unless you want cold spaghetti.”

The boys did as they were told, leaving their dirty shoes by the front door on the linoleum. The farmhouse was old, but their mother was fastidious, and while you were in the house you were in her domain.

Clothes changed, hands and faces washed, Michael and Isaac sat at the table and their mom brought them a plate each of spaghetti and meat sauce. Handing them napkins, she said, “Tuck those in your shirts. Don’t need you both messing up two pairs of clothes in one day.” They did so and joined hands in prayer before they all began to eat.

“Now make sure you save some for your dad. He’ll be home late tonight and I don’t want him picking through the pie I made for the Lady’s Luncheon at church tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Michael said. “Mom, can Isaac and I camp out in the barn tonight?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know. I don’t much feel like cleaning the hay off your sleeping bags.”

“Pleeeaaase…” Michael said.

“Okay,” she said, and the boys looked at each other excitedly, “but, you have to promise me you’ll clean your own sleeping bags.”

“We will!” Michael said. Isaac nodded his agreement.

“And you have to wash your clothes after too.”

“Definitely!” Michael said.

“And only if you clean up these dishes tonight.”

“Oh maaaan,” Michael said. Dish duty was his least favorite and since Isaac couldn’t be trusted with anything fragile, he’d be doing the bulk of the work.

“Don’t you ‘oh man’ me, unless you want dish duty all weekend.”

Michael bolted to attention in his seat and mocked zipping his lips, his fingers turning a key in an imaginary lock and throwing it away. This made Isaac giggle and their mom joined in with a laugh of her own.

That night under the fluorescent lights of the barn, they were knights again, cutting down foe after foe, fighting back-to-back. They were cowboys, riding straw horses on their way to a shootout with bank robbers. They were mountain climbers, scaling bale rocks to reach the summit of Everest, setting up camp at the peak to survey all they had conquered.

They had lain their sleeping bags in the loft of the barn. The night was cool, and a breeze permeated the wooden barn slats, but inside their sleeping bags, they were warm.

“Michael, what if coyotes get into the barn?” Isaac said.

“Don’t worry, we’re safe up here. Coyotes can’t climb up the hay,” Michael said, not knowing if that was true.

“If they do, will you protect me?”

“Of course, dummy. That’s what big brothers do,”

They sat for a bit in silence, admiring the moonlight and stars that peeked through the slatted roof, contemplating the deep thoughts that troubled young children, seeing the world for the beauty and splendor it offered. Admiring the vastness most adults could no longer appreciate.

“Michael?” Isaac said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

“You’re always gonna be my best friend, right?”

“Course I am, dummy.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“I love you too.”

#

For years they were best friends, despite the three-year age gap. They continued to play together, their imagined worlds became closer to the reality they would soon face as adults until those realms faded altogether in favor of more popular past-times like baseball, football, FFA, and eventually, parties. The old barn was still their go-to hangout, away from the prying eyes of adults. Here they would go on to tell ghost stories at sleepovers, play board games with their friends, talk about girls, and, eventually, play spin-the-bottle.

No matter whose friends were staying over, Michael and Isaac included one another, Michael never complaining that he was too old for this-or-that and never treating Isaac like he didn’t belong.

#

Michael was a senior in high school when their mother lost her battle with breast cancer. She hadn’t complained a single time that either Michael or Isaac could recall, opting for stern and strong positivity. She told them repeatedly that, “God is good, and he’ll do what’s right.”

The ceremony was held in the school gymnasium, rather than their small church. It was the only place in town that could accommodate that many people. After the private graveside service, Michael, Isaac, and their father rode home in silence. Entering the house, they all left their shoes on the linoleum. Changing out of his dress clothes, Michael went downstairs to begin sorting through the various cobblers, casseroles, and pies that crowded the kitchen. Neither his father nor Isaac were anywhere to be found.

His work was finished, and with there still being no sign of either father or brother, Michael headed to the barn. Inside he found Isaac, sitting on the ledge of the loft. Silently, he climbed up and took a seat next to him. They sat for a while saying nothing until Isaac spoke up.

“God is a selfish bastard.”

Michael didn’t disagree. He wrapped his arm around his brother and held him close. They wept.

#

It wasn’t until his first visit back from state college that Michael realized something was wrong. He had come home for Christmas break, opting to skip Thanksgiving break so that he could work his convenience store job to have extra money for gifts. He had arrived at home expecting warm welcomes and the traditional flare of the house. When his father answered the door, he was greeted only with the smell of whiskey.

The tree was up, but the ornaments were disheveled, the lights uneven, and the tinsel thicker on the right. Dad was drunk. From the look of him, he had been for a while. He was wearing a white t-shirt, yellowed around the neck with brown whiskey stains.

He helped his father back to his recliner, careful not to spill the remaining liquid from the glass he held. He found Isaac upstairs in his room, headphones in and the world tuned out. Michael tapped him on the shoulder. Isaac recoiled, gaining his composure when he realized it was Michael. He took his headphones off, and they embraced.

“Is everything okay, Isaac? Dad seemed…” but Isaac cut him off before he could finish.

“Not here, let’s go to the barn.”

So, they did, bundled up in Carhartt jackets, jeans, and their work boots. They sat in the old spot, lights flickering overhead.

“Dad hasn’t been good since you left.” Isaac started, “He’s been drinking himself to sleep on that chair every night. He’s been selling livestock left and right to keep up with mom’s medical bills and anything that’s left is spent on liquor. He’s so sad and so angry.”

Michael sat stunned.

“Is he… is he hitting you, Isaac?”

“No! No, nothing like that. He just… gets mad, and he starts yelling about how unfair life is, and then he starts crying. Mostly in their room, but sometimes he comes into my room, drunk, and just… cries. I don’t know what to do.”

Michael didn’t know either. He didn’t know what to do and he didn’t know what to say. So, he wrapped his arm around his little brother once again, pulled him close, and said, “It’ll be okay. I’m sure he just needs some time.”

“I hope you’re right,” Isaac said.

#

Michael was wrong. Their dad spiraled into alcoholism, then into debt, then into depression. Each subsequent visit home became a test of will for Michael. A rift had formed between them all. A deep chasm that appeared as a surface crack, but whose depths were immeasurable, housing the tendrils of unspoken despair. Isaac closed himself off to Michael. He would swear he was fine, but Michael knew something was wrong. Their conversations lost the spark of openness they once shared.

#

Not long after Isaac graduated high school their family drifted apart. Michael checked in on his father from time to time. The old man had managed to keep the farmhouse, selling every asset in the process. Now he was working full-time at a manufacturing plant, drinking away his paychecks in the seclusion of the once warm farmhouse, now left to disarray and disrepair.

Isaac rarely contacted Michael or his new wife, Kelsey, except for asking for money, always with some excuse or another why he needed it. After a few times, Kelsey and Michael agreed to cut Isaac off. Kelsey had seen the growing resentment Michael had for Isaac and insisted it was for everyone’s benefit.

He and Isaac had one last meaningful interaction a few years later, when Isaac called him, crying through the phone and frantic.

“Michael? Michael, are you there?”

“What’s wrong, Isaac? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I gotta stop, Michael. I gotta stop! I can’t do this anymore, and I gotta stop!” Isaac was in a full-blown sob now, blubbering through the handset.

“Isaac, tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you.”

And he did. Michael was able to get Isaac into a rehab facility, agreeing to pay the cost of the center himself, hoping to finally return the husk of his little brother to the person he had once been. They embraced, crying into each other’s shoulders before the nurse led Isaac back to his room.

#

Isaac made it fourteen days before he checked himself out and fell off the radar for three years. Isaac didn’t know about the birth of his niece, Emory, he didn’t know that their father was in a home with early-onset Alzheimer’s, and he certainly didn’t know that the farmhouse was sitting unoccupied.

At least, Michael thought he didn’t know, until he received a call from the county Sheriff’s office. One of the new neighbors who had purchased some land from Michael’s father had seen someone milling about the property. Concerned about squatters, they had called the Sherriff’s office. The deputy on the scene was the one to find Isaac, hanging by a noose from the barn loft.

#

Only Michael, Kelsey, and Emory attended the service. Michael knew his father wouldn’t even know where he was, was he to attend, let alone that it was his son’s funeral.

Now, Michael stood in the barn one last time. The wood rotted in some places, entire slats missing in others. The power was off to the building, but he doubted the fluorescents were good anymore anyway. He held the urn out in front of him, tears rolling down his cheeks. As he spread the ashes from the loft of the barn, he remembered when he and Isaac were cowboys, when they were mountain climbers, when they were knights.