Lingering Memories

So many years have passed since I’ve been here. I look around the old farm, decades of history packed into a couple of hundred square acres. Unfortunately, it’s been long abandoned, and nothing remains but ash, dust, and what I imagine would be the smell of death.

Unfortunately, I lost my sense of smell long ago.

At this moment, I had made my way into the old barn, where the fire had started so many years ago. I look above me and see the hole where part of the roof collapsed, the blackened edges of wood that had stood the test of time for over a hundred years.

Brought down in a single night.

Using what strength I had, I knock against the wall, the sound dull but even then the wood begins to creak again, the walls groan and dust falls, and I retreat just a bit further, taking my place near the broken down doors.

I’ve avoided this place for so many years, still afraid, even though at this moment, throughout my existence, death has remained a constant for me.

Quite simply, I just don’t like the memories.

But no matter what, I still can’t escape them. It was an accident, the folly of youth, playing with what they shouldn’t have. But soon enough the fire spread, uncontrollable, relentless, and unforgiving. I managed to save them that night, but soon enough my children would pass on, taken by time, and I, helpless and incapable of being at their side.

At the same time though, in the years that have passed since then, even after this place’s abandonment, I have grown to accept that some things are simply...inevitable.

I choose to focus then, on the good memories, working with my son in the barn, storing our various products before we head out to the market. Driving around in our new tractor with my daughter at my hip.

My wife...just remembering her beauty helps me smile in these lonely times.

I drift by to the center of the barn and look up at the sky, just shy of the ray of light that hits the ground where concrete is cracked and dirt has given life to something new.

How fitting, how even through fire and carnage and death, nature still finds a way to move forward.

If only I could move on like that, but here I am again, shackled by the past.

I hear footsteps behind me, and hide behind one of the pillars, I’m not supposed to be here after all. But I couldn’t help but come back.

I can never help myself.

For now, however, I focus on the people entering and listen.

“I’ve heard that this place has been abandoned for years, ever since the fire of ‘79. All that’s left is dust and ash, why even buy this place?”

“It has potential, can’t you see it dear?”

“There were other farms with undamaged infrastructure, we’ll have to tear this place down and rebuild from the ground up.”

A wave of harsh anger comes over me, tearing down so much history? I ready myself to turn and drive them out.

“Not rebuild...restore.”

And suddenly, the anger is replaced by astonishment and I stay behind the pillar.

“Remember my old friend Annabelle?”

“The one who died from cancer ten years ago? Her brother died in a car crash right?”

“He died in the hospital after but yes.”

I grieve, because, in their darkest moments, I could not be beside them.

“This was their home, this entire farm. I used to live on the farm down the road, and would always come by, they would take me to this barn, cause it was their home for adventure."

A pause between them, and I continue to listen, memories start to return. A young girl, with bright hair and a blue bow, playing with my daughter, so innocent…

Scarred.

"I was there the day of the fire, I was pinned by a fallen support beam, ended up needing a lot of surgery and help, my legs are scarred to this day."

"Annabelle’s father, Mr. Hendrickson saved all three of us that day. I’ll never forget how he lifted that beam off my legs.”

A flash of memory, and I remember, the acrid smoke burning my lungs, the scorching heat enveloping me as flames licked my hands while I lifted that beam.

“Susan,” I whisper. I remember.

“We weren’t able to save the farm, and they weren’t able to keep it after, too much money for the time.”

I hear them continue to walk forward until they’re practically where I am.

“I think Mr. Hendrickson would have loved to have seen his ancestral farm restored.”

Filled with joy, I leave my hiding spot and turn to face her.

Our eyes meet and I stared into her saddened gaze.

“I only wish he were still alive to see it.”