Once Again.

The abandoned barn sits in silence for almost forty years. A haven once cherished, now grown into ruins. The same owner. The same lofty perspectives. Only age has changed the barn and the man. A well-loved tire swing fell from the rafters some twenty-odd years ago, most likely ropes gnawed by hungry rats. Dust and debris gathers in the corners, over the gates, and floating in the air, seemingly never to lift. But there is still life within. Every year around the same time, early autumn, a group of teens gather to smoke, play around, and talk about the already-missed summer days before the school bell rings the following week. The owner, Joel Miller, allows this. He recalls days that he would have done the same. His best childhood friend would never return. And it was his fault.

The old man is startled in the early hours of the morning by the sound of sirens. He doesn’t sleep anymore, but neither does he usually hear alarms this far into the country. A wail, like someone screaming into the night.

Rush of tires, pulling a memory from his mind that he has not allowed himself to dwell on in years.

"Fire!" The word is screamed across the field. Caused by fireworks? No, just unattended cigarette butts, surely.

Still. The resemblance is eerie.

It takes Joel half an hour to get dressed and work his way over to the barn. What was once resplendent now sits in ruins and ashes. His arms and legs shake, the smell of burning hay reminding him of the nightmares of this place, mixed in with lost memories. He shuffles into the dark, musty belly of the barn and sits down on a slightly soggy plank, careful to avoid the rotting area that creaks with his weight. At seventy-two, he is too old to be sitting on the ground, knowing that most likely he will not be able to get back up again. That is not what matters. He takes a deep breath, trying to take in his surroundings--and coughs for a full minute, as if his lungs will burst. His heart actually might. So many memories!

When he recovers his breath, tears course down his cheeks. It's only the coughing causing it, he tries to believe. After he roughly wipes his face, he looks around. First up, towards the disintegrating beams of the ancient barn. Then the far corner with the bale of hay, molded from disuse. There used to be a ladder in that corner that led up to the loft. In his mind he could hear the pitter-patter of children's feet as he and his friends played hide-and-seek.

He shakes his head. He is here to clear his thoughts and put his mind at ease, he reminds himself. Over on the right there is a pile of planks where there was once an open area. He closes his eyes to recall the exact dimensions, those he once knew so well. Nine steps to that corner, with eleven more across. Each of those steps was always made with his best buddy, Frank. He could never say no to Frank. They spent the weekends roasting marshmallows and exploring the creek out back. It's probably dried up by now, he muses. His ankle had been twisted more times than he could count from their tree-climbing and rock-hopping adventures seemingly every day in the summer.

The junk in the far corner of the barn looks like a pile of scraps, but hidden within the layers used to reside swords for a child's pirate dream. Old shoes to skate across the treacherous ice. Equipment for scaling the impossible tree outside. A long rope for swinging across that center beam. During certain times of the year, Frank would go off on his own, catching creatures wandering around the property. One of his favorites was catching a spider that he treated as his friend until he found it shriveled up one day inside the large pickle jar. After that, Frank would still catch insects, but would just use them for study. He was curious as to how their bodies moved, how each limb reacted when confronted with an obstacle, how they breathed or interacted with others.

A whistle sounds from outside, breaking old Joel's concentration. Kids nowadays. When will they ever learn? Feet approach from the gravel behind him, but he doesn’t look up. Just stares at the boots in front of him, well-worn and covered with hay, mud, and manure from the barn floor. A hand rests on his shoulder and he cringes. Just leave! His mind screams.

“Joel! Leave now! Move! It’s gonna blow!” He imagines the scene as a kid again, when he was just barely a teen. He crouches, squashed next to Frank in his family’s wagon, smoke billowing behind them. Frank’s normal grin is replaced by a look of panic. His mind is frozen. He can’t move. All he can do is watch the giant boulder as it zooms closer and closer…

“Closer!” Frank shoves his head down so that it is one inch from the dirt. Even though he's just six months older than Joel, the thirteen-year-old voice commands obedience behind his excitement. “You’ve got to almost put your eye in the glass, otherwise you won’t see it!” Joel's face is right up against the magnifying glass that they share, looking at the newly discovered insect plodding it’s way over the dirt. Frank has created an obstacle course just to see what kinds of reactions this little bug will take as it drags a twig across the ground. They are ecstatic when it enters the tunnel at the far end, and Frank is determined to try something else, running to the barn to gather supplies. Joel follows, a few seconds behind, and doubles over with a gasp when he reaches the barn's entrance. “C’mon, old man! You can do better than that!” Frank tosses a bit of dried horse dung that hits Joel’s face, causing him to jump back and yowl. He tries to keep a straight face, but the image of Frank holding his breath, staring up at the hay loft as he pretends not to wait for his reaction. Joel collapses into a fit of giggles.

Frank sits up on an elbow and pulls a Twizzler stick from his pocket. He bites off one end and holds it up. From out of nowhere, he strikes a match and lights the candy on fire. They both grin, the flame dancing between them until the candy fizzles out and Frank drops it on the ground. Without speaking, Frank grabs two more, handing one to Joel. When they finish this one off, this time the hay around the burned candy starts to sizzle, bursting into a flame that is quickly extinguished by a nearby cloth. "What else is there?" Frank wipes his hands, his imagination boundless. They consider trying to set one of the barn beams on fire, but Joel refuses. "You're taking the fun out of this!" His friend whines, but after a few seconds jumps on the tire swing, his method of envisioning a new tool to add to his energy experiment. “You know, we should make an elevator to that loft!”

“Mr. Miller, did you know anything about the flammable container that was left behind your barn? Mr. Miller?” The police officer doesn’t budge. Joel’s eyes follow one of the teens, huddled under a blanket, a parent perched protectively nearby. A stream of water randomly drips from the wooden slats onto Joel’s hand. The police officer nears him, hovering just outside his bubble of comfort. “It’s dangerous…”

“It’s dangerous…” Joel eyes the fireworks warily. Yet his eyes follow the imaginary sparks that will soon be zooming into the air. It could be fun. This leads them to more than the sparklers. They set potatoes on fire with a pow, followed quickly by all other types of veggies in the garden. They jump back when they begin burning the corn husks. Kernels of corn fly everywhere, hitting both boys on the legs. “How could you do that?" Joel gasps, laughing. "You’re going to kill us!”

“Don’t worry! I’ve got you, J. I’ll always have your back.”

“Sure,” Joel tries it jokingly, but it comes out as a timid question. He's not certain about this, but he is about Frank. “Now if you could just figure out a trick to help me drive to town every weekend.”

“I’ve got an idea!” Frank’s eyes light up, but he doesn’t reveal his plan, just turns in the opposite direction and skips off, disappearing behind the giant boulder they have dubbed Wilbur. Frank is gone before Joel can utter a word.

The next morning Frank and Joel ride in his father’s wagon, with Frank’s newest invention strapped to the axle, a heat-powered engine using the animal manure from the barn. This is something that will possibly end up in flames, same as his previous “grand” experiment, Joel assumes. At first everything runs perfectly, the machine rumbling at a steady clip. They hit a pothole, causing Frank to veer off the road, the wagon heading straight for the giant boulder. The vehicle picks up speed as it careens downhill. Joel grips the side of the wagon and freezes.

The boulder Wilbur looms closer and closer. Frank’s normal, carefree attitude is replaced by panic. “Joel! We’ve got to move! Move now!” His voice echoes as if somewhere far away. He can’t. Can’t! Joel closes his eyes, waiting for the impact. Hands push at his shoulder and heave his hip off the wagon seat. He sprawls on the ground as he sees the wagon crash head on into Wilbur. The crack of splintering wood, the whir of spinning wheels. He doesn’t see Frank’s head. He doesn’t see Frank at all. He tries to crawl to the scene, but when he feels a sharp pain and a pop in his arm, everything goes dark.

The familiar crunch of gravel alerts Joel to Frank's presence, who looks at him from his wheelchair. “This might be my only chance to look down on you," Frank jokes. Joel grunts, grinning, using the wheelchair armrest as leverage to stand. His friend reaches out his hand and grabs Joel's arm. "Are you finally going to forgive yourself? We have some work to do.”

“Are you serious?”

He slaps Joel on the arm. “I’ve always got your back. Only this time, we should include an elevator! I want to get up to that loft!”