Timing?

WI, 1963

My eyes averted from the mess and stack of hay bales to the shovel at the far corner of the barn. The weather was a light hymn of ice and rain as the fog settled around the windows, heat dissipating from my body but making its way to the small pieces of glass panels built into the walls. If I had forgotten something it was always a little more, piece by piece, left in this room. I couldn’t exactly settle on any one thought, though Abby was always, just slightly, in the forefront of my mind. If I had to offer myself a word of advice, I’d make sure to note I’d have just enough time to take Abigail to the seasonal Mill’s Christmas Market in town tomorrow. It was always necessary for me to think of every goal set in my day. My flannel wasn’t offering much heat in this Wisconsin snow, but I didn’t think I’d take too much time.

Abby and I… We hadn’t dated for too long, but I liked that she had always found an interest in making my words a lot of my worth. She wouldn't catch me looking up at the stars or reading my books without feeling like there was always more than intended or said. Her amber eyes always found their way into mine and the only thing I’d hoped was that she didn’t catch my mind constantly on the horizon. I wasn’t the best at showing affection, but maybe she had known I felt the same about her even in my mental distance and dissonance. We’ve lived together longer than we dated. Since I told her I’d be bringing her a special gift for Christmas this year, my pocket held the ring I triple checked for every few minutes in between thinking of her and now the stark resemblance she held to my mother. Abigail always wore a locket of her and I in place of the photo. Originally belonging to her father and mother, they had gone missing a while ago. For her, that felt too painful to look at.

Standing only for a second to gather my thoughts, I shifted over and grasped the shovel on the wall to the right of me, feeling a wave of excitement in the pit of my stomach as I recollected my actions only a moment ago. “Let yourself fly...” My eyes glazed over as they looked down at the tool in my left hand and the deep gash in my right. Grinning slightly, I knew I’d have to dress this wound sooner than I thought. There were two ways this could go: I’d have a few hours until morning to get up and finalize this job, or I’d risk Abby waking up and looking for me during. My mind had always felt appropriate to handle my undertaking at night, with an additional sense of anticipation. All I could do was look in between both of my hands, almost like I could look for a third to get the work done. One of my patterns would be wasting time in between to envelop myself in the exhilaration of every moment spent here. It hadn't been for the horses, it had not been for my cows and the time spent had not been for clarity. There wasn’t much light in the barn, but I made sure a few of the lanterns would be set up so that a clear glow surrounded my space. Walking over to the bales of hay, a need to force up a quiet secrecy held me tightly, I gripped the shovel stopping in my tracks.

My head turned up quickly, looking through one of the glass panels. The moon had lit up the room almost more than these old lanterns could. The door to the barn opened with a creek. My heart had lit up with a feeling of dread and excitement all at once. Had she known I would be waiting how I'd always been? Was I genuinely waiting and if so, for what? Had she known I would be faulty in my expressions as always? “Jackso---“

“Can you see me…?” head still upturned to the moon, I called out to Abigail.

“What are you doing up so late? Are you okay? I didn’t feel you next to me in bed, I got worried that you'd gone and left until I saw your car from the cabin. You scared me…”

“I just didn’t think you’d be up so late, that’s all… Came out to get some work done.” Slightly scratching my hair, I felt nothing but everything all at once. It had been matted from sweat and mud. My body stood at the far end of the barn as I walked slowly from behind a corner from the right of the tools. “Would you like me to come back to bed?”, was all I could say to her. Something I love about her the most is she hadn’t brought herself to ask too many questions. Within my intuition I knew this night out of all, the one just before Christmas, would be different.

“I can’t see you, Jackson… What are you doing up so late?” Her voice had turned peaked, worrisome. Abigail’s slippers shuffled towards the back of the barn as I caught up in slow strides to break our distance. She stopped in her tracks. Looking over my body, rusty brown and dark pieces of my hair falling over my eyes and into the hollows of my cheeks. She had seen something I was missing. “Where is your coat? You’re going to fall ill in this weather. Let me take you back to the house.” The ice and rain began picking up, all the while she had been moving towards me only seeing how little and out of shape and ragged my attire had been. Her face held a slight grimace at the vision of me. Imagining myself at this time, I would've held the same position. I can’t always be ready or make excuses… To think she had caught my lack of clothing out of anything else. It only took years. My arms and legs shuddered; they felt mechanical, yet lively, compared to the rest of my body.

Her steps proceeded to the back of the barn as my taller stance watched in wait, all of my curiosity and excitement peeked at once. “I can’t begin to think what is going on with you,” she grabbed the shovel out of my left hand and threw it to the ground out of aggravation and confusion. Her eyes looked up into mine as I had realized I looked as sunken and hollow as I had felt. “Boy, do you like scaring me?” My response was next to none awaiting the outcome. Even in her confusion she had always stopped to help me first. “You always come out here at night. What is this? Do you need time to think about us?” She had practically begged me for another answer other than the monotony I had always given. "You are absolutely right, Abby. All things should be thought about. It’s just you. You’ve always been great to me." Imagining the conversation going this way in my head failed in the physical. My words formed in my mind but couldn’t escape my throat. The closer she had gotten I knew the stench would form over the dominating outside mixture of earth and rain.

We both looked up to the same area of the barn as the owl I usually saw outside on a sullen tree branch by the structure made its way in through the open door. The muddy sack next to the hay bales had moved with a slight groan of a body in pain, impaling the air with a garbled response of sound and blood. Abigail’s eyes shifted at the bales and looked back at me, studying my face and my clothing. Had she seen death on me? Her skin had gone from cold beige to pale eggshell. “Jackson…?”